Page 5 of Stalking Ginevra

Winding down the window, I lean across the back seat, making sure to stay concealed beneath the visor of my cap. Her face is pale and drawn, her eyes puffy and red, and it takes every effort not to pull her into a hug.

In a thick, nondescript accent, I ask, “Uber for Di Marco?”

“Yes.” She opens the back door and sits inside.

My cock hardens at the thought of the game that’s just begun. As I pull away from Capello’s ravaged hideout, I glance at her through the rearview mirror. She sits clutching her purse with white-knuckled fingers.

“Nice evening, Ma’am?” I ask.

When her features tighten, I smirk beneath my mask. She might act affronted but I know she brought herself to climax. All from sucking my cock.

Samson must have trained her extensively during the five years she was his fiancée, because we never did more than kiss. She was my pure little goddess, my future wife. I didn’t want to besmirch her honor before marriage.

If I’d known she would leave me for a bastard like Capello, I would have fucked her at every opportunity. Maybe then, I would have moved onto another woman, and been more like Cesare, who has a roster of beautiful employees with benefits.

I navigate the hair-pin turns of Alderney Hill, reveling in her discomfort. When she wipes away a tear, I wonder if it’s for her soon-to-be dead fiancé or for her recent degradation.

“Where to, Ma’am?” I ask.

“Don’t you have my address in your system?” she asks back, her voice tight with impatience.

“32, Willow Lane, Queen’s Gardens?”

“Yes,” she hisses.

I suppress a chuckle. “Rough night?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Only you look a little disheveled.”

“Would you mind driving faster?” she asks, her pretty lips tightening with distaste.

“Of course, Ma’am,” I answer, taking my foot off the gas.

Ginevra inserts wireless earbuds into her ears and stares out through the window, determined to avoid my probing questions. With a smile, I leave Alderney Hill and turn the vehicle onto a longer route.

Silence stretches across the back seat of the car, filled only by the soft purr of the engine. When she brings her trembling fingers to her mouth, I can’t help but think she’s still tasting my cum.

It’s light by the time I deposit her outside the front doors of her family home, a sprawling McMansion set within a quarter acre of lawns and manicured hedges.

Opening the door, she steps out without so much as a thank you. Her movements are hurried, frantic. I smirk, watching her stumble up the steps to her family home.

She fumbles with her keys and drops them on the welcome mat. When she bends to pick them up, her dress rides up just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her gorgeous thighs. I lean across the driver's seat and groan. Finally, she unlocks the door, throws a glance over her shoulder, and she slips inside before closing it shut.

“See you sooner than you think, little Ginny.”

I drive around the block and park just outside the tall hedges bordering the Di Marco property. After slipping on my helmet and bulletproof jacket, I stay low, weaving between the trees and shrubs of their garden. I reach the house's rear, clock the narrow ledges and windowsills just wide enough to grip. After a quick glance around to make sure no one’s watching, I grab hold of a ledge and haul myself up toward the upper floors.

Using a knife, I wedge open her dressing room window and slip inside. The morning sun streams through the gaps in the door leading to her bedroom. Crossing the narrow space, I peek in to find Ginevra standing with her back to me, undressing.

My breath catches as she slips out of her shift, revealing delicate skin marred with rope marks. The diagonal patterns catch the light, and I'm entranced at how they shift and stretch as she moves to her nightstand and extracts an eye mask. After slipping under the covers, she slides the silk blindfold over her head and sobs.

“Are you crying for me, little Ginny?” I whisper. “Or for him?”

At the soft sounds of her misery, my cock hardens. I press the heel of my hand into my groin, waiting for my little obsession to cry herself to sleep. Once her breathing evens, I slip out of my hiding place and creep across the room.

I stop at her bedside, my gaze fixed on her serene face. Beneath that innocent, peaceful exterior is a woman trained to satisfy Samson’s depravity. My fingers itch to touch her, to claim her, but I hold back.

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