Page 24 of And Back

His words are all it takes to make me cum for the second time. My body convulses around him as another powerful orgasm tears through me. My cries mingle with his groans of pleasure as he jerks his hips one final time and spills his seed inside me.

The room is dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the heavy drapes, casting a soft, silvery glow over everything. My body is still humming with the aftershocks of our intense encounter, but my mind is racing with thoughts and fears.

I look up at Virgilio, his face half-hidden in shadows. He seems lost in his own world of regret and guilt. I reach out, my fingers trembling slightly as I touch his arm.

"Take me home with you, Virgilio," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I don’t care about my deal with Dante, I want to go back."

There's a look of deep regret in his green eyes that makes my heart ache.

"I wouldn’t want anything more," he says quietly, his voice filled with a sorrow that cuts through me like a knife. "But I can't."

I feel desperate, and I cling to him as he moves to stand up.

"Please…" I beg, my voice breaking as tears well up in my eyes. "I just want to be with you."

He looks down at me, his jaw tightening as if he's struggling with his own emotions. For a moment, I think he might give in. But then he shakes his head slowly.

He leans down and captures my lips in a final, lingering kiss.

When he pulls away, my lips feel cold without his warmth, and I simply watch him sneak out.

I'm left alone again, my heart aching with emptiness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ZOE

Isit up in bed, my body still sore from the intensity of our sex last night. My phone lies on the nightstand, a silent beacon pulling me from the fog of my thoughts. The constant beeping of notifications makes it impossible to ignore. I pick it up, the cool metal comforting in its familiarity. As I unlock the screen, notifications flood from endless social media alerts. The barrage of digital noise is both overwhelming and oddly grounding.

Technology still baffles me. Ever since Virgilio took me away from the Bratva, I've struggled to catch up with a world that moved on without me.

The notifications and alerts confuse me, and I often find myself fumbling through apps and settings. I don’t really know anyone, and the concept of being online and chatting, liking and receiving comments from strangers that act as friends is completely foreign to me.

One notification catches my eye, making my heart skip a beat. Sabine Johnson tagged me in a post. Sabine, the woman who has always envied my talent and recent rise in popularity, has thrown down the gauntlet.

I open the post and watch as a sleek video starts to play. The music is upbeat, vibrant, drawing me in despite myself. Sabine's latest designs flash across the screen—bold patterns, innovative cuts, colors that demand attention.

"Are you ready for this?" her voice echoes through my mind as she appears on screen, looking effortlessly chic in her studio. "Zoe Gray, I challenge you to a design-off." Her smile is sharp, confident—a predator sizing up its prey.

"Two weeks from now," she continues, "at the most high-profile indie fashion event of the season." The video cuts to shots of top designers nodding approvingly at her work, influencers snapping photos, media buzzing with excitement.

"Let’s see if you can create something better," she says directly to the camera before it fades to black with her signature logo flashing at the end.

The post has already gone viral—comments and shares flooding in from fashion bloggers and influencers alike.

"Can Zoe Gray rise to Sabine Johnson’s challenge?"

"This is going to be epic!"

"Team Sabine or Team Zoe?"

My heart races as I scroll through the comments.

I feel scared. What if I'm not good enough? What if Sabine’s challenge shows everyone that I'm not as talented as they think? But I'm also mad. How dare she put me on the spot like this, using our rivalry to boost her own profile? I want to prove her wrong.

Then there's something even deeper. This challenge is not just about Sabine or the industry; it's about me. About the little girl who spent hours sketching dresses in her bedroom to escape her shitty life, about the woman who fought tooth and nail to turn those dreams into a career. It's about every sacrifice I've made, every sleepless night, every moment of doubt I've overcome.

The fear of failure intertwines with the memories of my father's taunts, the times he belittled my ambitions. Proving myself now feels like defying his ghost, like finally silencing the voice that told me I wasn't enough.

---