Page 245 of Stalking Ginevra

Picking up my pace, I scream, “Benito!”

Dread roils in my gut, making me groan. Benito isn’t coming—he won’t reach me in time. This predator will almost certainly get to me first.

His presence is overwhelming, and my skin prickles with the weight of his gaze. Primal terror grips me by the throat, cutting off my air. I stumble over roots, my arms splaying out for balance. Pushing myself off a tree trunk, I run deeper into the forest.

The footsteps pound inside my skull, heavy and relentless. Every primal instinct screams the same devastating truth:

He’s playing with my fear.

I glance over my shoulder again for a glimpse of his face, but all I see is the outline of an impossibly large figure eclipsing the moonlight. My knees want to buckle, but I force my legs to keep moving. I can’t let myself get caught.

My lungs burn, but it’s nothing compared to my aching thigh muscles having to navigate this hostile terrain. I pick up my pace, but it’s no use. He’s too fast. Too strong. Too determined to run me ragged.

Frantic thoughts crash against each other as my body runs out of steam. I’m helpless. Trapped. Prey.

A strong arm encircles my waist, lifting me off the ground. I scream, but a gloved hand clamps over my mouth.

“Quiet, little Ginny,” says a terrifyingly familiar voice.

It’s Bob Brisket.

He’s finally tracked me down. That sadistic bastard must have been waiting all these months for the perfect moment to strike. My mind spirals, and panic punches me in the chest.

Brisket’s malicious chuckle grips my heart and squeezes.

“Missed me?” he croons, his grip squeezing out my breath.

“No!” I shriek, but the sound is muffled by his gloved hand. My mind races, scrambling for a way to escape his clutches.

“Shhh,” Brisket’s voice sends chills down my spine. “You wouldn’t want Mr. Montesano to aggravate his bullet wound now, would you?”

Tears prick my eyes. What the hell did this monster do to my Benito?

Terror floods my veins, icy and sharp. I twist and wriggle, but his grip is stronger than iron.

“Don’t make this harder for yourself,” he growls. “All this thrashing is only stimulating my cock.”

My stomach lurches, my clit swells. Brisket tosses me on the forest floor, and I land on my hands and knees. I scramble upright, but his larger body pushes me into the leaf litter. All the air leaves my lungs, and my mind spirals into panic.

“Eager little slut,” he growls. “Pressing your sweet ass into my cock. Is that your way of demanding anal?”

I raise my head and scream, “No, you bastard!”

It only makes him chuckle.

Arousal simmers low in my belly, twisting with fear. Heat flushes through my veins, making my cheeks burn.

His primal growl sends a jolt of terror straight to my core. A leathery hand tightens around one wrist before shoving it to join the other. I writhe against his grip, feeling the press of his erection between my ass cheeks.

I can’t breathe, can barely think. My world narrows to this hard, imposing figure pinning me to the forest floor.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he growls through the helmet, his voice muffled and distorted. “Beg me for this hard cock.”

Somehow, during the struggle, I lost my shoes. I kick out, my heel connecting with his shin, but the armor absorbs the blow. His free hand slides down my side, tracing the curve of my hip until he yanks up the hem of my nightshirt. With a satisfiedchuckle, he kicks apart my legs, exposing my ass and pussy to the air.

“You’re glistening. Wet and ready for me.”

Shaking my head, I burst out a sob. It’s half-terror, half-need. I hate this urgent desire, despise how much I crave this degradation, loathe this unrelenting arousal.

---