Page 147 of Violent Pawn

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment I think I’ve fucked up by dipping too far into the zone of triggers she recently laid out for me.

But then her head rolls against my shoulder as she whimpers, “Please fuck me, Nero.” All bets are off the fucking table as I line myself up and thrust hard inside her.

She jolts, staggering into her balance. One hand grips my thigh, nails imprinting her own brand onto me, while the other holds onto my head, keeping me to her neck where I lave my tongue and scrape my teeth, feeling her shiver as I growl, “Those nails you’re digging into me, I’m getting them tattooed onto me.” All over my damn body so everyone in the world knows I’m hers.

Fuck, I can’t wait to make it official with a ring.

I fuck her hard enough she’s on her toes for balance, holding her to the floor with my hands low on her hip. Although her eyes are shut, lost to pleasure, I watch us in the mirror.

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Anastasia on my cock.

“Look at us,” I demand. “Months ago, did I not say we worked well together?”

“You only said that…” Inhale. “‘Cause everyone else was paired off.”

At first, yes, but not entirely. “I said it because I foresaw this exact moment. Look at us,” I repeat, pausing until she obeys. “Look how good we look together. We were made for one another. There’s no one else for me, and I’ll never want another woman.”

“I lo—” She bites on the word as my next push inside her has her core rippling on me, gasping for air and scratching for relief.

“Say it,” I demand. Say it while coming on my cock. True fucking ownership then.

It takes her a while, as one orgasm rolls into another, before she murmurs, “I love you so much, Nero. Thank you for having patience with me.”

Lucky for her, she used up all my patience throughout our struggles. Now, my patience is minuscule as I work to make her come as many times on my cock, pounding into her until we’re both sweaty, limp messes that I lower to the hardwood floor.

Anastasia takes one look at our reflection, then the floor. “You’re paying for the cleaners again.”

“I’ll hire a company to keep on standby because I plan on doing this in here a lot.”

“You think so, hm?” From her reclined position against my damp chest, she tips her head until she’s able to see my face. “This is where I practice. It’s sacred.”

“And you’re sacred to me, cara mia.” My lips press to her forehead, nuzzling her soft skin that now smells like my cologne. “Besides, I know how to earn your forgiveness and rebuild your trust.”

Her hand drifts lazily up and down my thigh as she watches our reflection with a sated smirk. “You broke the code.”

“Also, the wall around your heart.”

She hums, the vibration soft against my chest. “That you did. I suppose it means I love you or something.”

“I know you do. Always trust your heart. It’s never steered you wrong.”

Eleven years ago, Anastasia Petrov brought torment into my life.

I can’t wait for a lifetime more of it from my feisty ballerina.

EPILOGUE

VANESSA

Papa wasn’t the only one to keep a journal.

I did, once, as well. There were only ever a few entries, messily jotted when things were really bad and my emotions needed to be untangled. Which was usually when I was a teenager.

It’s been many years since I last opened it, but in the middle of the summer, one full year after Zeno tricked his way into my life, I dig it out. My fingers stroke the faded, soft leather as I carry it to the end of our bed, take a seat, and flip open the cover.

I skim entries filled with anger about my life and Papa, preferring not to revisit that history because it’s well behind me now. It’s the last page I read, having vague memories of writing this entry.

I’m giving up. There’s no point in fighting Papa anymore. He’ll dictate every step of my life. He’ll choose whoever he feels is most worthy for me to wed, with no care for my feelings. I’m done writing in this journal because it’s a trauma dump without any progress. Nothing will change. Fuck everything, I hate my life. Sometimes I wish I was never born.