Page 112 of Stalking Ginevra

Releasing her throat, I step back before I lose control. Without another word of acknowledgment, I turn on my heel and stride toward the door.

The moment I step into the hallway, the cool air slaps against my overheated skin, but it’s powerless against the inferno raging in my core. My muscles coil tight, every fiber of my being thrumming with unspent desire. It’s a raw ache that refuses to subside. I was a breath away from claiming her, from unleashing everything I’ve held back, and the restraint it took has left me on the edge of madness.

I limp down the hallway, my cock pressing painfully against my zipper. I need release, and fast. But for now, I let the desire simmer, let the anticipation build.

She’ll come around, and when she does, it’ll be worth every second of this agony.

FIFTY-ONE

GINEVRA

I lie on my back, staring into the mirror above the mattress, every muscle in my body trembling with a cocktail of rage and something far more unsettling. My clit swells, and the pulse behind it pounds so hard its vibrations reverberate against my thighs.

When the door clicks shut, the sound breaks me out of my spell.

Benito has no right to make my body react to his hand around my throat. No right to make me so aroused. For a moment, I hoped he would throw me against the wall and consummate our marriage, but instead, he left me in this needy state.

My pussy clenches, and I grind my teeth, forcing back another surge of arousal. How dare he strip me of my dignity and walk away? How dare he talk like I’m his fucking property? How dare he offer me clothes as an incentive for being a good wife?

I clutch the edges of the robe tighter until my knuckles feel like they’re about to crack. The soft fabric only aggravates my heated skin.

Benito has no right to be so arrogant.

His audacity ignites a fire that burns through what’s left of my confusion. When did he become this cruel, controlling figure? I’m almost certain he got off on seeing me squirm. He doesn’t get to have the last word. I need to confront him again, demand answers, and claw back a semblance of control.

I push myself off the bed, land on my feet, and march across the suite to the door. Grabbing the handle, I yank it open with maximum force.

Fury propels my feet into the hallway, but the door to the suite swings shut. Its locking mechanism whirrs, freezing me in place. Breath catching, my throat tightens with panic. I whirl around, gaping at the locked door, realizing I’m trapped out in public with nothing but this robe.

The hallway stretches out to my left and right, a long, empty expanse that may as well be the desert. I glance toward the elevator, which closes shut.

“Benito?”

He can’t hear me. Shit.

Fury fades, replaced by the sensation of being exposed. Cold sweat prickles at the back of my neck, making me shiver. I need to find a phone.

The door opposite mine creaks open. That brute from earlier—the one who leered at me with the ice bucket, emerges, grinning like he’s just won a prize. He fills the doorway like a troll, his gaze sweeping up and down my body, lingering on the swell of my breasts.

“Need help, sweetheart?” he rumbles with a wink that makes my skin crawl.

Revulsion ripples down my spine and settles in my gut. I force up my chin, mustering every ounce of self confidence. “My husband is around the corner, getting ice.”

The tremor in my voice betrays the fear coiling in my gut, and his grin widens.

“You just got married?”

“To Mr. Benito Montesano. The casino’s new owner.”

“So I should leave you alone because you’re a mafia wife?” Chuckling, he swaggers forward, the door to his room propped open behind him like a portal to hell.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Should I run? That would only trigger his predator instincts and make him think I’m lying.

I take a step back, the soft carpet doing nothing to muffle the thudding of my heart. The brute continues advancing, his bulk filling the corridor and sucking up all the air. My breath quickens, each inhale sharp and shallow as my lungs squeeze with alarm. I can’t run, but I also can’t let him close that distance.

“What are you wearing under that robe,” he growls.

“Benito?” I say.

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