Page 247 of Stalking Ginevra

Because I never hated Brisket. He ignited a flame in me that Samson extinguished. He made me feel wanted, desired, irresistible. Without this brute, I might never have mustered up the courage to approach Benito.

Dr. Saint would call this mental gymnastics. I call it getting lost in the heat of this cock. Gathering up my strength, I shove his shoulders.

“Let me get on top.”

The perverse satisfaction in his laugh makes me want to slap off the visor. “Can’t get enough of Bob Brisket?”

I don’t dignify that comment with an answer. He already knows how much I want him.

He pulls us up so my legs wrap around his waist, and my knees dig into the leaf litter. I ride his thick length with an intensity that borders on madness. Pleasure jolts through my veins in a frenzy that makes my head spin.

“Greedy girl,” he growls. “You’re taking my cock so well.”

My thighs burn with the effort, and my body wants to collapse, but he grips my waist, steadying my movements.

The forest fades into a blur, and all that’s left is him, our raw desire, and the steady rhythm of his hips meeting mine.

“Ginevra,” he growls, his voice strained.

I drive down harder, faster, reveling the sensations. The walls of my pussy pulse around his shaft, and I swear I can feel every vein brushing against my sensitive spots. He tears off my shirt, leaving me exposed to the night air.

With trembling fingers, I reach for the helmet, release the catch, and pull it off his head. Benito gazes back at me, his eyes filled with love.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, my arms wrapping around his neck.

Our lips meet, hungry and desperate, his tongue sliding against mine with a fervor that matches the rhythm of our bodies. His hands wander my back, tracing lines of sparks against my skin.

“Benito,” I gasp into his mouth, riding him harder, faster. “I love you so much.”

His hands grip my hips tighter, his dark eyes boring into mine. “I’ve always loved you,” he groans, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll never stop.”

Quickening my pace, I ride him harder, each thrust sinking deeper, his thick length filling my core to the brink.

My ears fill with his ragged breath, and I’m sure I feel the strain of his muscles beneath the armor. His low groan rolls through the air, vibrating through my chest.

Pleasure builds, spiraling out of control with each relentless movement. His hands dig into my waist, urging me faster. My pulse races, and heat flares in my core, threatening to detonate.

When the tension snaps, it’s more intense than an explosion, with white-hot ecstasy coursing through my veins in violent spasms. I clench around his thick shaft, my body milking his.

Benito’s grip drops to my hips, and he climaxes with a bellow that startles the birds. They fly out of the trees and disappear into the night’s sky.

We fall together, collapsing onto the leaves, his chest rising and falling beneath mine. I tremble against him through the orgasm, shattered and spent.

For the next several heartbeats, the only sound is our ragged breathing. I rest my head on his shoulder, my mind spinning, my fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his jacket. The leaves beneath our bodies feel softer, the night air cool against my heated flesh, grounding me after the storm of pleasure.

Benito loosens his jacket, exposing the warmth of his skin. His breath stills for a moment before he whispers, “Are you alright?”

“That was intense,” I murmur, my heart still racing, my inner muscles still fluttering from the aftershocks.

“Did it help?” he asks, his voice rough.

Dr. Saint’s suggestion had sounded insane at first—a primal chase to negate my recurring nightmares of being hunted by Valentino Bossanova. Benito also had concerns that I still dreaded him because of Brisket, and he wanted to turn my fear and revulsion into desire.

I close my eyes, letting the final remnants of terror fade into the night. “Yes,” I whisper into his neck. “The forest doesn’t feel so frightening, and I no longer think I’m about to fall into a pit.”

He exhales, his frame releasing the tension. “Good,” he rasps. “I didn’t want to push too far.”

“You could never,” I murmur, lifting my head to meet his gaze. His dark eyes, often clouded with shadows of guilt, now shimmer with hope. Frowning, he asks, “Was I too rough?”

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