Page 49 of And Back

He kneels in front of me, eyes locked onto mine as he starts to remove my dress slowly.

Every inch of the skin he unveils is warmed by his lips as he kisses every part of me he meticulously undresses. The fabric slides down my shoulders and falls to the floor. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he continues with my underwear.

We don’t need words; our connection speaks louder than anything we could say with words.

In the quiet of the room, we just feel—his fingers on my skin, the warmth between us growing stronger with every passing second. His presence fills the space completely, making everything else seem distant and unimportant.

As he undresses me, piece by piece, I realize how deeply I trust him.

Virgilio’s touch is not just physical; it reaches deeper inside me. And in this moment, surrounded by the intimate setting of his room, it feels like we are exactly where we’re meant to be.

When, finally, all physical barriers between us are gone, we remain close, breathing each other in. The silence is filled with meaning and promise, an unspoken vow that whatever comes next will be faced together.

Virgilio stands up, his eyes never leaving mine as he removes his own clothes. Each piece falls away, revealing his scars. He looks vulnerable, yet strong.

Without a word, he scoops me up again and carries me to the bathroom. The room is warm, filled with the soft hum of the shower he just turned on. With one hand he keeps his fingers open under the water to feel its temperature.

As soon as it is warm enough, he sets me down gently under the showerhead, stepping in with me. His movements are deliberate and tender as he turns on the water to an even warmer temperature. The shower pours over both of us, creating a cocoon of warmth and steam.

Virgilio lathers his hands with soap, his touch firm but gentle as he begins to wash me. Our eyes lock, and the intimacy of the moment wraps around us like a second skin. His hands move over my body with care, each stroke sending shivers down my spine. I can't help but moan softly at the sensation.

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through me.

"Look at me," Virgilio's voice is soft but commanding.

I open my eyes and meet his gaze once more. His hands continue their journey over my skin, moving with a purpose that makes every touch feel like a promise.

When he reaches my breasts, he rubs them gently, squeezing without touching my nipples directly. My body responds instantly, perking up and arching into his hands.

His fingers find my nipples then, flicking and twirling them lightly between his fingers. The sensation is electric, making me gasp in pleasure. "Hold on to me," Virgilio instructs, his voice steady and reassuring. I wrap my arms around him as his hands continue to move down my body.

Virgilio's hands slide lower, reaching between my legs. His touch is firm and confident, making my breath hitch. When he dips his fingers inside me, the sensation is so intense that I nearly come undone right then and there.

I gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders for support. He doesn't stop; instead, he inserts another finger, then another until three of his fingers fill me. My body responds instinctively, moving against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he gives.

He fucks me with his fingers slowly and deliberately. Each thrust is a mix of gentle pressure and deep penetration that makes my whole body shiver with anticipation.

His thumb finds my clit, rubbing it in slow circles that send waves of pleasure coursing through me.

My moans grow louder, echoing in the steamy bathroom. The sensations build inside me, tightening like a coil ready to snap. Just as I'm about to reach the peak, he suddenly withdraws his fingers.

A cry of frustration escapes my lips. "Why did you stop?" I ask, my voice pleading from need and desperation.

Virgilio looks at me with a smirk that holds both tenderness and command. "Touch yourself," he says softly but firmly. "I want to watch you."

The intensity in his gaze leaves no room for argument.

My hand moves down between my legs, finding the spot where his fingers have just been. I begin to touch myself, my movements guided by the memory of his touch.

His eyes never leave mine as I pleasure myself under the warm spray of the shower. The vulnerability and intimacy of the moment make it even more intense, and I feel myself climbing back towards that peak once more.

The warmth of the water cascades over us, creating a steamy haze. Virgilio's hands move away from my body, and he starts washing himself, his eyes still locked onto mine. His gaze is commanding and it sends shivers down my spine.

"Slow down," he instructs, his voice calm but firm.

I nod, my movements becoming more deliberate as I touch myself. My fingers mimic the rhythm he set earlier, each stroke measured and purposeful. The sensation builds slowly, intensifying with every touch.

"Am I doing it right?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

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