46. Milo #2
“Mm. You like the idea of someone watching, kitten? Maybe you want me to put a camera in your room next time. You can turn it on whenever you want. Give me a show while I fist my cock.” I notch myself at her entrance, teasing with shallow thrusts that have her tilting her hips up, desperate for more.
The diner’s back door creaks—the cook inside yelling about an order—and my heart slams in my chest, the thrill of almost getting caught making my cock twitch.
“Yes. Please—” She doesn’t finish the plea, because I slam into her in one brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt, and she cries out, the sound muffled against her arm as she bites down to stifle it.
The heat of her is insane—tight, wet, clenching around me like she’s trying to pull me deeper.
I don’t give her time to adjust. I fuck her hard and fast, just like she needs, my hips snapping against her with enough force to make the brick scrape her back.
One hand grips her hip, holding her steady, while the other slides up to fist her hair, yanking her head back so I can whisper filthy nothings in her ear.
“Listen to that,” I rasp, thrusting deeper, the wet slap of our bodies obscenely loud in the quiet alley.
“Anyone could hear how much you love this cock. Imagine if your cook friend pops out for a smoke—sees you getting railed like a dirty little secret, creaming all over me while you beg for more. Bet he’d jerk off to it later, wishing he could have a taste.
But then I’d have to kill him, wouldn’t I?
Because you’re mine right now. Ours. The Hangmen’s perfect little obsession. ”
She moans, low and broken, her body trembling as she meets every thrust, sucking me in like she’s as feral as that night on the beach. “Milo—harder—fuck, someone’s coming—”
Footsteps echo from inside the diner, voices near the back door.
The risk hits like adrenaline straight to my veins, and I speed up, pounding into her relentlessly, my free hand sliding down to rub her clit in tight, frantic circles.
She’s shaking, walls fluttering around me, so close I can feel her teetering on the edge.
“Come for me, kitten,” I growl, mouth at her ear.
“Come all over my cock while I fill this greedy cunt—let them hear how good it feels when you choose the guy who can’t stop watching you.
You’re mine to obsess over, mine to ruin—ours to share.
Imagine the others seeing this, getting hard thinking about their turn—”
The voices get louder. And that’s what sends her over.
She comes with a muffled scream, her body seizing around me, milking me so tight I lose it too.
I thrust deep one last time, spilling inside her with a guttural curse, heat flooding her as the world narrows to the pulse of her around me, the risk thrumming in my ears.
Someone inside shouts something about a missing spatula, and the voices recede, oblivious.
We both sag against the wall, panting, my forehead pressed to hers as aftershocks ripple through us.
She’s trembling, legs locked around my waist, and I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her close, kissing her the way she deserves.
“Fuck,” she whispers, half-laughing, half-gasping. “That was insane.”
“Insane is my love language, kitten.” I pull out slowly and tuck myself away, both of us hissing at the loss, and help her fix her panties and dress, smoothing the fabric over her hips like I’m putting her back together.
“You okay?” I ask, brushing my thumb along her jaw and kissing her softly. “That was . . . intense. And public as hell.”
She nods, eyes bright and wicked, cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment that makes her look even more edible. “Better than okay.” She pauses, biting her lip as her gaze turns curious, a little hesitant. “But . . . were you serious? About putting a camera in my room?”
I freeze for a split second, my grin faltering as the question sinks in—dark and delicious, pulling us right back to the edge of what got us here.
Her voice is breathy, not accusatory, but there’s an uncomfortable spark in her eyes, like she’s testing the line between betrayal and something filthier.
My cock twitches at the thought, even spent, because fuck, the idea of her performing for me—for us—on her terms?
It’s the hottest redemption arc I can imagine.
“Serious as a hanging, kitten,” I murmur, leaning in to nip at her earlobe, my voice dropping low and rough.
“But only if you ask for it. Only if you flip the switch yourself and give me that show—let me watch you touch yourself, knowing I’m fisting my cock on the other end, obsessing over every moan.
Hell, invite the others to tune in. Make it a group screening. But it’s your call. Your control.”
I look right at her, because this part can’t be dirty talk. “No more secret cameras. No more watching without asking. I learned my lesson.”
Only then do I let my mouth tilt. “If you ever want a camera on you, kitten, you turn it on. And I’ll worship whatever you choose to show me.”
Her breath hitches, cheeks flushing deeper, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she presses closer, her hand sliding down my chest like she’s already imagining it. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”
I kiss her again, slower this time—like I’m rewinding the last five minutes to taste every second properly.
Her hands roam under my shirt, flattening against my ribs, tracing the lines of me in a way that makes my skin tingle.
For the first time in my life, I want to stand still, let someone else do all the moving.
I want to be studied and cataloged and archived in the part of her brain that keeps the things that matter.
I pull away at last, just enough to see her face. She looks high and happy and a little victorious. I want to look into this face forever.
“You should get back inside,” I say softly. “Your customers are gonna think you got kidnapped.”
She looks at my face and wipes the corner of my mouth with her thumb. “Okay.” She gives me another quick kiss, then turns toward the open back door, pausing just before she enters. “Hey, Milo?”
I lift my brow, waiting for whatever she wants to say.
“Put a camera on the ceiling. I want you to be able to see everything.”