Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Ginevra is too intelligent to lie when the envelope I brought in might contain evidence of her infidelity. She won’t buy my mercy with the truth.

I stare down at my wife, reveling in the way she trembles at my feet. Crocodile tears roll down her cheeks and drip on her pretty green kimono, but the sight of her misery no longer touches my heart.

This moment has been a long time coming. After watching her slither and sidestep my traps, she’s finally ready to submit. I love the way she kneels before me. My once untouchable goddess, now reduced to begging.

I force down a surge of triumph, even though I can already taste the victory, and ask, “Do you agree to my terms?”

Her lips quiver, and her gaze flickers with a thought that remains unvoiced. She knows better not to speak—knows I won’t tolerate another lie so soon after her admission of yet another infidelity.

“Answer me,” I demand, leaning closer, savoring how her breath catches.

She nods. “Yes, Benito. Anything.”

“Be specific,” I hiss.

“B-breed me,” she rasps, her cheeks flushing. “Get me pregnant.”

Heat surges to my cock, leaving me light-headed. She’s perfect like this—broken, at my mercy, her pride shattered and scattered at my feet.

But I’m not done. Not yet.

“Stand.”

Relief relaxes her pretty features. Exhaling, she offers me a hand but I step back. Five minutes of begging and weeping won’t erase her manipulation and deceit. Her hand falls back limp on her lap, and those vibrant gray eyes flicker with rejection.

I would smirk if my cock wasn’t in so much pain.

She wobbles to her feet, stumbling before she regains her balance. The kimono slips to the side to reveal a tantalizing peek of shoulder.

“Strip,” I command.

Breath quickening, she clutches its collar tighter around her neck. “Benito?”

My brows rise. “Changed your mind already?”

She shakes her head, lowers her lashes, and releases the fabric. Her petite fingers fumble with the knot at her waist before untangling the obi.

The silk kimono falls open, making my breath catch. Every urge screams at me to step forward, unwrap my traitorous bride, but I resist.

Ginevra must submit to me of her own free will.

She peels the kimono off her slender shoulders, exposing an expanse of creamy skin. I’ve seen her nude multiple times over the past weeks, both through the visor and on camera, but this is the first time she’s stripped for me and not Brisket.

The silk slides down her body, revealing breasts tipped with pale, pink nipples I long to caress, a slender waist, a gently curved belly, and a tiny patch of auburn pubes.

Ginevra stares up at me, studying my features for a reaction. I’ve called her beautiful every day since she was eight and that level of simping only got me rejected. I meet her gaze with the only expression she deserves—my indifference.

“Crawl to the rug,” I growl.

Her eyes widen, and red splotches of shames spread down her throat and over those luscious breasts. She hesitates for several seconds as if she can’t believe I could be so demeaning, but I square my shoulders, letting her know there’s no room for argument.

With a shaky breath, she kneels on the floor, her palms flat on the marble. Her auburn hair spills down as she crawls. Every movement accentuates her gentle curves, making me swallow back a moan.

Ginevra is gorgeous in her submission, and her humiliation is delicious. My gaze roves over her exposed flesh, taking in the curves doused in the afternoon light. Despite the suite’s even temperature, her skin has erupted into goosebumps.

My breath quickens, and I savor every movement of her exquisite form—the arch of her back the way her hips sway only for me. The sound of her shallow breaths fills the air, drowning out the roar of my blood.

Ginevra is everything a man could desire, and she’ll soon be mine in every sense.

She reaches the rug, her fingers sinking into its thick, gray pile. Her shoulders tense, her head hanging low like a dog trained to heel.

I cross the distance, taking my time, letting the anticipation mount.

Does she feel the heat building in her core? Does it burn as brightly as the blush staining her cheeks?

Pausing behind her, I place my boots inches from her bare feet, towering over her like her true master.

“Stay,” I say with a smirk.

With a sob, she trembles, not daring to glance back. The fear wracking her form is more intoxicating than whiskey. I step closer, reveling in the way her body tenses at the approach of a predator.

I graze the back of her neck with my fingertips, tracing the delicate line of her spine. She shudders beneath my touch but doesn’t pull away.

“If you think I’ll allow you to stay without retribution, you’re sorely mistaken,” I growl, my hand moving lower until my fingers brush over the curve of her hips.

She whimpers.

I kneel beside Ginevra and grip her shoulder, holding her in place. “You’re a traitor, and as such, will be punished.”noveldrama

She sucks in a breath, her body stiffening. Tension builds in her muscles, pulling them taut, and her skin prickles into tiny peaks. I let the moment stretch out, enjoying the way her breath shallows and quickens as my fingers linger on her skin.

“The next man you touch will die slowly, and I’ll force you to watch, is that understood?”

“Benito—”

“Yes, or no?”

“Yes,” she says with a gasp.

Without warning, I bring my hand down hard, the sharp crack of my palm against her ass reverberating through the room. She jerks forward, her lips parting with a gasp. I tighten my grip on her shoulder, not letting her escape.

“Don’t move without permission,” I snap.

She trembles under my hands, her pale ass cheek reddening with my mark. There’s something delightful about the way her body responds to my touch.

I bring my hand down again, harder this time, drawing out a harsh cry.

“Thank me,” I snarl.

She hesitates a moment before managing a strangled, “Thank you.”

“Good,” I whisper, my hand moving across her smooth skin with an almost gentle touch. Her back arches at the contrast of sensations, but she remains still.

I slide the hand on her shoulder down to cup her breast, enjoying the weight of it in my palm. Her nipple hardens beneath my touch, and I brush my thumb over its peak, eliciting a sharp gasp.

She squirms, trying to resist the pleasure, but I know her better than she thinks.

“Stay still.” I deliver another hard spank that makes her moan. “Look at me, Ginevra.”

She turns her head to the side, her eyes meeting mine. Fear shines from their gray depths, tinged with something darker. I wonder if that’s because the lines between Benito and Bob Brisket are starting to blur.

“Do you understand your punishment?”

She swallows hard and nods, loosening a fresh set of tears.

“Are you sure about that?”

My hand trails lower, and I slip my fingers between her pussy lips. They’re slick with arousal, even as she trembles. I drag the digits across her wet folds, making her sob.

“Why are you so wet?” I growl. “It’s like you enjoy being chastised.”

She shakes her head, trying to deny it, but it’s useless. Her body is mine. As is her mind. I spank her again and again, harder this time, savoring the way she jerks into my side, her cries mingling with the sharp crack of my hand.

Leaning in close, I growl into her ear, “Tell me what you want.”

Her body shivers, her sobs growing louder, each one a melody that fuels the heat coiling in my core. But it’s not enough. I want more than her tears. I want her absolute submission. I want her to beg for me.

I rub her clit in slow circles. She shudders, her hips moving against my hand, the rhythm of her need betraying her shame. She’s helpless against my touch, and I savor every second of her weakness, every inch of control.

“Speak, or I’ll stop.”

“Forgive me,” she bursts.

“Forgiveness must be earned, Ginevra. Tell me how.”

Her breath comes in short, ragged gasps, her hips convulsing with need. Without the freedom of being Bob Brisket, I might never have learned to play Ginevra’s body like an instrument.

When she doesn’t answer, I stop circling and withdraw my hand.

“Benito,” she says, meeting my eyes once again, “Please!”

“Tell me what you want,” I snarl. “Beg me.”

She shivers. “Breed me.”

“Tell me you want me to fuck you on this rug like an animal.”

Another sob bursts from her throat. “Benito⁠—”

“Now,” I snap.

“Please,” she cries, her words guttural. . “Breed me. Fuck me on the rug like an animal.”

“Dirty girl,” I snarl. “I’m going to pound into you until you bear my child.”