Page 2 of Stalking Ginevra

“Please,” I rasp, my throat so dry the sound comes out a strangled whisper.

The figure remains silent, his aim unwavering from the space between my eyes. My heart pounds so hard and fast that my ears fill with its echoes. I can’t let this be my last moment.

“Let me live, and I’ll give you anything,” I croak.

He stares down at me for several tense heartbeats, and my life flashes before my eyes. Memories of a childhood spent accompanying Dad to the Montesano mansion surface—where the housekeeper would take me to the kitchen and teach me to make cookies. Benito would linger in the doorway, watching from a distance.

My mind fills with a kaleidoscope of snapshots, each one featuring the same bookish guy: buying me tiger lilies because they reminded him of my hair, surprising me with first-edition copies of my favorite novels, making me yuzu tea because I love everything citrus. Benito wasn’t like other sons of mafia bosses. He was lanky, awkward, meek—but endearing.

The memories are warm. Comforting. And for a moment, I’m transported to the happiest years of my life. Then, they fade, and I’m pulled back into the present, facing the barrel of this stranger’s gun.

After what feels like an eternity, the man in the doorway places his weapon in a holster and draws a knife.

I shudder, bracing for the cold bite of his blade. Warm blood will trickle down my skin, soaking into the ropes. I’ll still be trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey when the police bring Mom to identify my body.

Rage heats my blood. I don’t deserve any of this, yet here I am, staring into the cold visor of death. Gritting my teeth, I force down the emotion, focussing only on my survival. Dad should have lived long enough to witness how his choices led to my destruction.

The man reaches a gloved hand and grabs my shoulder, making me whimper. He forces my torso downward, pressing my lower body against my thighs, and cuts the ropes binding my arms.

My heart pounds a deafening drumbeat as my hands flop to the side. Circulation floods back to my upper limbs in an explosion of pins and needles. I wince at the prickling sensation, hoping he’ll withdraw the knife and leave. Instead, he grabs the ropes around the back of my head and forces me upright.

I stare at the finger tapping the padded triangle of fabric protecting his groin. It’s attached to the rest of his tactical gear with reinforced straps and buckles, but more importantly, misshapen by the bulge of his erection.

Dread rolls through my stomach like thunder, bringing it with a burst of suppressed fury.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

The fingers in my hair tighten as if the answer is obvious. Pain slices across my scalp, making me wince but also sharpening my memory.

I offered him anything to save my life. As if I had the choice.

Now, he wants me to suck his cock.

“F-Fellatio?” I whisper.

With a curt nod, he loosens his grip on my hair. A shiver runs down my spine, but I shove away the fear and focus on survival.Because if I get through this ordeal, I’ll be sure to apologize to Benito.

I raise trembling fingers to the quick-release buckles and unstrap the groin guard. The bulge in his pants expands, making my breath catch.

He looks well-endowed—impossibly large. I’ve only done this once before on a real penis. It was humiliating, painful, and unpleasant. Afterward, Samson shoved me aside, calling me talentless.

My stomach dips. What if I fail to please this man and he retaliates?

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pull down his zipper and groan at the monstrously thick cock straining against his silk underwear.

It’s thicker than the dildos Samson forced me to practice on, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen or imagined. Heart pounding, I ease down the fabric and release his length.

His hips shift—his only indication of impatience—before he yanks my hair by the roots. Hissing through my teeth at the pain, I drift forward, positioning my mouth so close to his erection that its heat radiates against my lips.

As I run my tongue along the flat of his veiny flesh, his grip loosens, and he exhales a long, deep moan. The primal sound shoots straight to my pussy. Breathing hard, I trace a line up his shaft, slowing at his thick crown.

My nostrils fill with the intimidating musk of his arousal, accompanied by the taste of salt. His heat pulses against my tongue, and in a perverse way, it’s pleasurable, and takes the edge off my anger.

Stifling a jolt of unwanted desire, I focus on making him come. I suck the head between my lips, working the underside with my tongue. The man rocks his hips back and forth, sliding his shaft in and out of my mouth.

I shift uncomfortably on the floor, the ropes separating my labia rubbing against my swollen clit.

His breath quickens, and I suppress a surge of pride at moving this powerful being. Switching my thinking, I imagine the stranger is Benito—only he’s dominant, dangerous, and demanding.

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