Page 24 of Milo

"Make me.” He pushes his hips forward and his dick twitches against my sex as he pins my arms above my head, a wicked smile on his face. Fuck. I'm losing power. "What's wrong, gattina? Distracted?"

Bastard.

"I don't know what to do," I admit in a breathy tone, flexing all my muscles, attempting to move his steel body off me but he doesn't budge. Terrifying realization dawns on me. This isn't good. If this were a real attack, I'd be fucked. "Help me. Tell me what to do."

Milo curses in Italian as he takes a deep breath, loosening his grip on my hands but not dismounting me. "Slide your elbows to my knees. Keep them on the floor. At the same time, thrust your hips up. Fast." He wants me to thrust? He rolls his eyes, picking up on my hesitation. "Just do it, Kiara."

"Fine!" I expel a sigh and follow his directions. With the combination of movements, Milo jolts forward, bracing himself with his hands.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim, wiggling my fingers. "My arms are free." I pause, frowning. "But you're still on top of me."

"Yes," he says, staying in position, his chest hovering above my face. Mmm. He smells sweet. Like vanilla-infused oak. Or sherry cask scotch. "Now, grab my left arm, trap it, and push me off to the side."

"Push you?" I let out a scoff. "You're like one hundred and ninety pounds."

"Kiara, my weight is currently all in my knees. You are simply distributing the weight.” His tone edges on annoyed. "You can do it. Trust me."

Trust me. Hah. Like it's that simple.

"If you say so,” I mutter, jerking his arms and almost effortlessly tossing Milo to the side. I roll out, surprised that his technique actually worked. My eyes widen with astonishment as Milo stands up, adjusting the band of his sweatpants, an impressed look on his face. "I did it!"

"You see? Easy.” He holds out his hand and helps lift me to my feet. "You did well, Kiara. Not excellent, but well."

"Apologies for not mastering the art of self-defense in five days.” I grab a towel and bottle of water off the bench press. "I think I did fairly well under the time constraints."

Milo's gaze focuses on my lips as I pop open the nub of the water bottle with my teeth. "Yes, very well.” He rubs his chin. "But I do hope your arms training was more—" He pauses as I wipe the water dripping down the side of my mouth. "Fruitful."

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by just how fruitful it was," I say, padding the towel on my breasts. I need a fucking shower. He heads to the door. We're going now? "Aren't you forgetting your shirt?"

"If you can walk around half-naked, so can I," he says, exiting the gym. "I'm a feminist, you see."

"I have clothes on," I note with a head tilt. "I'm hardly naked."

"You might as well be." His gaze sweeps across my body as his fingers scoop up the strap to my sports bra. "There is not a lot left for the imagination."

"Oh, but there is, trust me.” I let out an amused chuckle when Milo's eyes harden. Smartass. "Are you sure you trust me with a gun, Mr. Di Vaio?"

"Do you feel like shooting me, Kiara?" he smirks, leading me toward the range that's across the hall from the gym.

"Always, sir," I coo as we enter a large cement room with an angled backstop on the far wall. Gio explained to me that it's built that way so bullets ricochet up. I'd hate to be the poor bastard that learned that the hard way.

Milo selects a Beretta 92 FS from the armory, his go-to apparently. "You will use this." I watch in awe as he grabs a magazine off the counter, inserts it into the well, and racks the slide; his movements graceful, fast, like it's ingrained into his muscle memory. "Here."

I take the pistol from Milo as he places protection over our ears. I re-grip the Italian-made gun at the base, hovering my index finger over the trigger. The paper targets hang ten yards away.

Milo stands behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders, applying pressure to the blades. "You must relax, Kiara," he whispers and my body melts against his touch. "You need to hold the Beretta with a firm grip but allow for a bounce-back, understood? Anticipate a recoil."

"Okay.” I aim at the target, taking a deep breath as I focus my vision on the red dot in the center of the paper. I pull the trigger and shoot off ten rounds, my shoulder jolting back after each fire. It's an exhilarating feeling, cathartic, something I'm scared to grow accustomed to.

"Let's see how I did.” I remove the earmuffs and flick on the mechanical rails. The target flies toward us, most of the shots in the center of the target. I spin to face an impressed Milo, unable to hide my prideful grin. "Pretty good, right?"

He shrugs as if I didn't just kick some serious Beretta ass. "Not bad." He walks back to the armory and retrieves two more pistols. "With these now. You must learn to be... flexible."

"A challenge? Fine." I roll my eyes, grabbing the Ruger GP100 revolver from his hand. This one was my favorite to shoot this week. Made me feel like I was in a Western. Reach for the sky.

For the next thirty minutes, I showcase my impeccable talent for firearms. I never thought I'd enjoy firing a weapon, I'm a pacifist, but damn, this shit is fun as fuck.

"I must hand it to you, Kiara," Milo says at the end of the session. "You are a fast learner, not many women can handle the strength and power of a .357 magnum."

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