Chapter 131: When the Rain Ends
"Go up to my room, Milo."
"Strip the wet layers off," Salvatore continued.
Milo nodded silently, his shoes clicking softly against the floor as he turned toward the grand staircase. He walked up the steps alone.
He was a bit wet, and he was nervous.
Many guards he saw just nodded and smiled. He had gotten used to their curious gazes.
Once he arrived at Salvatore’s room, he pushed the doors open slowly. He removed his wet suit, letting it hang loosely over his arm, but before he could reach the buttons of his shirt, the door creaked open.
Milo turned quickly. He thought it might be Salvatore, and he was ready to greet him. But instead of the man, he saw Teo.
Teo stepped into the room, holding a stack of fresh, dry clothes. His face still carried pale, anxious lines, his eyes scanning the space before they landed on Milo’s tense shoulders.
"Milo," Teo said quietly, his voice hesitant as he walked across the heavy carpet. "Salvatore told me to bring you dry clothes. Let me... let me help you change."
"Oh, nice of you, Teo!" Milo offered a small, happy smile, his hands dropping to his sides as the boy stepped in.
Teo took the damp suit, setting it carefully over the armchair, before reaching up to gently pat a dry towel against Milo’s hair, absorbing the rainwater.
"I didn’t know the rain was that bad," said Teo.
"It was not that bad, but I think it got worse when we got here," Milo said, grabbing the towel to dry himself.
"It must be annoying to go outside while it’s raining," Teo said softly.
Milo smiled and patted Teo’s hair. "Are you still afraid of me?"
Teo stopped and looked at Milo. He just nodded. "I still feel sorry. I couldn’t help it."
"I’m okay now. You know, I went to my old house today. Maybe someday I can bring you there," Milo tried to break the awkwardness.
"Your old house?" Teo asked curiously, his fingers working efficiently to dry the damp patches near Milo’s skin.
"Yes," Milo murmured. "It’s completely abandoned. Vines have taken over the roof. I have a swing, and it’s still there."
"Oh, I want to see it too. It must be great. We can play on it together."
"Yes, Salvatore will fix it before we can start visiting it again."
Teo looked at Milo with a playful gaze. "You call him Salvatore now."
Milo didn’t realize it, and Teo’s words made him blush.
"Sorry, I mean..."
"Everyone knows you are in a relationship with Salvatore! How is it? Is it great?" Teo started to become less nervous, just like the Teo from before.
Milo just smiled. "Oh, I don’t know. He is a great man. I can’t hope for too much."
Before Teo could answer, the doors opened. Salvatore walked into the room, his suit already half-unbuttoned, his presence instantly dominating the space.
He stopped near the edge of the sofa, his eyes narrowing at Teo. He didn’t expect the boy to still be there.
"Okay, you can get out, Teo," Salvatore commanded flatly, his deep voice carrying an unyielding weight that made the air in the bedroom turn cold. "Go down to the kitchen."
Teo stiffened. He looked at Milo, then back at the man, his hands clutching the white cloth tightly. "No, Salvatore... please. I want to accompany Milo tonight. He forgave me. Let me stay and help him."
"He can do it himself. Just get out." He wanted to be alone with Milo right now.
"No..." Teo muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to stand his ground near the bed, his loyalty to Milo making him reckless. "Milo is still sick. Let me stay."
Salvatore let out a short sigh through his nose. He didn’t waste his energy arguing with a child. He closed the distance in two strides, reached out with his massive arms, and lifted Teo completely off the floor in one blunt, effortless motion.
"Ugh, Salvatore!" Teo gasped, his legs kicking slightly, but Salvatore carried him straight out, set him down in the corridor, and slammed the door shut, turning the lock with a loud click.
Milo swallowed hard, his pulse giving a sudden, violent thud against his ribs as the absolute silence of the room rushed back to swallow him.
He was completely alone with the Don now, and the real session was about to begin. At least, that was what Milo expected to happen.
Milo stood still, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his heart hammering against his ribs as he looked at the man walking toward him.
Salvatore walked slowly. The cold, unyielding authority he had just used to eject Teo softened, replaced by an intense, burning focus centered entirely on Milo. His eyes scanned Milo’s damp, trembling form, fiercely protective.
He unbuttoned his vest, tossing it onto the armchair with a blunt motion. Step by step, he closed the distance between them, his massive presence instantly grounding Milo’s erratic energy.
He reached out, his large, warm hand cupping Milo’s cheek, his thumb brushing the damp skin with unexpected gentleness.
"Look at you, shaking," Salvatore murmured, his deep voice dropping into the tone that always made Milo’s knees go weak. "Strip the rest of those clothes off. Step into the shower. I’m going to take care of you now."
Milo gulped. He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The authority, blended with such profound care, was the only grounding force left in his universe.
He finished unbuttoning his shirt with clumsy fingers, letting the fabric drop, before stepping out of his trousers until he stood completely bare and vulnerable.
Salvatore guided him into the shower stall, turning the brass handles until steam rose thick and heavy, filling the space with the comforting, rich scent of musk.
He stepped in behind him, his massive, calloused hands wrapping firmly around Milo’s waist to draw him beneath the warm spray.
Milo flinched instinctively as the water hit his skin, a soft gasp leaving his lips, but Salvatore’s touch immediately soothed him. It was heavy, dominant, yet meticulously tender.
"Relax..." the Don murmured, rubbing a thick lather over Milo’s shoulders, his large palms moving down his spine in slow, deliberate circles that systematically drove the lingering tension out of Milo’s muscles.
Milo gasped as Salvatore pressed a firm kiss to the crown of his wet head, a silent promise of absolute security amidst his rule.
When the soap was rinsed away, Salvatore shut off the water, caught Milo firmly by the waist, and guided his wet, dripping body straight out into the bedroom.
The cool air hit Milo’s sensitive skin, making him shiver, but Salvatore was already guiding him with purpose.
"On the sofa," Salvatore ordered softly. "On your stomach. Lean over the arm."
Milo swallowed hard, his heart racing with a frantic rhythm of excitement and submission as he climbed onto the sofa. He positioned himself carefully, his upper torso draping over the wide, padded armrest while his knees rested on the floor below, leaving his lower body tilted upward in an open invitation of total surrender.
Salvatore reached for a fresh bottle of heavy, natural massage oil. He poured a generous amount directly over the small of Milo’s back and glutes, the cool fluid making Milo’s muscles lock in a sudden, sharp flinch.
"Sir... Master, I don’t like the oil."
"Sshhh, what did I say about not talking?"
Milo gulped nervously. He fell silent immediately.
"Stay still. The oil will help you relax," Salvatore explained softly, stepping up right behind him. The Don hadn’t removed his trousers or his shirt, the physical contrast between his fully clothed body and Milo’s raw, oiled nakedness created an intense, suffocating heat between them.
Salvatore pressed his large palms flat against Milo’s skin, beginning a firm, deep massage that worked the oil into the muscles. The pressure was intense, bordering on painful, making Milo groan into the cushion.
Salvatore carefully fastened the leather collar around Milo’s neck. "Very good. Stay still."
Doubt began to creep into Milo’s mind. Was he doing enough? Was he keeping his master happy?
Before the anxiety could take root, Salvatore reached forward, his large fingers catching the ring of Milo’s leather collar and pulling it upward with a sharp, unyielding, yet careful jerk.
"Ahhh! Master..." Milo’s head was forced back, his hazel eyes locking onto his own reflection in the long vanity mirror across the room.
He looked small, wet, and completely claimed, while the dark, deeply possessive, loving look in the Don’s eyes framed him from behind.
"Look at yourself, Milo," Salvatore murmured, his breath hot against the shell of Milo’s ear, his voice thick with affection. "Your body belongs to me, and I have you. Focus only on the pressure of my hands."
"Yes... Master," Milo gasped, a single tear of pure, overwhelming emotional release slipping down his cheek. The raw finality of the man’s voice completely shattered his internal anxiety, compressing his entire universe down to Salvatore’s touch.
Salvatore released the ring, his hand sliding down to grip the soft flesh of Milo’s buttocks, separating them with practiced efficiency.
He rubbed more oil over the sensitive skin, his large fingers pressing firmly against Milo’s tight opening. Milo shrieked softly into the cushion, his thighs instinctively trying to lock together as the initial stretching ache flared up.
But Salvatore’s forearm came down heavily across the small of his back, a crushing, comforting weight that anchored him completely. "Relax. You know I will not hurt you badly."
Salvatore added a second finger, his internal movements slow, rhythmic, and relentless, forcing Milo to stretch and accommodate him.
"A-aaahh!" Milo moaned loudly, his head rolling to the side as his erection pressed hard against the sofa, leaking heavily.
Salvatore smiled. "Are you ready? I will take you now."
Salvatore withdrew his fingers, the sudden absence making Milo let out a low whimper of deprivation. He heard the sharp, distinct sound of Salvatore unbuttoning his trousers.
"I will be careful. Prepare yourself." Salvatore caught Milo’s hips with calm but firm force, his fingers anchoring into the pale, oiled skin, and slowly drove inside him from behind, pausing several times before pushing himself fully inside.
Milo screamed into the cushion, his entire body going completely rigid as he stretched to accept the massive size of the man. The fullness was blinding, making his knees nearly buckle against the edge of the sofa.
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