Chapter 119: The Addiction
An hour later.
Salvatore felt the small, repetitive shift of Milo’s weight against his chest as Milo stirred in his sleep. He looked down, his gaze following the rhythmic rise and fall of Milo’s shoulders.
He couldn’t believe that the boy had actually fallen completely asleep right on top of him. Despite the strict boundaries he usually maintained, he didn’t have the heart to wake him up or push him away.
He let out a slow, quiet sigh, carefully adjusting his position on the sofa to support Milo’s waist, making sure his pajama pants didn’t slip down any further.
Salvatore was exhausted as well; his own problems had left a heavy ache behind his eyes.
"Milo," Salvatore said slowly, his deep voice dropping into a low rumble. "Time to move. Go down to your room."
Milo didn’t even open his eyes. He merely let out a faint, contented hum, his forehead pressing deeper into the crook of Salvatore’s neck.
Salvatore reached up, his large, calloused fingers running through Milo’s brown hair. It was still half-dry from the shower, smelling strongly of the shampoo Salvatore always used.
He traced the smooth contours of Milo’s scalp, his hand moving down to rub the back of his neck in slow, deep circles to keep the muscles from tensing up.
Without fully realizing what he was doing, Salvatore leaned his head down and pressed his lips firmly against the crown of Milo’s head.
The moment his lips left Milo’s hair, Salvatore looked up at the dark ceiling, a sudden wave of defeat washing over his face. He stared into the shadows, mentally surrendering to the reality of the situation.
What had he just done? He had made a mistake. A massive... mistake.
He had actually pulled this boy into his dark life and consumed him with his wild desire.
Salvatore closed his eyes, his jaw clenching so tightly.
"You’re insane," he thought bluntly to himself. "You’re a pervert. You took advantage of his vulnerability and his gratitude."
But the internal conflict did nothing to change the facts.
He couldn’t help it.
He had spent days trying to maintain a cold, professional distance, but his self-control completely vanished whenever Milo was in the same room.
He couldn’t think clearly around him. Every single time he looked into Milo’s defenseless, innocent eyes or noticed something was bothering Milo, he didn’t want to act the way he should.
He admitted that he just wanted to hold Milo, touch his skin, and lock him away, keeping him close.
It was infuriating. Salvatore realized, with a dark sense of clarity, that he finally understood the obsessive, suffocating grip Nero had maintained over Milo for years.
The simple desire to possess Milo was an addiction. It was torture to keep his hands off him.
Milo stirred against his chest again, his legs shifting as the fabric rustled. "Nnhh..."
"Milo..." Salvatore muttered, his voice rough. "Go sleep in your own room. I’m not going to tell you again."
There was no answer. Milo’s breathing remained slow, deep, and perfectly steady against Salvatore’s collarbone.
Realizing that his legs were beginning to go numb under Milo’s weight, Salvatore slipped his arms beneath Milo’s thighs and back, lifting him off the sofa.
He walked over to his bed, pulled back the duvet, and laid Milo down carefully on the left side of the mattress.
Milo curled into a ball immediately, his fingers clutching the edge of the pillow.
Salvatore climbed onto the right side, pulled the blankets up to Milo’s chin, and immediately turned his back, facing the opposite wall. He closed his eyes, forcing his muscles to go rigid as he tried to force himself to sleep.
Milo had felt the sudden sensation of flight when Salvatore lifted him, but he kept his eyes tightly shut, refusing to show any signs of being awake.
He had been terrified that if Salvatore knew he was awake, the man would escort him back down to his room.
He didn’t want to go.
Once the mattress settled and he heard the heavy rustle of Salvatore turning away, Milo opened his eyes in the dark.
He looked at the broad, solid expanse of Salvatore’s back beneath the blankets, and a wide, helpless smile spread across his face.
He was actually sleeping in the man’s bed. The realization gave him a sudden rush of warmth that made his chest feel tight.
He closed his eyes again, trying to rest, but the lingering sting in his body and the intense excitement of the night kept his mind completely on edge.
Twenty minutes passed, and the silence in the room was absolute. Believing that Salvatore had finally fallen into a deep sleep, Milo gathered his courage.
He slid slowly across the crisp linen sheets, closing the gap between them, and wrapped his arms firmly around Salvatore’s broad waist from behind, pressing his chest against the man’s back.
Salvatore’s reaction was instantaneous and violent. His body reacted to the sudden touch in the dark before his mind could process who it was.
He spun around with terrifying speed, his massive hand shooting out to clamp around Milo’s throat, pinning Milo flat against the mattress as he prepared to crush the intruder’s windpipe.
"Ah!" Milo screamed, his voice high and strangled as his eyes snapped wide.
The moment Milo’s voice registered in his ears, Salvatore’s eyes cleared.
He froze, his palm still resting heavily against Milo’s throat. He let out a long, ragged exhale through his nose, his shoulders dropping as he realized he had almost choked Milo.
He pulled his hand back immediately, rubbing his face with his palm.
He acted quickly and pulled Milo close in a tight embrace.
"I’m sorry," Salvatore said softly, feeling guilty. His voice was thick with sleep and lingering adrenaline. "That’s the second time you’ve startled me, Milo."
Milo swallowed hard; his throat felt warm where Salvatore’s hand had just been. But soon, he felt the warmth of the man’s embrace around him.
"I’m sorry, Sir... I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to hold you."
"No, it’s fine," Salvatore said. He lay back down and hugged Milo again. He looked at Milo’s trembling shoulders.
"Go back to sleep. Or do you want to go back to your own room?"
Milo shook his head frantically against the mattress. "No, I want to sleep here. But please don’t shoot me."
"Then don’t move," Salvatore commanded flatly.
He adjusted his hold, his massive arm sliding around Milo’s waist, and jerked the young man forward with a blunt, unyielding force, pressing Milo’s smaller body directly against his torso.
He squeezed tightly, completely locking Milo’s arms and legs within his own frame.
Milo gulped; the intense pressure made it hard for his lungs to expand.
"Sir... I can’t breathe like this."
Salvatore tightened his grip even further, his chest pressing hard against Milo’s ribs. "You have two choices, little chicken. You can stay here and suffer, or you can walk down to your room right now."
Milo pouted in the dark, his lips pressed into a frustrated line. He realized exactly what the man was doing. Salvatore was deliberately making him uncomfortable to force him to leave.
But Milo was stubborn. He refused to give up his position. He shifted his weight, twisting his arms until he could wrap them around Salvatore’s neck, creating a small pocket of space between their chests so he could draw air into his lungs.
Salvatore smiled slightly into the darkness, noticing the defiance. He loosened his iron grip by an inch to let Milo breathe, but he immediately lifted his heavy leg, draping it fully over Milo’s thighs to completely pin him to the mattress.
Milo let out a long, defeated sigh, his legs entirely pinned under the weight of the man’s muscles.
"Sir... you’re so heavy."
"Complain one more time, and I’ll lift you outside," Salvatore muttered.
Milo fell completely silent, his cheek resting against Salvatore’s chest. He had thought the discomfort and the persistent sting on his skin would keep him awake until dawn, but within ten minutes, the heavy, rhythmic thud of Salvatore’s heartbeat against his ear lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Milo woke up the next morning, the right side of the bed was already cold and empty. Bright morning light was streaming through the heavy drapes.
He pulled on his loose pajama pants, holding the silk waistband tightly with his left hand to keep them from falling down, and walked out of the room.
As he passed the corridor windows overlooking the main courtyard, he looked down. Salvatore was already out on the training field, dressed in his black shirt, leading the guards.
Milo could hear the faint, distant sound of men swearing under their breath as Salvatore pushed the count higher.
Milo smiled, standing transfixed by the window, completely amazed at how little sleep the man needed to function with such terrifying efficiency.
He hurried down to his own room, intending to take a quick shower and change into his suit before Liam arrived.
He walked into his bathroom.
Salvatore glanced at his watch; he was sure Milo was awake. He just smiled.
He walked to Milo’s room.
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