Page 243 of Stalking Ginevra

“You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel alive,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent every day without you in agony, trying to fix what I broke. And I’ll keep working on myself, whether you’re with me or not. But if there’s any part of you that still loves me?—”

“Stop talking.” I ease down his boxers, freeing his beautiful cock, and wrap my fingers around his shaft, making us both groan.

I should walk away. I should tell him I need more time, but I can’t. The truth is, despite everything, I still love him. I always have.

After peeling off what’s left of my leggings, he slides his fingers between my folds, finding my clit with an agonizing slowness that sends a shiver down my spine. He rubs in slow, deliberate circles, each touch setting my nerve endings on fire. I part my lips and moan, my body arching into his chest, desperate for more. No one could ever unravel me like this, or play my body until I’m teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“I hate you for how you made me suffer,” I whisper, my voice shaking with the weight of my emotions. “But I can’t imagine a world without you in it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, as if my words are a balm to the wound of our separation. When they open again, all I find is fierce determination, a fire that mirrors the one burning in my soul.

“From now until the day I die, I’ll never stop fighting,” he says. “You’re the only thing that gives my life meaning.”

He lifts me off the tables and into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist. The blunt tip of his cock presses against my entrance, sending shockwaves through my core. He pauses,his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart soar.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice is a hoarse whisper, rough with need. “Because if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper, every fiber of my being aching to connect.

With a swift, powerful thrust, he pushes into my entrance, his thick girth stimulating my nerves with a delicious stretch. Gasping, I dig my nails into his shoulders. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this full, I almost forgot it was so intoxicating. The sensations are overwhelming, almost too much, but I’ve craved his touch for months.

“Fuck,” Benito growls through clenched teeth, his body shaking from the effort of restraint. “You’re so tight.”

His words infuse me with pleasant shudders, sparking every nerve to life, igniting an insatiable ache for more. But he stills. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and brimming with emotion, as if he’s fighting not just to hold back, but to reclaim what he’s lost.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my grip tightening around his shoulders.

“I want to savor this moment,” he says through panting breaths. “I never thought you’d let me this close again after my selfish betrayal.”

“Benito,” I whisper.

His chest heaves, and every line of his face etches with regret. “You feel like heaven. Like home.”

Time seems to slow, and for the next several heartbeats, we’re two chambers of the same fractured heart, each yearning to heal. My walls flutter around his shaft, making him shiver.

“Come with me to therapy,” he says, the words urgent. “We can do couples counseling. We can work out our differences. You can learn about all the impulses I’m trying to control.”

“A-alright,” I whisper.

“Ginevra.”

The vulnerability in his gaze radiates gratitude, regret, and a longing for change. For the first time since he found me in that closet, I see the old Benito—the one I destroyed when I left.

I can’t dwell on the past for too long because there’s no denying this urgent need. It burns, deep and primal, demanding more.

“Please,” I whisper, the word escaping as a desperate plea. “Move.”

Breath hitching, he withdraws, then snaps his hips forward, pounding into my pussy with raw precision. As I bump against the table, his lips graze down the curve of my neck, each hot breath searing my skin, while every thrust sends waves of molten ecstasy rippling through my core.

I rake my fingers down his back, their nails digging into his flesh as I surrender to the intensity—the way he moves, the way we collide, the way he drives me to the brink of madness.

His grip tightens on my hips, pulling me closer, deeper, his pace quickening with a desperate urgency. “I need you, Ginevra,” he groans against my ear, his voice rough and raw. “It’s been like this since the beginning.”

A shiver tears through my body at his words, the tension inside coiling tight, ready to snap. “Don’t you dare stop. Not now. Not ever.”

“Never,” he growls, his pace quickening.

The pressure builds, every movement driving me closer to the edge, spiraling higher with each relentless snap of his hips. His breath turns ragged, the tremor in his muscles matching the tightening coil low in my belly.

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