Page 130 of Stalking Ginevra

Biting down on my bottom lip, I swallow back the moan, but there’s no mistaking the way my body trembles at his command. Without meaning to, I relax into his grip.

“You bastard,” I say. “I’m married to your boss. He’ll kill you.”

“Ginevra?” Mom’s voice trembles. “Who are you talking to? Who’s out there with you?”

“Tell her,” he rasps through the helmet. “Tell her you’ve moved on from a mafia prince to a predator.”

I stay silent, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I fight the tears pricking the backs of my eyes. My mind races. I need to break free. Need to fight. Need to stay faithful to my new husband. But all I can focus on is the way those relentless fingers continue circling my swollen clit, the heat building in my core despite the shame.

His hand tightens on my waist, holding me upright as my legs buckle. My hips—those wretched traitors— shift backwardinto the hard bulge pressing into my ass. I swallow back a whimper, but the sound escapes my lips.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I can feel how much you want me.”

I hate him. I hate him for twisting my emotions, for coaxing my body into this heinous betrayal, for knowing how to play on my weaknesses. I hate him for making me crave his touch despite the loathing that churns in my gut. I hate him for making me betray my vows.

Most of all, I hate myself even more for wanting him. For needing his touch.

His gloved thumb presses harder on my clit and a shiver of pleasure skitters up my spine.

Behind the door, Mom screeches, “Ginevra, what’s happening?”

Tears sting my eyes as Bob’s relentless fingers push me closer to the edge. My chest heaves, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Pleasure coils tight in my belly, hot and overwhelming.

I shake my head from side to side, trying to fight it, trying to focus on the sound of Mom’s voice, but Bob’s touch is all-consuming.

“You’ve always been mine,” he whispers, his voice thick with triumph. “No one else can make you feel this way. Not even Mr. Montesano.”

A sob catches in my throat because he’s right. Things were never like this with Benito. He was my childhood friend, my warm blanket, my prince charming. What we had was family, love, companionship. But it was never this all-consuming passion.

The pressure builds, and my entire body trembles under his insistent touch. One hand tightens on my waist, while the other continues these torturous caresses.

My pulse pounds, and every nerve in my body thrums with pleasure. I claw at Bob’s wrist, fingers digging into his thick armor. I should push him away, tell him to stop, scream for help. But it’s as if rational thought has fled my mind, replaced by this all-consuming need.

I bite down on my lip, the sweet pain a futile attempt to stave off the rapid onslaught of pleasure that threatens to consume me from within.

Through the misery and the guilt, Bob’s ragged breath rasps against my ear, his need mirroring my own. “Admit it, little Ginny. You want this. You want me.”

“Benito,” I cry. “I want my husband.”

He chuckles, a mocking sound that reverberates through my ears. “Your lips say one thing, but your body screams another.”

My eyes squeeze shut, the muscles of my pussy spasm and clench. Returning home was a mistake. I should have obeyed Benito, stayed at the hotel, and been satisfied with the kimono. I should have given us a chance.

“You lie so sweetly,” he murmurs, his voice weaving through the fog of my resistance. “But it’s time to let go.”

Every muscle in my body coils like a spring ready to snap from this unbearable tension. My consciousness blurs as I teeter on the precipice of unspeakable pleasure. Mom’s cries, her frantic knocking, her entire existence becomes distant.

I can no longer resist. The fingers teasing my clit quicken, becoming the epicenter of my existence. All I can think about is the man pushing me to the brink of ruin.

Then something inside me ruptures. Gasping, my head falls back against his shoulder as my body convulses with bursts of ecstasy. It rips through my core like an electric storm. With each shuddering moan that escapes my lips, I surrender deeper into this rapture.

Brisket’s mocking laughter drowns out the sound of my sweet betrayal. He holds me through the aftershocks, his fingers still teasing my clit.

“You’re mine, Ginevra,” he says, his voice dark and possessive. “And I will destroy anyone who gets in my way.”

I sag against his larger form, the last of my strength leaving my veins, the shame curling around my neck like a constrictor. Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and bitter, but I can’t bring myself to move, can’t bring myself to fight.

Behind the door, my mom’s voice trembles. “Ginevra, please… what’s going on in there?”

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