Page 35 of Milo

I need some.

"Can I?" I ask Milo who has a Marlboro tucked between his index and middle finger.

"Only a little.” He cocks his head to the side, holding the smoke in front of my face. I latch on to the end of the cigarette and suck, smoke filling my lungs, the combination of stimulants jolting me awake.

I can't sit any longer. I need to stand. I need to move.

"I want to dance," I say, exhaling a smoky cloud into Milo's face as I stand up. My knees feel weak, wobbly, but I don't care. Everything feels so good, so light. "I'll be on the dance floor."

His jaw tenses. "Five minutes. You can dance for five minutes."

"How generous of you, Mr. Di Vaio.” I down the last of my drink and traipse out of the alcove. Gio follows behind me, not too close, but he's there, watching me, making sure I don't do anything reckless.

I close my eyes when I reach the center of the crowded dance floor, the carnal beats filling my ears, thumping in my blood as I move to the sensuous pounding music.

The air is moist and humid and thick, and I'm flying, running my hands through my hair, down my body, my curves. I become entranced in the dark melody.

Song after song, I dance, forgetting about everything. My past, my present, my future. None of it matters. Not now. Not when I feel like a fucking queen.

A hand grabs my waist and tugs me backward. Milo. His intense oaky cologne smells so fucking good, musky and spicy and masculine, and so goddamn sweet.

I don't stop moving to the music as he wraps his arms around my hips. No. I move more. I sway faster, harder, with more urgency.

"Mmm…” I lean back against his sculpted chest, winding my arms around his neck, my fingers tugging on his hair as my ass grinds against his pelvis.

"The things I want to do to you," Milo breathes, dragging his nose along the shell of my ear. He cups my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers.

I let out a moan, arching into his chest. "Like what? Tell me what you want to do to me, Mr. Di Vaio."

His hand coils around my neck, caressing my jaw, my chin, my lips. "Unspeakable things.” He spins me around, raking his hands through my sweaty hair as he adds in a growl, "But not when you're fucking high."

"Do you want to fuck me right now, sir?" I click my tongue. "I thought I was the one that was supposed to be begging, hmm?"

He doesn't like that. Not one bit. I knew he wouldn’t. But that's why I said it. Why I poked the dragon. I want his fire. I want him to burn me. I want to feel something.

Anything.

"You're leaving.” He snaps his fingers at Gio who rushes toward us. "Take her back to the hotel. Watch her."

"Why?" I whine as Gio hands me my purse. "I don't want to leave."

"Go," he hisses, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Now."

I roll my eyes, following Gio out of the club. There's no use in fighting. He always gets his way. Always.

I hate him. God, I hate him. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself?

My euphoric state dwindles on the ride back to the hotel.

Asshole.

Slamming my bedroom door shut, I strip out of my dress and slip under the covers, my body still thrumming off the last remnants of drugs in my system.

Closing my eyes, my hand travels down my stomach toward my sex.

Fuck Milo.

I can be my own dragon.

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