It hurts, but it also doesn’t. It’s overwhelming, aching, full. And once he’s fully inside me, he stills.
“Breathe,” he whispers.
I do, and when he moves, it’s heaven and hell colliding. Slow thrusts, deep and intentional, every roll of his hips hits something inside me that makes me cry out. The pain fades, the pressure builds. I cling to him, mouth open against his throat, gasping his name.
He starts to move, slow at first, then building, a primal rhythm that claims every part of me. Each thrust is deep, punishing, driving me further into the mattress. My nails dig into his shoulders, my head thrown back, a silent screambuilding in my throat. He grips my hips, lifting me, angling me, making sure every inch of him grinds against my most sensitive spots.
"Open your eyes," he commands, pulling back just enough to force my eyes open. His face is a mask of raw desire, sweat beading on his forehead. “Tell me you want this."
"Yes!" I sob, my body clenching around him with every thrust. "God, yes, Damon!”
He grunts, a guttural sound of satisfaction, of triumph, and then he's moving faster, harder, a relentless rhythm that pushes me to the edge. My hips buck against his, meeting his thrusts, desperate for the release I know is coming. The bed creaks, the sounds of our bodies slapping together fill the room, loud and unashamed.
I feel the build-up, and then the world explodes. I scream his name, my body arching, convulsing around him, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over me, tinged with the profound relief of finally giving in to this forbidden want. He groans, burying his face in my neck, pushing one last, deep thrust, and then he's shuddering above me, collapsing into his own release.
Afterward, when we're lying in his bed, when his arm is thrown possessively across my waist, when the world outside feels like it doesn't exist – I try to remember that this isn’t supposed to mean anything.
We’re two people seeking comfort in an impossible situation. But when he pulls me closer in his sleep, when he holds me like he doesn't want to let me go, I know we're both lying to ourselves. This wasn't just lust.
And tomorrow, we're going to have to keep lying. Because the alternative is admitting that this meant something.
And neither of us is ready for that.
Chapter 12: Damon
Fuck.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark, Viviana curled against my side, her breathing finally even and deep. She's asleep, trusting and warm, her head on my shoulder like she belongs there.
And all I can think is:fuck, fuck, fuck.
Because the sweet, little tease beside me was a virgin.
And I just fucked my enemy's eighteen-year-old virgin daughter.
I close my eyes, but that makes it worse. Makes me remember the way she felt, so tight it was almost painful. The way she tensed when I first pushed inside her, the small sound she made that I thought was just adjustment but now realize was...
Christ.
How did I not know?
Because she acted like she knew what she was doing, that's how. Because she kissed me back like she'd done it before, because she touched me like she wasn't afraid, because she looked at me with those big dark eyes and begged me to "fuck me" like she understood exactly what that meant.
But she didn't understand.
Not really.
She was a virgin, and I treated her like she was just another woman I wanted to fuck. I took what I wanted without thinking about what it meant for her.
Without thinking about what it means, period.
Because in our world, a woman's virginity isn't only about her. It's about honor. It's about family. It's about the kind of shit that starts wars between families who are already on the edge of one.
Roberto Bonacci trusted me with his daughter's safety, and I repaid that trust by taking something that can never be given back.
He will kill me.
Slowly.
