Page 151 of Stalking Ginevra

Steeling myself, I walk out of the bathroom and over to the mini bar, where housekeeping packed the black box of toys. I crack it open and remove the largest dildo from its cardboard casting. After tearing off its plastic wrapper with my teeth, I hold it like a club.

If Benito is watching, then I’ll give him a show.

I strip off the robe, letting it fall to the floor, and walk over to the bed. My body is still sensitive from last night, still aching for him in ways I’m not ready to admit.

Lying back on the bed, I close my eyes and trail my fingers down my belly, imagining it to be his lips. I spread my legs, letting the cool air brush against my heated skin.

Wetness already gathers in my pussy, and I rub my clit, imagining my fingertip is his tongue. The bundle of nerves swell under my touch, and I shiver.

“Benito,” I say out loud, my voice throaty.

With my other hand, I guide the dildo at my entrance, making sure to part my knees as far as they’ll go. Picturing Benito, sitting in some kind of control room, magnifying the image, I glide the silicone object deep in my pussy.

The pleasure is immediate, sharp and all-consuming. My back arches off the bed as I slide the toy in and out, my breath coming in soft pants. Crying out, I buck my hips in counterpoint to the dildo’s thrusts, wanting him to watch.

Faster, harder—I ride the edge of pleasure, feeling the tension coil in my belly, tighter and tighter until it snaps. My orgasm rips through my core, and I moan his name through the spasms.

Before I can catch my breath, the door creaks open. My heart skips a beat, but I don’t dare lift my head. Benito stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes dark, predatory, and furious.

“Speak of the devil,” I say with a groan.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His gaze flicks to the new silk kimono hanging on the closet door, untouched.

“You walked out on me last night without leaving me a forwarding number. We haven’t finished talking.”

He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. “So, this is how you start a conversation? Naked and waiting?”

“How else would I get your attention?” I sit up, drawing my knees to my chest, my confidence wavering.

Benito shakes his head, his lips tightening. He turns like he’s about to leave, and panic spikes through my chest. I can’t let him go—not again. I leap off the bed, my feet hitting the cold marble, and launch myself at his back.

The last time I did that, he stumbled forward. Admittedly, we were twelve. Now, he’s as immovable as an iceberg, except he’s still heading toward the door.

“Don’t tell me you’re walking away from this morning’s breeding,” I say, my legs wrapping around his broad back.

Benito stops.

Shoulders stiffening, a muscle on the side of his jaw ticks. With a snarl, he peels me off his back and sets me on the floor.But at least he isn’t moving. Instead, he glares down at me with those cold, calculating eyes that once shone with warmth .

I meet his gaze, forcing myself not to shiver.

“Return to the bed on all fours,” he orders.

“No. I want it face to face.” My fingers grab the waistband of his pants, and I tug him backward toward the bed. “We do this like a married couple.”

His eyes flash with fury, but he lets me drag him closer. When the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, I place my hands on his shoulders and push him down to sit. He stares up at me, those hard eyes burning into mine, but I refuse to back down.

I kneel between his legs and gaze up into his stony features, reminding myself this is my Benito. Beneath that cold exterior is a man who doesn’t want to see me hurt. A man who wants me to bear his children. I just need to make more of an effort to draw out the love.

My fingers work to unbutton his fly, but his hand shoots out and seizes my wrist.

“Straddle me.”

My brow pinches. That’s the second time he’s stopped me from pulling out his cock. Is it scarred or is he shy? A lump forms in my throat as another possibility floats to the front of my mind. What if my affair with Bob Brisket has made Benito insecure?

Pushing back a surge of guilt, I rise to my feet, swinging a leg over his hips, followed by the next, and straddle his lap. My lips are so close to his that we’re sharing the same air, and I lean forward for a kiss.

“No.”

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