Page 131 of Stalking Ginevra

But I can’t answer her. I can’t say a word.

Brisket arranges my body on the stairs so I’m lying on my back with each tread digging into my spine. A tiny stream of light reflects off his helmet, but I turn my head, not wanting him to see my face.

“Just leave,” I rasp.

His cackles echo through the stairwell.

“Did you think we finished?” he asks. “We’ve only just begun.”

My heart leaps to the back of my throat.

I’ll never escape this maniac.

SIXTY

BENITO

The helmet feels heavier tonight, trapping the heat of my body and the weight of my thoughts. But I keep it on because I need to remind myself that no matter how much I desire Ginevra, she’s the worst traitor since Jezebel.

She lies on the stairs, her chest heaving, her body limp and trembling from her release. She doesn’t realize it yet, but what I’m about to do isn’t just for her. It’s for me.

What’s the point of pining over someone so fickle or treating her like my goddess when she would so easily come apart at the touch of another man?

She’s so accustomed to chasing pleasure that I could never satisfy her as Benito, the virgin she discarded. I need to practice on her… as Brisket.

The air between us thickens with the sweet scent of her arousal, but my body thrums with something more. Anticipation. Hunger. Fear.

My heart pounds so hard it throbs in my throat, and for a second, I wonder if I can even go through with Brisket’s demand.

Can I take her?

I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. I’ve waited years for Ginevra. Years of watching her from close and afar. Years of loving her, even as she lost herself in other men. Years of imagining this exact moment.

She’s mine, now. Mine via marriage. Mine via seduction. Mine via deceit. She’s always been mine, even after she left.

But this is different.

I crouch beside her, my gloved hand grazing her thigh, testing the feel of her skin beneath my fingers. I’ve touched her before. I’ve felt those lips around my cock. I’ve felt her body tremble under my hands. But this time, I’m claiming her in every way.

Ginevra flinches at the contact, but it’s not out of fear. It’s a need I sense humming just beneath the surface of her skin. She won’t admit it, but she yearns for Brisket. Yearns for any man except her Benito.

“You still want me,” I murmur, my voice distorted by the helmet. “Even now.”

A small whimper escapes her lips, but she doesn’t deny it.

She can’t.

I pull out my knife, which feels heavier in my grip than usual. Then I hesitate, my hand hovering over her waistband.

This is it—the point where everything changes. Once I cross this line, there's no return. The thought clings to my psyche, but I shove it aside. I need to do this. I need her. With a slash, I cut through her leggings, exposing her skin, piece by piece, watching her shiver beneath the blade.

When the fabric lies on the stairs in tatters, and all that’s left of her are creamy thighs and a glistening pussy, my heart stutters.

I have to pause, to take in the evidence of her arousal. My gaze bounces to her face. She looks up at me through half-liddedeyes, her lips parted and red. Is this a freeze response? Have I frightened her into submission, or is this a silent surrender?

“You look so beautiful, lying there, trying not to beg for my cock.”

“Fuck you, Brisket,” she whispers.

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