Page 11 of And Back

"Fuck me faster," I whisper, voice trembling with desire.

His eyes meet mine, a feral intensity burning within them. Without another word, he pulls back and thrusts into me again, harder this time. The bed creaks beneath us as he sets a relentless pace, each stroke driving deeper than the last.

My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as I hold on for dear life. His hips snap against mine with a rhythm that leaves me breathless. The room fills with the sound of our bodies colliding and our mingled moans.

"Yes," I cry out, meeting each of his thrusts with equal fervor. "Just like that."

Virgilio's breath comes in ragged gasps as he pounds into me like he's drowning and I'm his only lifeline. His hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me closer with every thrust. I can feel the raw power in his movements, the desperation and need driving him forward.

I take it all—every hard thrust, every rough kiss—reveling in the intensity of our connection. My body responds to his every move, muscles clenching around him as he drives me closer to the edge.

The pleasure builds inside me like a storm ready to break. Each thrust sends waves of ecstasy through my body until I'm teetering on the brink of release again.

"Virgilio," I moan, my voice thick with need. "I'm so close."

His pace quickens at my words, hips moving with an almost frantic urgency. The tension coils tighter and tighter until it finally snaps.

I scream his name as I cum hard around him, my entire body shaking with the force of my orgasm. Virgilio groans deeply at the sensation of me clenching around him, driving him over the edge.

With one final thrust, he buries himself deep inside me and groans loudly as he releases. His hips jerk against mine as he rides out his orgasm, filling me completely.

We lie together, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high of our shared passion. My head rests on Virgilio's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, everything feels right.

But the urgency from earlier events claws its way back to the forefront of my mind. I can't afford to lose myself in this fleeting peace. I prop myself up on one elbow, looking down at Virgilio. His eyes are closed, his expression serene, almost content.

How different my life is now that Virgilio has found me again. The years working as a sex slave for the Bratva still linger, always lurking at the edges of my mind, playing games with it. The intimacy we share triggers memories I thought I had buried. Every touch, every kiss, reminds me of the darkness I've escaped from and maybe that is why making love to him is the most mind-blowing experience I have ever had.

In Virgilio’s arms, I feel so safe and loved compared to then. The shadows of my past still haunt me, but perhaps his touch will eventually help them disappear.

I still wonder how I survived the constant fear, the degradation… yet, here I am, feeling alive and cherished in a way I never thought possible.

The memories of being used, abused, controlled seem to dissipate when I'm with him, replaced by the warmth and tenderness he offers.

The nightmare isn't over, but for the first time in a long time, I can see a little hope in a future beyond the pain.

Can I ever fully escape the past? I look at Virgilio, and I feel a glimmer of possibility. With him, maybe I can.

"Virgilio," I whisper, needing to break the silence. "There's something you need to know."

He opens his eyes slowly, turning to face me with an attentive but calm expression. "What is it?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I have to say. "Benedetto... he told Dante to kill you." I say carefully as I watch for any sign of alarm or fear.

But Virgilio remains unfazed, his gaze steady on mine. It's as if I told him something as mundane as the weather forecast. His calmness is disconcerting.

"Virgilio," I say again, my voice trembling with worry. "Do you understand how serious this is?"

CHAPTER EIGHT

VIRGILIO

Itake a deep breath, the emotional strain of memories pressing down on me. "This isn't the first time Benedetto has pitted me and Dante against each other," I tell her, my voice steady but heavy with the past. Zoe's eyes widen, her worry palpable. I need to reassure her, to keep her from crumbling under the fear that grips her heart.

"When we were younger," I continue, "Benedetto would force us to fight." The words taste bitter on my tongue. "He'd stand there, watching, and I was always too scared to lose because there would be punishment." I can still feel the sting of those punishments, like phantom pains from a life that never truly ended.

In my mind, I see Dante's face, always calm and resolute. He'd let me win, taking the brunt of our father's wrath so I wouldn't have to. But I keep these thoughts hidden; Zoe doesn't need to know this part. She doesn't need more reasons to worry. Instead, I maintain my facade, trying to project confidence and reassurance.

"I always won. I won every time our father ordered us to fight. Dante knows what's best for him," I say softly. "He won't come for me." It's an excuse, a lie meant to soothe her fears and make our plan believable. Dante and I both know what needs to be done to end Benedetto's reign of terror. But Zoe can't suspect anything about our plan.

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