Milo

29. Dirty Little Secrets

Chapter 29

Dirty Little Secrets

I am not a classically trained stripper.

I probably shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be knocking on Milo's bedroom door with only a silk robe and skimpy lingerie covering my body. I shouldn't already be flushed from the idea of giving him a lap dance. I shouldn't be thinking that this is the perfect Vittoria antidote.

But I am.

Maybe I've lost my mind. Possible. But there's no way in hell I'm losing him. Not with what I have planned. Not in this outfit. Or lack-there-of.

Some cures are slow, they take time to work.

Personally, I prefer a more aggressive approach.

Fast acting.

"Enter."

My heart thuds in my chest as I open the door. Confidence. My stilettos click against the hardwood floor, my hips swaying seductively as I slowly walk toward him. Milo's sitting on a black leather armchair like it's a fucking throne and he's the goddamn king .

My mouth dries. Shit. This might be more difficult than I thought.

"Hi," I breathe, my chest rising as he looks up at me with a darkened, deviant expression. I bite my lip, slipping the robe off my shoulders, revealing the spilling flesh of my breasts. "Worth the wait?"

"Oh, fucking hell," Milo grunts, running two fingers over his lips as I approach. Ideal reaction. Thank you, Claudia. "Kiara, you?—"

"Shh," I command, dropping the robe to my feet as I start moving my body in circular motions, using my frantic heartbeat as a metronome. "Don't move. Don't talk. Just watch."

I glide my hands over every curve of my body, my breasts, my hips, my stomach. My skin pebbles as I imagine that it's his hands touching me, groping me, making me so fucking horny. Turning around, I bend over, dragging my hand up the length of my thigh-high stockings, my neck craned over my shoulder as I wiggle my ass. Just a little.

"Like what you see?" I coo, sifting my fingers through my hair as I stride toward him. He doesn't say anything which pleases me greatly. "Cat's got your tongue, baby? Or maybe it's a kitten? A little gattina? Hmm?"

His lecherous eyes are narrowed, focused, locked in on my half-naked body, his mouth slightly agape as he orders, "Come here. Right now."

"As you wish, sir." Slithering up between Milo's parted, inviting legs, I lean forward, my back arched, my hips swaying as I grip either side of the armchair. "Let's play a little game, Mr. Di Vaio," I whisper, teasingly inching my breasts closer and closer to his tensed face. His shallow, hot breath blows against my chest. "What do you say?"

"I thought we were done playing games, tesoro," he rasps, lifting his hand up to imprint me with his scalding touch.

"Ah, ah, ah…” I pull away and wave my index finger in the air as I click my tongue, a sense of control and power burning inside me. "That's part of the game. No touching."

Milo's pupils expand with carnivorous hunger. "That is impossible. Like asking a man not to breathe."

"If you succeed…” I arch down and wisp my lips against the soft shell of his ear. "I will let you fuck me—" I pause, circling my breasts in front of his face. "Anywhere."

A feral groan vibrates his throat, the thunderous sound reverberating against my red lips. "How long does this fucking game last?"

"Five minutes," I reply, my tone airy and full of anticipation. "Can you control your impulses for five little minutes, sir?"

"Are you certain you want me to succeed?" he asks through his teeth. "Are you certain you wish to grant me access to every single part of your body?"

"Absolutely certain.” Milo's jaw locks, every muscle in his body clenching as I turn around and hover my ass just above his lap. "Five minutes starts... now."

Grabbing onto his knees, I expel a gasp as I lower my ass down to his pelvis and grind against his growing erection. "That was quick.” I lean back and fondle my breasts in sensual movements. His balmy erratic breath fans against my neck as I continue to torture the man who's tortured me for weeks. "You're doing so good, baby.”

"I can smell how wet you are, Kiara," Milo growls, his hard cock twitching against my gyrating hips. His evident discomfort only makes me grind harder. "Fuck..."

"Mmm...if only you could feel how wet I am.” I glide two fingers over the smooth damp fabric of my panties, arching my spine as the back of my head rests on his shoulder. "I'm soaked. So fucking wet ."

"Dio aiutami.” Milo grips the cushions of the armchair, his knuckles whiter than the purest cocaine. "How much longer?" His thick, strained voice is like a prayer to the heavens. Except in this moment, God is a woman. And Milo is just a man. A lowly mortal. Putty in my evil hands.

"There is power in restraint, Mr. Di Vaio.” I rock my hips in stronger, deeper motions. His zipper creates delicious friction against my sex. "Control yourself."

"Enough!" Milo roars. I moan as he yanks my hair, tugging my head back, his tongue licking the slope of my neck. "True power lies in taking what you want." Oh, shit. His hands snap up to my chest, squeezing my breasts, my nipples helpless between his fingers as he twists and turns and torments. "I lose."

He jerks up, spinning me in his arms, violent yearning blazing in his irises.

"And what do you want?" I pant as he dips his thumb between my quivering lips, his right hand kneading my ass cheeks. I suck on his fingers, twirling my tongue. "Hmm?"

"I want to choke you with my cock," he growls, pushing me down to my knees, cupping my jaw. Tight. "And then I want to fuck you so hard that the dead will hear your cries."

And she will.

"As you wish.” I release his pulsing erection and stroke his silky shaft, precum glistens on the tip like fucking diamonds. A girl's best friend. Gathering my hair in one hand, Milo surges forward, knocking the air out of my lungs as he fucking annihilates every inch of my willing mouth.

"Such a good girl," he growls.

I gag and groan and gasp for breath as he takes what he wants and gives me everything I need. He claims me and I mark him— the smudged red lipstick on the base of his cock a warning to all the bitches in the world that this man is mine.

With tears in my eyes and saliva dripping down my chin, Milo pulls me to my feet. Lurching forward, his lips devour mine, carnal and chaotic. We stumble toward his four-pillar bed, my pussy dripping, aching, needing to be filled.

Whipping me around, he throws me on the bed, my forearms and knees dipping the firm mattress as my chest heaves with vicious arousal.

"Don't you dare rip the fucking panties," I say, between pleasurable groans as he slaps my ass repeatedly, giving each cheek plenty of wanted attention. "They were expensive."

A dark, amused chuckle spills past his lips as his fingers curl under the luxurious fabric, pushing it to the side. "As you wish, baby," he mocks me as he buries his face inside my slick folds, his tongue probing, pillaging, penetrating all my fucking holes.

"Oh my God!" I cry, fisting the bedsheets so hard that they might disintegrate. "Holy shit!"

A husky groan escapes the back of this throat as he slips two fingers inside of me, swirling my juices like a goddamn cyclone. My abs contract as I near release, my eyes rolling back, my toes curling, my whole-body fucking humming with elation.

"Not yet" he commands as he replaces his fingers with his cock, teasing my sex for just a second before slamming inside me. My entire body jerks forward as he breeches my walls. My defense. My shield. It's down. Gone. Nothing there. He has me. All of me. And it feels so fucking good.

Snaking his arms around my torso, he yanks me against his bare chest, destroying my pussy with every deep thrust. "You are fucking perfect," he mutters, his voice raw, hoarse as he scoops my breasts out of the bra and rolls my nipples between his fingers. "You are a goddess, a fucking savior."

"Oh my God, harder!" I beg, soaring through celestial skies, relishing in his worship, his wickedness, his bewitching power. "Milo!"

"Fuck, yes, yes, yes!" he grunts, slobbering wet kisses all over my sweaty body as my walls clench around his throbbing cock and we both come undone, our bodies shaking in a rapturous stupor.

Best nine hundred Euros I've ever spent.

Ever.

After catching our breath, Milo helps me off the bed, holding my body with a gentle touch as we go to the bathroom to clean up. What a disaster. I lean into the mirror, adjusting the tangled mess of lingerie that's still somehow intact.

"You didn't rip anything," I muse, tossing him a coy glance as he splashes cold water on his face. "I'm impressed."

"See? Self-control," he smirks, leaning against the counter. "Are you proud of me, tesoro? I am a changed man."

I snort. "You lost the game. Very early."

He cocks his head to the side, raking his fingers through my hair. “No, I definitely won."

"I'm not a prize," I retort, unable to stop myself from grinning.

"Correct, you are not a prize," he says, pulling me against his chest into a strong, tender embrace. "You are a treasure that I've been searching for my whole life."

"Your whole life?" I ask cautiously, kissing his neck as my heart hammers in my chest. "As in you've never found it before?"

We both know what I'm asking.

I think.

"Never," he whispers, kissing my forehead. "Until now."

"Me neither," I admit, averting my gaze, suddenly feeling shy, exposed, bare. But it's the truth. A terrifying fact. "We uh—" I clear my throat. "We should get ready for dinner. Julia said Teresa is making Pansotti."

"Let's shower," he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows. "I will clean you. You are a very dirty girl."

"Tempting." I narrow my eyes, casting him an unimpressed scowl. "But we don't have time. It's almost eight."

"Fine," he says, with an unbothered shrug. "I don't mind if you smell like sex." He pauses, tilting his head. "Do you?"

"I'll use some perfume," I say, exiting the bathroom. "Chanel overpowers anything."

"You will need to use the whole bottle, tesoro.” He slaps my ass on the way out. "Maybe two."

"Good thing you can afford it," I sing, picking up my robe and tossing it on. "See you in a few minutes."

His distant laugh spears into my skin like sunshine as I head to my bedroom. It's rare to admire someone who has two distinctly different sides. Milo is like an old book, his edges are rough, harsh, somewhat withered, but inside, there's a masterpiece, adventure, romance.

In a dazzling daze, I get ready for dinner, my cheeks hurting from the smile that refuses to leave my face. It's like I've been thrust into Aldous Huxley's A Brave New World , and I have Soma coursing through my body. I'm calm, pacified, in a total state of bliss.

Milo meets me at the top of the staircase as we walk hand-in-hand to the dining room, taking our places around the table.

"You are glowing," Julia whispers in my ears as idle conversation surrounds us. "I take it he enjoyed your purchase."

"That's one way to put it," I grin, shoving a piece of ravioli in my mouth as I glance over to Milo who's chatting with Marchello. I let out a content sigh. "It's really good."

"Please be talking about the food, cara," Julia says, leaning away from me. "Please."

"Hmm?" I hum, choking on the walnut and mushroom stuffed pasta. "Oh, yeah. It's delicious."

Julia scowls. "Mhmm, okay."

"We're adults, Jules. Get over it."

"Still gross," she huffs, taking a sip of wine. Her phone vibrates on the table and she picks it up, grinning. "Ah! Look! Tutte! Tutte!" Julia holds out the phone, showing us a picture of Natalia dressed in a professional tutu. "Isn't she the most adorable sugar plum fairy?! Her class is putting on a production of The Nutcracker. Ah! So cute! Paolo look!"

"The Nutcracker is a little advanced for a three-year-old.” I turn to Milo as Julia continues to gush over her precious daughter. "Right?"

"I do not believe it will be as choreographed as the original," Milo chuckles. "They mostly hop around...or cry."

"We attend every recital," Marchello says, checking his watch. "We support the children of this family."

"And we are so grateful for that!" Julia exclaims, joining our conversation. "Children are such a blessing, cara, believe me! When you have one of your own, you'll see. I remember when I was pregnant, God, I couldn't wait for it to be over so I could drink some fucking wine..." She trails off as I play with the food on my plate, a tiny pang of sadness grasping my heart.

A blessing I might never get to experience.

"Julia, enough.” Milo’s hand finds my thigh and he gives it a gentle, almost reassuring squeeze. He knows. He's seen my medical history. I look up from my plate to find him glaring at his sister. "Please."

Julia frowns, casting me an inquisitive side-eye. "What?—"

"Later," I whisper with a weak smile. "It's fine."

"Oh," she hums warily. "I'm sorry, did I say?—"

"It's fine," I assure her, taking a sip of wine. "So, when is the recital?"

"It's on?—"

Marchello clears his throat. "Kiara," he says, nodding toward the bottle of Bordeaux on the table. "Pass me the wine."

"Oh, sure.” I pick up the bottle and reach across the table to hand it to him. "Here."

"Thank—Merda!" Marchello fumes as I let go of the bottle and it falls on the table, toppling over, spilling on the dark linens, and dripping down the side onto his pants. "Fuck!"

"Oh my God!" I cover my mouth, my cheek burning up. "I'm so sorry! I thought you had it!"

"Clearly not," Marchello grumbles, yanking a napkin off the table and dabbing his lap. "This was the last bottle! Fuck sakes."

"It's just wine, Marchello," Milo says, letting out a sigh. "Relax."

"I'll go get another bottle!" I offer, hopping out of my seat. "If you clean your pants now, they won't stain. I'll be right back."

"Fine." Marchello's lips twist up into a scowl. "There should be one more bottle left in the kitchen."

"I'm on it!" I dip down to give Milo a kiss on the cheek. "Be right back."

Wincing, I clench my fists and scurry off to the kitchen. The man already doesn't like me very much and I do that?! Oh, God. Stupid.

It takes a minute to search the built-in wine cellar, but I find the bottle. Gripping it tightly, I head out of the kitchen. Don't drop this one. As I round the corner, I bump into the plump sturdy frame of Teresa.

"Oh! Teresa, hi. Sorry, I didn't see you there."

She spins around, a silver tray in hand. "Signorina," she swallows, her gaze darting down to the pile of brown mush on the tray. "Good evening. How is dinner? Good?"

"Yeah, it's super delicious," I say, narrowing my eyes. Is that risotto? Oatmeal? I can't tell. Either way, it does not look very appetizing. "Did you uh—want to come eat with us?"

"Oh, no no.” She shakes her head, letting out a nervous laugh. "I go eat in my room. Not feeling well tonight." Teresa blinks. "This is old family recipe. Good for stomach."

I purse my lips, put off by her flustered demeanor. I scan the tray again. Plastic utensils? What? "Are you okay?" I ask, tilting my head, trying to get a read on her. A slight frown. Widened eyes. Tense posture. Guilt?

"I am fine, Signorina! Simply tired is all." She clears her throat. "I go now, yes?"

"Oh, umm...yeah sure," I say, forcing a smile, unease tugging at my gut. "Feel better."

"Grazie mille.” Teresa turns on her heel and heads down the hallway .

What the hell was that? Whatever. I need to focus on the task at hand. Wine.

Exiting the kitchen, I freeze at the sound of descending footsteps. She's going downstairs ? Why would she go to the basement? All the estate workers reside on the first floor.

Without thinking, I remove my heels and I follow the pitter-patter of her tiny steps down the staircase. I've officially lost my mind. Why am I stalking our cook? Because she was acting hella suspicious, a voice in my head replies. I roll my eyes. I live in a house full of criminals, everyone acts suspicious. I really need to get over these trust issues.

Keeping my distance, like a lunatic, I crane my neck over the railing as Teresa fumbles to open a lock to a door I've never seen before. I frown. Where is she going?

As soon as her body disappears through the weathered wooden door, I run toward it before it slams shut. Sticking my foot out, I hold it open and squeeze through, propping the bottle of wine under my arm as I tiptoe down the foreign stairs. I run my fingers along the untreated stone walls, the dim recessed lighting making it hard to see.

Where the hell are we?

The clamping sound of metal catches my attention as I turn the corner. My heartbeat quickens as I watch Teresa slide the tray of food – if we can call it that – through a steel slot carved in the prison-like door. She dusts her hands off as she stands upright and turns around.

"Signorina!" she gasps, covering her mouth as I slowly walk down the stairs. "What are you doing here?!"

"I could ask you the same question, Teresa," I say, my fingertips tingling from the sudden onset of anxiety and dread. "What's behind there?"

Teresa shakes her head, planting her body in front of the steel door, her head bobbing in front of the large sliding peephole in the center. "Nothing. Please, Signorina, you must leave."

I suck in a deep breath, gripping the straps of my shoes as a wave of trepidation nearly drowns me. "Teresa, move."

"No, per favore," she pleads. "You cannot be here. You need to leave."

"Move," I state, peering down at her with a stern expression. "Or I will make you move."

She whimpers, hobbling off to the side as I take a step toward the door. My throat clogs up as I slowly slide the hatch open. I narrow my focus on the back corner of the empty, dark room. There's someone sitting on a dirty mattress. Their shaved head is turned away from me, but I can see bruises and cuts on the side of their face.

A familiar face. So fucking familiar.

"Who is tha?—"

The wine slips from my hands, shattering on the ground as they whip their head toward me, his beady blue eyes piercing mine.

I stumble backward, blinded by shock, rage, fucking betrayal.

"Signorina, the glass! Be careful!"

Andre.