Chapter 109: Play Time
Salvatore stepped into his bedroom, the door closing behind him with a solid click. He unbuttoned his vest, tossed it onto the armchair, and went straight to the bathroom to wash off the dirt.
The hot water cleared his head, but it didn’t ease the persistent tension in his jaw.
After showering and slipping into a dark silk robe, he walked over to the nightstand and picked up his phone. A detailed report from Liam was waiting for him.
Salvatore scrolled through the lines, his gray eyes narrowing. Milo had authorized three catering deliveries for the entire office staff, purchased high-end coffee machines for the breakrooms, and approved an unearned holiday bonus for the drivers.
What the hell?
Salvatore set the phone down and lit a cigarette, inhaling the heavy smoke.
Milo was operating on pure, naive instinct. He was treating a multi-million-dollar corporate network like a charity. Without strict supervision, he would bankrupt the entire Hartley Group within months.
Salvatore knew that what Milo was doing now would create loopholes for other things, and it would only get worse over time. Everyone would come to take Milo for granted.
Yet, Salvatore hadn’t intervened. He wanted to see how Milo would handle the responsibilities under his purview.
But there was another detail that kept Salvatore’s chest tight. Over the past four days, Milo hadn’t sought him out.
The young man was completely absorbed in his new routine, spending his days, from morning until late at night, with Liam. Milo seemed to have forgotten all about his intense attachment to him.
And for some reason Salvatore couldn’t fully explain, it left him thoroughly upset.
"That little bastard," Salvatore muttered, exhaling a long cloud of gray smoke toward the dark ceiling. "I’m sure soon he’ll cast me aside completely."
He should be happy about it, but it seemed he wasn’t.
He leaned back against the leather sofa, enjoying the quiet stillness of his room. It was past midnight, the only time of day when he could exist solely for himself and enjoy his own time.
But a sudden, sharp knock rattled his bedroom door.
Salvatore’s expression darkened instantly. He despised being disturbed in his private room, it was the one boundary his men knew never to cross without an emergency.
"Who?!" Salvatore shouted, his voice a harsh, echoing rumble.
"It’s me, Sir!"
The voice was clear. Salvatore recognized it immediately.
Milo.
Salvatore braced himself, expecting to feel annoyed by the intrusion. Instead, a strange, sudden flutter hit the pit of his stomach, his heart thudding a fraction faster against his ribs.
It was infuriating how much the simple sound of the young man’s voice affected him after days of distance.
He cleared his throat, smoothing down the front of his robe.
"Come in!" Salvatore commanded.
The door swung open, and Milo stepped into the room with a bright, genuine grin on his face. He was dressed in a pair of clean, soft blue pajamas, his brown hair slightly damp, as if he had just showered.
Salvatore crushed his cigarette out in the glass tray, his gray eyes tracking the young man’s rapid approach.
"Why are you so happy?"
Milo’s grin widened as he stopped two feet from the sofa, holding a thick paper shopping bag.
"Sir, I bought more shirts today!"
Salvatore furrowed his brow, his tone flat. "And?"
Milo set the bag directly on the low table in front of Salvatore.
"Liam accompanied me to the central district tailors after the meeting. We got a lot of stuff. They have a lot of good stuff."
Salvatore didn’t look at the bag. He wasn’t interested in Liam, and he certainly wasn’t interested in tailor receipts.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Milo’s grin faded slightly, a deep, sudden crimson blush creeping up his neck and flooding his cheeks. He twisted his fingers together, looking up at Salvatore through his eyelashes.
"Can... can you play with me tonight, Sir? Are you... are you too tired?"
Salvatore inhaled sharply, a stray bit of smoke catching in his throat. He broke into a sudden, rough fit of coughing, his chest heaving as he stood up quickly from the sofa to clear his airway.
He stared at Milo in absolute disbelief. "What did you just say?"
Milo took a deep breath, his hazel eyes wide and completely unyielding despite the intense blush on his skin. "I... I’ll get ready right now, if you want."
"Milo, what the hell are you talking about?" Salvatore demanded, his voice dropping into a heavy and dangerously low tone.
"Ah, I know you hate it when Sir Felix tries to force his way into your space," Milo said, his voice small but steady as he stepped closer, his heart pounding against his ribs. "And I’m sure you’re annoyed with my feelings too. But... I’m sure I can enjoy playing with you. I want to try."
Salvatore stared down at him, his jaw tightly set. The sheer audacity of the boy was staggering. He had spent days trying to build a protective wall to shield Milo from his own dark impulses, and the young man had simply walked right past it, offering himself with a shopping bag and a pair of pajamas.
"You seem incredibly stubborn," Salvatore growled. "What will you do if you can’t handle it, Milo? This isn’t a game. I won’t stop once I’ve started."
Milo smiled softly, a flicker of raw, beautiful hope lighting up his hazel eyes as he sensed that Salvatore wanted to give him a chance.
"I’m sure I can handle it, Sir. I trust you."
Salvatore looked at the delicate line of Milo’s throat, the deep, primal urge to claim this beautiful creature rushing through his blood like wildfire.
He had tried to be the protector, but deep down, he wanted to touch Milo.
"Please, Sir," Milo whispered, his body leaning into the heat of the larger man.
Salvatore didn’t say another word. He turned, his hand gripping Milo’s wrist firmly, and led him toward the back of the bedroom.
He bypassed the main closet, pressing his palm flat against a hidden wooden panel in the wainscoting. The latch clicked open, revealing a heavy, insulated door that Milo had never noticed before.
Salvatore pushed the door open and guided Milo inside, flipping a brass switch on the wall.
The room was entirely painted in matte black, the floor covered in thick, soundproof red carpeting. In the center of the space stood a wide, custom-built bed frame lined with smooth black leather covers.
Heavy steel rings were anchored into the corners of the headboard, and a low table nearby held a collection of soft leather restraints, cuffs, and heavy blindfolds.
Milo looked around and gulped. He had been eager to play with the man, but seeing the items in the room now, along with how isolated the room was from the outside, made him nervous.
No one could save him if the man tried to kill him.
Milo’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding violently against his ribs as Salvatore shut the door, cutting off all sound from the rest of the mansion.
The darkness of the room was intense, but the warm, steady presence of Salvatore standing right behind him kept the panic from choking him.
"Strip," Salvatore commanded. The tone was completely different now, devoid of the casual, deep, protective quality, replaced by cold, absolute authority.
Milo exhaled. He was the one who had asked for this, he couldn’t back down now. His hands trembled as he reached for the buttons of his pajama shirt.
He unbuttoned the fabric slowly, letting the blue silk slide off his shoulders and fall to the black carpet. He followed with the trousers, standing entirely vulnerable in the center of the room, his pale skin contrasting sharply with the black leather of the bed.
"On your stomach. Hands behind your back," Salvatore ordered, his gray eyes scanning every inch of Milo’s frame with a heavy, possessive intensity.
Milo climbed onto the bed, the smooth leather cool against his skin. He lay flat on his stomach, burying his face into the soft leather pillow, and crossed his wrists over his lower back.
Every nerve in his body was on fire, a mixture of intense anticipation and survival adrenaline making his muscles tremble.
Salvatore walked over to the nightstand, picked up a pair of soft, lined leather cuffs, and knelt on the edge of the mattress.
The bed shifted heavily under his weight, a familiar, grounding sensation that made Milo let out a shaky breath.
Salvatore took Milo’s wrists, wrapping the soft leather bands around his skin and fastening the buckles with a swift, practiced click. He didn’t use the steel rings on the headboard, he kept Milo’s hands secured firmly against his own spine.
"You stay exactly like this until I give you permission to move, understand?" Salvatore murmured, his voice a low, hot friction near Milo’s ear. "I need to teach you a lot of things, but I just want to play a little now. First of all, call me Master."
"Yes, Master... I understand," Milo gasped, the word slipping past his lips with a raw, honest compliance that made him tremble.
Salvatore reached for a bottle of warm, natural oil on the table. He poured a generous amount into his palms, rubbing his hands together to warm the liquid before pressing his large, heavy palms flat against Milo’s shoulders.
Milo flinched instinctively at the sudden contact, his muscles tensing, but Salvatore’s touch remained steady, his hands beginning a slow, deep massage that released the tension from Milo’s back.
"Relax," Salvatore commanded, his touch firm yet entirely mindful of the healing welts on Milo’s skin. He moved his hands down Milo’s spine, his thumbs pressing into the tight muscles near his lower back, easing the tension from his body.
Milo groaned softly into the pillow, his body slowly relaxing beneath the intense control of the man. The dominance was absolute, but there was a careful consideration in the way Salvatore tracked his breathing, ensuring the pressure remained manageable without triggering panic.
Milo felt completely trapped, completely restrained, but for the first time in his life, he wanted it that way.
"Master...."
"Don’t speak unless I ask you."
Milo gulped nervously as the man’s hands continued to move over his back.
