Chapter 118: His Rules, His Protection
Milo grinned.
The warmth of the blanket cocoon pressed heavily against Milo’s bare, oiled shoulders. He lay perfectly still in Salvatore’s arms, his breathing gradually slowing after the intense peak of his release.
"I’m sorry," Milo whispered against the dark fabric of the bedding, his voice thick and slightly trembling. "I’m sorry I couldn’t hold it any longer."
Salvatore didn’t move his arm from around Milo’s waist. He adjusted the edge of the blanket to keep the cool air from entering the room.
"Don’t worry about it," Salvatore said, his deep voice a steady, quiet rumble right above Milo’s neck. "This time, I haven’t taught you much yet. We just played and enjoyed it. Did you enjoy it?"
Milo nodded quickly against Salvatore’s broad chest, his forehead brushing against the dark ink of the tattoos.
"Yes, Master..."
The specific way Milo said the word, soft, breathless, and completely without hesitation, made Salvatore’s body shiver with a sudden, sharp surge of excitement.
His jaw tightened for a second before he let out a slow breath, his large hand rising to rest against the back of Milo’s head.
"Good boy," he murmured.
Salvatore held him close, his calloused palms rubbing down Milo’s back and thighs in slow, heavy strokes for nearly half an hour, working the remaining stiffness out of the young man’s muscles.
Milo’s eyelids grew heavy, the intense wave of endorphins pulling him toward sleep.
But before he could fully drift off, Salvatore pulled the heavy black blanket aside and slid his arms beneath Milo’s knees and shoulders, lifting him completely off the mattress.
Milo gasped in surprise, his hazel eyes snapping wide as he found himself lifted bridal-style into the air.
"Sir!"
"We will clean ourselves and sleep," Salvatore stated flatly, his feet crunching softly against the carpet as he carried Milo out of the room and into the main master bathroom.
Milo swallowed hard, his stomach twisting with a sudden defensive surge of anxiety. His previous years inside the Hartley mansion had conditioned him to expect a specific routine.
Nero would frequently shove him into the shower after long hours of torture, specifically to abuse him further under the running water while his body was too weak to fight back.
Milo tensed his muscles, his heart pounding as he waited for the first cold drop of water. He expected the man to use him again right there.
Salvatore set him down carefully on the smooth tile ledge of the large walk-in shower and turned the brass handle, letting the water run until it reached a steady, steaming warmth.
He guided Milo beneath the spray, allowing the water to wash away the layer of sweat and thick oil. When Milo reached out with a trembling hand to take the soap, Salvatore gently but firmly caught his wrists.
"Stand still," Salvatore commanded, gesturing for Milo to lower his hands to his sides. "I’ll take care of everything."
Milo’s face turned a deep, burning crimson as Salvatore knelt on the tile floor. He watched through the steam as the man used a soft cloth and warm water to meticulously clean the oil from his skin.
The embarrassment peaked when Salvatore’s fingers carefully and thoroughly cleaned him, checking for any signs of injury.
The touch was completely gentle, devoid of any sudden violence, but the sheer intimacy of it made Milo’s knees shake slightly.
Salvatore’s large hands moved over his smooth thighs, noting the lack of resistance.
"Do you always shave your body?" Salvatore asked, his gray eyes following the clean line of Milo’s legs.
Milo nodded shyly, keeping his gaze fixed on the tile grout. "Yes, every day."
"Every day?" Salvatore’s brow furrowed, his expression disapproving as he stood up to grab the shampoo bottle. He shook his head slowly. "Your skin needs time to breathe, Milo. Stop doing it every day. It’s good to have some hair."
Milo didn’t argue. He closed his eyes as Salvatore massaged the thick lather into his hair, his heavy fingers working with gentleness. The sharp, familiar scent of Salvatore’s soap and shampoo filled Milo’s senses, drowning out the lingering smells of the dark room.
"I’ll smell exactly like you now," Milo whispered, a small smile touching his lips as the warm water rinsed the soap down his chest.
Salvatore let out a short, quiet chuckle but said nothing. He turned off the water, stepped out of the stall, and wrapped a large, plush white towel around Milo’s shoulders before grabbing a second one for himself.
Milo dried his legs and chest, his skin still tingling from the heat of the shower.
"Come out when you’re ready," Salvatore said, tossing his damp towel into the basket and walking out into the main bedroom.
Milo paused, his hand frozen over his arm. He looked toward the empty bathroom doorway, completely stunned.
Salvatore wasn’t going to touch him again?
Nero would have exploited the vulnerability of the shower to prolong the submission for hours, but Salvatore had simply cleaned him and walked away.
Milo finished drying himself with rapid, hurried movements, eager to follow the man.
When he stepped out into the bedroom, Salvatore was already dressed in a pair of casual trousers. He reached into his dresser and tossed a folded pair of black silk pajamas onto the edge of the bed.
"Wear these. Your clothes are dirty."
Milo nodded, unfolding the silk fabric. The moment he pulled the pants up, he realized how loose they were. The waistband sat wide across his hips, forcing him to clutch the silk tightly with his left hand to keep the pants from sliding all the way down to his ankles.
The difference in their physical size was obvious; Salvatore’s clothes completely swallowed his smaller frame.
He looked across the room. Salvatore had already lit a small cigar and was sitting on the sofa, his broad shoulders leaning back against the cushions as he took a slow drag.
"Go back to your room once you’re ready," Salvatore said, his tone shifting back to that flat, distant one he used during the day.
Milo pouted, his lower lip jutting out in frustration. He didn’t want to go back to his room.
He quickly crossed the floor, bypassed the empty spot on the sofa, and plopped himself right onto Salvatore’s lap.
Salvatore froze instantly. The small cigar remained suspended an inch from his lips, his gray eyes widening slightly as he felt the soft weight of Milo settle on his thighs.
"What the hell are you doing, Milo?"
"I like your smell, Sir," Milo said honestly, his fingers clutching the fabric of Salvatore’s shirt so his pants wouldn’t slip. "I just want to hug you a little bit."
Without waiting for permission, Milo leaned forward and pressed his nose directly into the crook of Salvatore’s neck, inhaling the heavy mixture of fresh shampoo and tobacco smoke.
Salvatore remained rigid for three seconds, his chest rising and falling in a tight rhythm. He reached out with his free hand, stubbed out the half-smoked cigar in the glass tray on the table, and slowly wrapped his massive arms around Milo’s waist, pulling him securely against his torso.
"Thank you, Sir," Milo whispered into the dark skin of Salvatore’s neck.
"For what?"
"You treat me well," Milo said, his voice soft and sincere. "You’re very gentle, and you care for me."
"As I told you before," Salvatore muttered, his voice a deep vibration against Milo’s cheek. "I protect what belongs to me. I don’t break my own property."
Milo’s cheeks flushed a soft pink at the declaration. He shifted slightly on Salvatore’s lap, his heart giving a small, hopeful thud.
"So... I’m yours?"
"What do you think?" Salvatore countered, his tone flat but his grip around Milo’s lower back tightening into a firm, unyielding anchor.
Milo smiled, burying his face deeper into the man’s neck, the secure weight of Salvatore’s arms erasing the traces of his anxiety.
"Nero did the exact same things to me," Milo murmured quietly, his fingers relaxing against the man’s shirt. "He tied me up and tortured me. But... the feeling inside my body is so much different with you."
Salvatore remained silent for a moment, his hand beginning a slow, rhythmic stroke down Milo’s spine. He listened to the comparison, his brow furrowing in the dim light of the bedroom.
"You seem to be confused about this, Milo," Salvatore said, his voice taking on a serious tone. "I do enjoy this kind of play. It’s the only way I can enjoy sex, and it’s the only way I function in a relationship. People call it BDSM, and there are many different practices and levels to it. But..."
Salvatore placed his hands on Milo’s shoulders, firmly pushing him back an inch so he could look directly into his hazel eyes.
"There is one absolute difference between BDSM practice and an abusive relationship, Milo. You need to understand it clearly."
Milo fell silent, his eyes fixed on Salvatore’s serious, disciplined face, his ears straining to catch every word.
"It’s BDSM play when both participants enjoy the exchange, follow the rules, and are fully engaged in it," Salvatore explained, his gray eyes intense. "That’s why it’s critical to me that you’re actually experiencing satisfaction from the submission, not just going through the motions to keep me happy. I’m a master, Milo. I can tell instantly if you’re faking it."
He leaned closer, his voice carrying an unyielding weight.
"If only one person is enjoying the control, if the other person is unaware or forced, especially when it involves torture designed to break the mind, I don’t call that fair play. I call that abuse. Abuse will never make me happy, no matter how much I enjoy physical dominance. Do you understand the difference?"
Milo looked down at the silk fabric of his pajamas, the weight of his past years settling heavily on his shoulders. But Salvatore reached out, his large fingers catching Milo’s chin and pulling his face back up, refusing to let him look away.
"That is why it is important to me that you enjoy it too," Salvatore continued, his tone soft but firm. "Not everyone can handle the physical pain or the restriction. But as long as you’re willing to try, and you find a sense of psychological satisfaction and safety within my boundaries, we can always learn together. The basic requirement is that you know what’s coming, you understand the terms, you can anticipate the sensation, and you want to participate. If any of those elements are missing, just forget it."
Milo swallowed the lump in his throat, his hazel eyes completely clear as he looked at the man.
"I... I don’t know everything yet, Sir. I got used to the pain because Nero used it to break me. I could only let my body go when he tortured me, but I used to hate it because he hurt me so badly that I couldn’t move for days. I just... I feel completely different with you."
"Well, I will engage in rough play," Salvatore stated flatly, his thumb brushing Milo’s jawline with unyielding certainty. "But I will always communicate and make you fully aware of it, so we can experience the release together. There will be no surprises."
Milo nodded slowly.
"I understand, Master."
"Always tell me exactly what you’re feeling after we play," Salvatore ordered. "We have strict limits. You must tell me what your body can handle and what it can’t. I’ll never use a tool that leaves a permanent mark on your skin. I can’t do that to you. Your safety and your consent are the most important things."
Milo leaned back against Salvatore’s chest, his hands resting on the man’s large forearms.
"I trust you, Sir."
Salvatore didn’t answer with words, but his strong arms wrapped around Milo’s body, holding him firmly against his chest as the silence of the room settled around them.
"When you’re ready, just go to your room."
"No, I don’t want to."
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