Page 111 of Stalking Ginevra

My anger sharpens to a blade, slicing through any remaining doubts. I reach out, closing my fingers around her throat with a speed that makes her gasp.

Eyes widening, she stares up at me as if I’m a monster like Brisket.

“You should have come to me,” I growl. “We could have protected you, hidden you away. Instead, you chose to leave.”

Her breath hitches as I pull her closer until our bodies touch. Every primal urge screams at me to squeeze harder, cut off her air, but I fight to contain the boiling fury.

“You chose to be with him,” I hiss, my breath coming in harsh, controlled bursts.

“Benito—“

“No more excuses,” I snarl.

She whimpers, her eyes squeezing shut.

My mind snaps back to that day in the lecture theater, when she stood before me cold and composed as she dismantled my world. I asked what I did wrong, begged her for another chance, but she said she was happy with Samson.

Now, with her pulse quickening beneath my fingers, all I can think about is how easily she discarded a lifetime. My grip tightens, and I pull her so close that we’re sharing the same air.

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “No more secrets. No defiance. Absolute loyalty.”

She jerks back, but I tighten my grip around her throat, my fingers pressing into the soft skin. “Don’t forget,” I whisper, my voice a low growl, “Your life hangs by a thread, and I’m the only one keeping you from falling.”

Ginevra tenses but doesn’t break free, but I don’t let go. Her breath quickens to a staccato rhythm that echoes the pounding of her heart. Ginevra needs to understand she’s in no position to make demands.

Finally, she nods, and I walk her back toward the bed. With a gentle shove, she stumbles backward, collapsing into the mattress like a perfect little wife. Face flushing, she opens her mouth to protest, but I turn on my heel and head toward the door.

Moments later, she grabs my arm. “Where are my clothes?”

I pause, letting her stew before sparing her a glance. She glares up at me, trembling like a soaked kitten, desperate anddefiant in nothing but that robe. The sight of her fills the darkest parts of my soul with a sick satisfaction.

Arching a brow, I lean in just enough that she can’t escape the intensity of my stare. “Why do you want them, Ginevra? Planning to leave?”

She blinks, her face falling slack, as if she finds my question confusing. Her mouth opens, then closes, her eyes flickering as she struggles to find the words.

“You can’t keep me caged forever,” she says.

My lips twitch. I lean closer, my gaze locking onto hers, until her eyes flicker with doubt. “Good wives earn the privilege of clothing.”

Her lips part with a gasp, and those pretty eyes widen with shock. The anger in her features gives way to something vulnerable. But just as quickly, the fire returns.

“Are you demanding sex?” she snaps.

My mind fills with memories of her on her knees for Brisket, those pretty pink lips wrapped around my shaft. Ginevra might think she’s fooling me with this false sense of propriety, but I’ve seen first hand that she’s a dirty girl.

When I grab her throat again, my thumb brushes over her pulse point. Her breath hitches, and her eyes glaze.

“Is that what you want?” I murmur against her lips.

She shakes her head, her face flushed, her lips darkening with lust. Heat rushes to my cock. My body thrums with tension, desire coiled tight. I could take her now, make her enjoy every moment of her submission, but that would be too easy.

Ginevra Di Marco needs to realize just how completely she belongs to me.

Wrong.

She’s Ginevra Montesano.

Warmth fills my chest at the reminder that I’ve made her my wife. No matter how much she protests, she’s mine untildeath. With no fiancé to tie her into kinky knots and no stalker to satisfy her urges, it’s only a matter of time before little Ginny begs for my cock.

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