Page 244 of Stalking Ginevra

“I’m so close,” I say, clinging to his larger body as if I’ll shatter.

“Then come with me.”

His grip tightens, pulling me impossibly closer, and with one final thrust, the tension snaps, sending us both crashing over the edge in perfect sync.

Pleasure rips through my senses, pulling him into the same wild current. His cock pulses once, twice, and his groan vibrates against my skin, his grip tightening as he shudders through his release. Hot spurts of cum coat my inner walls, my muscles clenching around his shaft, milking every last drop. We tremble together, the intensity that’s been building between us finally breaking free.

And for the first time in half a decade, I let myself believe that maybe we can find our way back to each other’s trust.

This isn’t yet forgiveness—not by a long shot.

But it’s a start.

ONE HUNDRED TEN

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

GINEVRA

I descend the treehouse steps, my feet creaking on the wood. Moonlight shines down on the forest, providing scant illumination.

Benito was supposed to return ten minutes ago with the champagne. We still live separately but spend weekends together, alternating between Alderney Hill and the penthouse. During the week, Benito brings me lunch and picks me up from work before returning to the casino. I still have my social life with Mars and a selection of colleagues, and he’s careful never to overstep.

My gaze sweeps across the trees. He said he left a crate in his trunk and it wouldn’t take long to pick up a few bottles, but I’ve been waiting for ages.

Where the hell is he?

I reach the bottom of the stairs, and my shoes sink into a thick carpet of fallen leaves. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of branches fills the eerie silence, sending shivers down my spine.

My gaze sweeps up to the treehouse’s canopy, which sways with the breeze. The air is heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, clinging to my skin like cologne. Shadows flit and dance among the trees, and I swear I hear the crunch of heavy boots.

A breath catches in my throat. Is that him?

“B-Benito?” I whisper, my pulse quickening.

Maybe I should meet him halfway.

I continue walking along the worn path, forcing my legs to move forward, even though a knot of tension in my gut twists hard enough to make me clutch my middle.

The shadows between the trees shift, and I try to convince myself it’s my imagination, but prickles skitter across my skin, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Someone’s here.

Watching.

Stalking.

I glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing but foliage. By now, the treehouse is no longer in sight, yet I’m not even halfway toward the car.

Every primal instinct screams at me to run, but stubbornness propels me forward. My breath comes faster. Shivers crawl down my spine and settle between my legs.

Maybe the footsteps were my imagination?

Rustling from within the trees shatters that line of thought. I freeze, my body going rigid, my fight-or-flight battling with my lack of common sense. When the footsteps grow louder followed by excited, panting breaths, terror takes control and I bolt.

I crash through the undergrowth, my heart pounding in my ears. Branches whip my skin, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. The footsteps behind me quicken, snapping twigs under their relentless pursuit.

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