Page 63 of Milo

No consequences, no moral dilemmas, no right, no wrong.

Just pure fucking debilitating ecstasy.

I wind my fingers through his dark hair, tugging at his roots as I undulate my hips around his sordid mouth, needing more friction, more pleasure, more everything.

The pressure builds inside me, twisting my uterus, his fingers relentless in their assault. My walls tighten around him, my breathing wild, raw, unfiltered as I bite my fist to stop myself from fucking screaming.

"You're so close, Kiara—" A roaring, animalistic growl leaves the back of his throat as he commands, "Come for me, tesoro. Come for me."

His tongue fucks me like I've never been fucked before. My hips buck forward as a tidal wave of dirty releases gushes from my sex, soaking his face, spraying his fingers, dripping down my thigh like a broken fucking dam.

He holds down my quivering legs as another orgasm rips through my body, the intensity nearly blinding me.

I pant, my legs shaking as he finally withdraws his devilish fingers. My heart races, my mind blank, stars in my fucking eyes.

"Oh my God," I breathe as Milo dismounts me, the mattress bouncing as he gets off the bed. "Holy shit."

"Goodnight, Kiara." Milo's voice is so faint, so quiet like he's not even here. "Go to sleep."

I hum, my body exhausted, drained, defeated as my eyes flicker shut.

And I sleep.

I sleep like the fucking dead.

Until I wake up.

And the pleasure is gone.

And the only thing I feel...

Is anger.

Chapter 18

Torn and Troubled

Last night, he gave me everything I wanted.

But took everything I had.

Before him, my life was in black and white. It was boring, average, nothing special.

But now it's red.

Just red.

The line between passion, pleasure, pain, and persecution is thin. So fucking thin. It's a dangerous tightrope to walk, and there's no net at the bottom to catch me if I fall; there's only fire, flames, fury.

Fury.

It's stewing inside my stomach as I get dressed. It's coursing through my veins as I apply my cosmetics. It's eating away at my heart as I curl my hair.

It's glowing in my eyes, spreading through my limbs like an out-of-control wildfire; chaotic, destructive, deadly.

But I can't let it kill me. I can't let it win. I made my bed, and I will lay in it. Like a dog, like a flea-infested mutt who has nowhere else to go, no one to go to, no one to care, no one to save me, no one to put out the flames.

I am alone in my rage.

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