Chapter 110: Blind Trust
Salvatore’s hands didn’t pause at the command. He maintained the heavy, rhythmic pressure against Milo’s lower back, his palms slick with the warm oil. The contrast between the cold authority in his voice and the deliberate, grounding warmth of his touch was dizzying.
Milo lay completely still, his face pressed into the dark leather pillow, the metallic click of the buckles behind his back a constant reminder that his freedom of movement was gone.
"You’re shaking," Salvatore murmured, his gray eyes tracking the subtle tremors along Milo’s spine. He slid his hands upward, smoothing over the pale skin. "Fear or anticipation?"
Milo’s throat tightened. He remembered the command and kept his lips pressed firmly together, letting out only a sharp, shaky exhale through his nose.
A low, approving hum vibrated from Salvatore’s chest. "Good boy. You remembered."
Salvatore shifted his weight on the bed, the leather creaking beneath him. He reached over to the low table, his fingers bypassing the heavier leather restraints and selecting a long strip of black silk.
"I’m going to cover your eyes," Salvatore said quietly. "You keep scanning the room like something’s going to come at you. It won’t. When you can’t see, you’ll have nothing left to do but feel me."
He leaned over Milo’s frame, his shadow completely blocking out the dim light before the smooth, cool silk was wrapped securely around Milo’s eyes. Salvatore tied it at the back of his head, ensuring it was snug but not painful.
The darkness became absolute. Without his vision, the sound of Salvatore’s steady breathing and the scent of the natural oil became magnified.
Milo’s heart pounded against his ribs. The primal part of his brain screamed that he was trapped, blind, and bound in an isolated room.
"Breathe with me," Salvatore said. It wasn’t a suggestion. He pressed a large, warm palm flat between Milo’s shoulder blades. "In."
Salvatore took a slow, deep breath, and instinctively Milo followed, expanding his chest against the leather.
"Out."
Milo exhaled, feeling a fraction of the survival adrenaline drain from his muscles. They repeated the cycle three times until Milo’s breathing slowed, tethered entirely to the man above him.
"There you go," Salvatore murmured. His hand left Milo’s back.
The sudden absence of warmth let the cool air hit Milo’s oiled skin, sending a sharp shiver through him. A moment later, something impossibly soft brushed the back of his neck, trailing slowly down to his shoulder blade.
Not a hand. The large, plush faux-fur texturing tool Salvatore had taken from the table.
Milo gasped, his hips twitching instinctively against the bed.
"Still," Salvatore reminded him, the soft texture tracing the curve of Milo’s waist. "Just feel it. Nothing else."
The fur moved down the backs of Milo’s thighs, light as a whisper, teasing the nerve endings and pulling his mind away from anxieties and entirely into the present moment.
The vulnerability of being naked, blind, and bound on the black leather bed was overwhelming, but the meticulous, unhurried pace Salvatore maintained kept the panic from taking root.
Salvatore set the tool down and leaned close to Milo’s ear. "Talk to me. What’s going on in your head right now?"
Milo’s lips parted. For a moment, only a fractured, breathless sound escaped.
The absolute darkness behind the silk blindfold made the room feel vast and infinite, yet Salvatore’s proximity compressed the entire universe down to the heat radiating from his chest and the low vibration of his voice.
"I’m..." Milo swallowed, his throat dry. The leather cuffs behind his back felt heavier now. He subtly tested the tension, his fingers twitching, but there was no slack. "I’m overwhelmed, Master."
"Don’t hold back. Tell me everything you feel. If you don’t tell me, then you don’t trust me. I won’t continue."
Milo gulped. "I’m... It’s just... everything feels scary to me. But I don’t want to stop."
"Scary?"
"It’s... I can’t see anything. The air, the oil, and the way the bed moves when you shift... it makes me nervous."
"Good," Salvatore said. He rested his forearm heavily across the small of Milo’s back, a grounding weight that pinned him to the mattress without causing pain.
"You’ve spent years in difficult situations. I’ve assumed you were under torture you didn’t enjoy. You’ve used your sight and your mind to look for danger, to protect yourself from things you couldn’t control. You don’t have to do that right now. That’s my job in this room."
Milo let out a shaky exhale, his forehead sinking deeper into the pillow. "It’s scary. But I don’t want to run."
"I know," Salvatore said. "You won’t. Because you know I’ve got you. Even when the darkness feels heavy, my hands are heavier."
He shifted, removing his arm. The brief rush of cool air over Milo’s sensitive, oiled skin made him shiver, his muscles tensing in anticipation.
The silence of the soundproof room stretched out, thick and heavy. Milo’s ears strained, tracking the faint rustle of Salvatore reaching for something on the low table.
The soft clink of metal against metal sent a spike of adrenaline straight through Milo’s chest. His past had taught him that unexpected sounds preceded pain, that silence was a prelude to anger.
His heart began to pound violently, his breaths growing shallow.
"Master?" His voice cracked.
"Shh, I’m still here." Salvatore’s voice was immediate, completely steady. "I hear you. Breathe... in through your nose, out through your mouth."
Milo tried, but his lungs felt tight. "The sound... what is that?"
"A brass wand. It’s cold." His tone was matter-of-fact, unhurried. "I’m going to press it against your skin. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to guess. Just listen to my voice."
Before Milo could spiral, the freezing metal touched the nape of his neck. He flinched violently, his hips lifting slightly, a soft cry tearing from his throat.
The metal was ice-cold against his warm, oiled skin, a stark, shocking contrast that instantly shattered his internal panic and forced his entire consciousness into that single point of contact.
"Relax, stay with it," Salvatore commanded, his hand coming down firmly, pressing Milo back into the mattress. "Don’t fight it."
