Page 89 of Milo

Once he's out of sight, I gawk at Julia. “What the fuck was that?"

Julia smirks. "That is how you deal with mafia men."

Yeah, maybe that approach works if you're related to the boss. Not just fucking him.

Milo is perched on the edge of the desk, veins protruding from his forearms as he grips the sleek wooden top. I lean against the door frame and cross my arms, taking in the tired man in front of me. His head is hung low, his shoulders slumped, his black hair completely disheveled. He's a mess. A beautiful tantalizing mess.

How unfair.

"You look like shit.”

Milo's head snaps up, our eyes locking. A deadbolt. Unbreakable. "I have not slept," he says with a weak smile. “Come in, tesoro. Close the door."

I attempt to stand my ground. "I'm good over here. What do you want?"

"Kiara—" His chest rises with exhaustion. "Come inside and close the fucking door." He pauses, peering up at me, his gaze darkened, serious. "Now."

I inwardly roll my eyes, taking a step forward and slamming the door shut. "Happy?"

"You are angry with me.” He frowns, rubbing his chin methodically as he gives me a once over. "Why?"

"Really?" I scoff, walking toward the aloof bastard. "You disappeared for three fucking days, Milo. That's why."

"I had to take care of an emergency.” He licks his lips as I approach and stop a foot away from him. Shameless. "It was not my intention to upset you, Kiara."

"What was the emergency?"

"I do not wish to burden you with the details, tesoro. It is over now." He expels a defeated sigh. I thought he trusted me. "Kiara, please try to understand. There are many things I wish I could share with you but for the safety of my family, and you, I simply cannot."

His velvety voice is so hypnotizing that all the resentment thrumming through my veins dissipates, disperses, dissolves into nothingness. I want to be upset with him. I am upset with him. But that particular emotion seems to be overpowered by my need to be touched by him, to be close to him, to feel the warmth of his intoxicating body.

"You could've at least replied to my texts. I was worried something bad happened. That you were hurt."

His plump lips curl into a smile. "I did reply, tesoro. Were my responses not adequate enough to verify proof of life?" He reaches out, curling his fingers under my chin. His thumb strokes my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. "A dead man cannot text, Kiara."

"You know what I meant.” The gritty texture of his knuckles brush against my skin. I grab his hand and glare at the bruises and dried blood sprawled across the top. I frown. "What happened to your hand? Did a sparrow attack you?"

"No." He lets out an amused chuckle, "Just a mild disagreement.” He snakes his hand around my waist, my body settling in between his legs.

"Mild?" I tilt my head, my entire fucking body melting into his arms. "That's mild?"

Milo smirks. “It is merely a scratch.”

I scowl at him. “Right. I suppose compared to gunshots and murder, that's pretty mild."

"Do you know what I think, tesoro?" Milo pulls me flush against his chest, his large hand gliding up and down my spine as he arches forward, his balmy breath fanning my ear. "I think you are trying very hard to find reasons to be mad but in reality—" He threads his fingers through my hair, tugging it gently. "You've simply missed me."

"No…” I squirm in his arms as he drags his thumb along my parted lips. "I didn't."

"Yes, Kiara. You did. " He brushes his nose against mine. "And I have also missed you. I've missed—" He takes a deep breath, inhaling the muggy, heated air swirling around us. "Le tue belle labbra." He feathers his lips against mine, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh. Oh, God. "Il tua pelle morbido." His tongue flicks out, leaving wet trails of salvia against my neck. His hand cups my breasts, applying just the right amount of pressure to make my insides burn. "I tuoi fottuti seni." Holy shit. "But mostly—" His hand slides up my pleated skirt, two of his fingers stroking the thin fabric of my panties. "I've missed this."

"Milo—" I breathe out a small moan as he rolls circles across my clit. My arms wrap around his neck and I fist his hair as he pushes my panties to the side. Anticipation buzzes through me. "I still need to pack."

"We have time," he growls, pushing two fingers past my dampened folds. He coils his hand around the base of my throat as his lips ambush mine— demanding, ravenous, hungry.

And fuck it if I have any control, I want him too. Like an addict, I crave him, so desperate, so needy, so fucking helpless. He's a drug. A narcotic. A life ruiner. And I want him to ruin me. I need a hit. I need something. Fucking anything.

My hand travels down his chest to his pelvis, stroking the growing hard-on under his pants. "You really have missed me," I whisper against his lips, gasps of airy arousal escaping my lungs as I undulate my hips against his wicked fingers. I unzip his trousers and free his throbbing erection, nearly salivating at the sight of his long, thick cock just waiting to be sucked.

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