Chapter 111: Something Like Safe
Milo whimpered, but forced his muscles to go limp. The freezing brass wand remained pressed against the back of his neck. Slowly, agonizingly, it began to absorb his body heat. The sharp, biting cold softened into something heavy and soothing.
"Oh—" Milo groaned softly, his head rolling to the side.
"Yes," Salvatore murmured, quiet satisfaction in his voice. He began drawing the wand slowly down Milo’s spine.
A cold line. Then warm hands following right behind, erasing the chill.
Cold, then warm. Over and over, tracing the contours of his shoulder blades, carefully avoiding the healing welts with precision, following the long lines of his back down to his lower waist.
Milo was entirely caught in the rhythm. His mind, usually crowded with old shadows, had no space left for fear.
He was entirely consumed by the present: the cold metal, the warm oil, the heavy hands, and the absolute certainty of Salvatore’s voice.
Salvatore set the wand down with a soft, deliberate clink.
"Good boy, you’re doing beautifully," he said, low and certain. "You feel that? Your body is starting to understand that letting go isn’t the same as losing."
"Yes, Master," Milo breathed, his hazel eyes wide behind the silk blindfold, staring into nothingness but feeling everything clearly through his skin. "It feels... heavy. Like I don’t have to hold myself up right now."
"You don’t. For the next hour, your body is mine to look after. Your safety, your comfort, your limits, all of that is on me," Salvatore said. He rose from the edge of the mattress, the leather creaking as his weight left the bed entirely.
The sudden emptiness hit Milo immediately. He was blind, hands locked behind his back, skin slick with oil, and the man holding the reins had stepped away. The silence swallowed him.
"Master?" The word came out smaller than he intended.
"Right here," Salvatore said from a few feet away, completely unhurried. "I want to try something. Light impact, a wide leather paddle. Loud, but it won’t cut. It won’t leave a bad mark. It won’t hurt you the way you’re thinking."
A pause. "Do you trust me?"
Milo’s stomach churned. Impact had always meant punishment before. Physical force used as a weapon: to hurt, to shame, to demand compliance. But Salvatore had explained the tool. The sensation. The outcome. He had asked.
Milo shifted his bound wrists and took a breath. "I trust you, Master. Please."
"Good boy. Count to three for me. But relax first, if you tense up, it’ll bite harder. Trust the leather to do its job and trust me to do mine."
Milo let his thighs go limp, sinking into the bed, waiting in the absolute darkness.
Thwack.
The sound exploded through the soundproof room.
Milo gasped, a sharp, blooming heat spread across his skin and then dissolved immediately into deep, radiating warmth. Not tearing, just heat, rushing hard to the surface.
"One," he managed, a single tear slipping from beneath the blindfold, not from pain, but from the sheer release of fear he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
"Breathe," Salvatore said, his voice completely steady, completely free of anger.
Thwack.
The second strike landed on the opposite side, perfectly balanced.
Milo’s hands clenched behind his back, his breath stuttering, but beneath the sting, something strange and warm was rising. A heaviness. An intoxicating loosening of things that had been wound tight for years.
"T-two," he choked out.
"One more. Stay still."
Thwack.
The final strike landed center, solid and ringing.
Milo groaned into the pillow as his whole body flushed with warmth. His head felt light. Floating. Completely unmoored from reality in the best possible way.
"Three," he whispered.
Salvatore set the paddle down immediately. The bed dipped and creaked as he climbed back on, draping himself carefully over Milo, chest against his bound wrists, present without crushing.
His large, warm hands cupped Milo’s face, tilting it gently to the side so he could breathe.
"Perfect," Salvatore murmured, and pressed his lips to Milo’s temple, right at the edge of the blindfold. "Look how brave you are. You faced the sound, you faced the heat, and you stayed right here the whole time."
Milo let out a long, shuddering sob, the tension draining from his body all at once. He couldn’t move his arms to hold on, but he turned his face into Salvatore’s palm, seeking the warmth, seeking the reality of him.
"I was so scared," Milo admitted, the words coming without filter. "I was sure it would feel like before. But it didn’t. It just felt... hot."
"Because there’s no anger in it," Salvatore said quietly, his thumbs wiping the tears from beneath the blindfold. "Everything I give you comes from the same place. You’re mine to take care of. I don’t tear things down, Milo. I protect what is mine."
He reached behind Milo’s back, his fingers finding the buckles. He unfastened them with quiet, practiced efficiency.
"Bring your arms forward. Slowly."
Milo’s arms felt stiff and heavy. He brought them forward carefully, his wrists tingling as the blood flow returned, and immediately gripped Salvatore’s forearms, clinging to him like an anchor in open water.
Salvatore untied the blindfold and pulled it away.
The dim, red-tinted light filtered back in. Milo blinked, his eyes wet and adjusting, focusing on the sharp features of the man above him. Salvatore’s gray eyes were dark with something steady and possessive and deeply warm, looking down at him with unmistakable pride.
"There you are, little one," he said quietly, reaching for the heavy black blanket and pulling it over them both, sealing them inside a warm, private cocoon in the center of the dark room.
Milo felt his heart pounding. He could feel Salvatore’s warm body around him. The man was hugging him!
Milo gulped when he felt the man’s lips on his head.
Was he dreaming?
"You’re doing well. How do you feel?" Salvatore asked.
Milo still held his breath. "It’s... It’s just... I’m afraid I’m addicted to it."
Milo could hear the man’s deep, warm chuckle. It made his cheeks flush. He tried to move closer, trying to melt his body against the man’s.
He felt safe. And it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.
"Can we do it again later?" Milo asked.
"We’ll see. As I told you, if I decide you’ll be mine, then I won’t hold back. I control everything."
Milo was confused. "Everything?"
"Yes."
But the man didn’t explain further, even though Milo kept asking.
"If you feel better, you should go to your room."
Milo pouted. "No, I want to sleep here."
"Alone? I won’t sleep here. I don’t like the bed. I just finished building this room this month; there’s still a lot to add. But I’ll see how it goes. For now, it’s enough for me."
Milo breathed in Salvatore’s scent deeply, listening to the explanation with a happy expression. "Then I’ll sleep wherever you sleep."
"No, go back to your room."
"No... I want to sleep with you." Milo hugged Salvatore tighter. "Please... Master."
Salvatore looked at the stubble on Milo’s chin. "You’re starting to make demands now."
Milo swallowed nervously, afraid Salvatore might change his mind about him. "No, no. Okay, I’ll sleep in my room."
