Page 140 of Stalking Ginevra

With a shaky breath, she kneels on the floor, her palms flat on the marble. Her auburn hair spills down as she crawls. Every movement accentuates her gentle curves, making me swallow back a moan.

Ginevra is gorgeous in her submission, and her humiliation is delicious. My gaze roves over her exposed flesh, taking in the curves doused in the afternoon light. Despite the suite’s even temperature, her skin has erupted into goosebumps.

My breath quickens, and I savor every movement of her exquisite form—the arch of her back the way her hips sway only for me. The sound of her shallow breaths fills the air, drowning out the roar of my blood.

Ginevra is everything a man could desire, and she’ll soon be mine in every sense.

She reaches the rug, her fingers sinking into its thick, gray pile. Her shoulders tense, her head hanging low like a dog trained to heel.

I cross the distance, taking my time, letting the anticipation mount.

Does she feel the heat building in her core? Does it burn as brightly as the blush staining her cheeks?

Pausing behind her, I place my boots inches from her bare feet, towering over her like her true master.

“Stay,” I say with a smirk.

With a sob, she trembles, not daring to glance back. The fear wracking her form is more intoxicating than whiskey. I step closer, reveling in the way her body tenses at the approach of a predator.

I graze the back of her neck with my fingertips, tracing the delicate line of her spine. She shudders beneath my touch but doesn’t pull away.

“If you think I’ll allow you to stay without retribution, you’re sorely mistaken,” I growl, my hand moving lower until my fingers brush over the curve of her hips.

She whimpers.

I kneel beside Ginevra and grip her shoulder, holding her in place. “You’re a traitor, and as such, will be punished.”

She sucks in a breath, her body stiffening. Tension builds in her muscles, pulling them taut, and her skin prickles into tiny peaks. I let the moment stretch out, enjoying the way her breath shallows and quickens as my fingers linger on her skin.

“The next man you touch will die slowly, and I’ll force you to watch, is that understood?”

“Benito—”

“Yes, or no?”

“Yes,” she says with a gasp.

Without warning, I bring my hand down hard, the sharp crack of my palm against her ass reverberating through the room. She jerks forward, her lips parting with a gasp. I tighten my grip on her shoulder, not letting her escape.

“Don’t move without permission,” I snap.

She trembles under my hands, her pale ass cheek reddening with my mark. There’s something delightful about the way her body responds to my touch.

I bring my hand down again, harder this time, drawing out a harsh cry.

“Thank me,” I snarl.

She hesitates a moment before managing a strangled, “Thank you.”

“Good,” I whisper, my hand moving across her smooth skin with an almost gentle touch. Her back arches at the contrast of sensations, but she remains still.

I slide the hand on her shoulder down to cup her breast, enjoying the weight of it in my palm. Her nipple hardens beneath my touch, and I brush my thumb over its peak, eliciting a sharp gasp.

She squirms, trying to resist the pleasure, but I know her better than she thinks.

“Stay still.” I deliver another hard spank that makes her moan. “Look at me, Ginevra.”

She turns her head to the side, her eyes meeting mine. Fear shines from their gray depths, tinged with something darker. I wonder if that’s because the lines between Benito and Bob Brisket are starting to blur.

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