“Slower. I won’t say it again.”
I whimpered but obeyed, slowing to an agonizing pace that had him hitting every nerve ending inside me. The phone was still recording on the makeup counter, capturing everything — the way his tattooed arm flexed as he held the belt, the way my back arched, the little gasps and moans I couldn’t hold back.
“That’s it,” he murmured, eyes dark and focused entirely on me. “Now tell me why the fuck were you crying during the show?”
My breath hitched, and I froze halfway down his length. “What?”
“You heard me.” His thumb stroked the side of my throat where the leather pressed. “I saw you. Tears running down those pretty cheeks during the ballad.” His hips shifted, pushing up slightly, making me gasp. “So tell me.”
My eyes strayed briefly toward the phone.Shit. This can’t be in the video.
I tried to move, to take him deeper, but his grip on my hip tightened, holding me in place.
“Milo—”
“Answer the question, or you don’t get to move.”
My thighs were already shaking from the strain of holding myself like this, impaled on him but not allowed to sink down fully. “It was just... the song.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know.” My voice came out breathy, desperate. “It just... hit different. Okay?”
He studied my face for a long moment, and I watched something shift behind his eyes. Something softer than the commanding persona he’d been wearing. Then his hand released my hip and cupped my face instead.
“All the way down,” he said quietly. “Now.”
I sank down completely, and we both groaned. He filled me so perfectly it made my eyes sting again.
“Fuck, you feel good.” His forehead dropped to mine. “Now move. Nice and slow.”
I started to rock my hips and felt the belt loosen marginally.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, watching me. His hand slid from my face down to my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple through the thin fabric. “You look so fucking beautiful like this.”
I didn’t know where it came from, but it did, and I suddenly blurted out, “I love you.”
The words set the world on pause.
Milo’s hips stilled, his eye went wide and for a second — just a second — I saw every wall he’d ever built come crashing down. Then his expression changed. From shock to something… softer.
“Say that again,” he whispered.
My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. “I—”
“Say it again.” The belt tightened just slightly as his other hand gripped my hip. “Look at me and say it again.”
I swallowed, meeting his eyes. “I love you.”
He made a sound — something I could not decipher, whether a laugh or a groan — it didn’t matter — and then his mouth crashed into mine. The kiss was desperate, like he was trying to crawl inside me and see whether I’d said the truth.
I had. As stupid as it was, I loved this infuriating asshole.
His hand released the belt entirely, both arms wrapping around me as he stood up from the couch, still inside me.
I gasped against his mouth as he turned and pressed me against the wall, my legs locked around his waist. The belt fell away completely, the belt buckle hitting the floor with a metallic clink.
“You can’t say shit like that,” he growled against my throat, hips driving into me harder now. “You can’t fucking say that to me.”
