Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Samson’s hideout has erupted into World War Three. The Montesano family is attacking, and we’re all going to die. I should be using this chance to escape my psycho fiancé, but he’s tossed me in a closet.

Instead, I’m kneeling, naked, knotted in shibari… numb with a sense of inevitable doom.

I wish this was the punchline to a bad joke.

Ropes constrict my torso, creating a diamond pattern from my breasts down to my crotch. He calls it Japanese bondage, but it might as well be a butcher’s meat trussing. The fibers tease my clit, triggering an uncontrollable surge of arousal.

I couldn’t escape without help even if the mansion was on fire.

Samson wanted to show his guards how he could make me come without using his hands. Bastard didn’t get a chance to finish before a small army stormed the compound with automatic weapons.

He was supposed to be dead weeks ago—shot down by the lone gunman who infiltrated his father’s sixtieth birthday party and massacred the entire Capello family.

When Dad told me the Capellos had been murdered, I was relieved—even happy. I never asked to be engaged to the world’s angriest and most abusive asshole, never asked to endure rejection, degradation, and insults.

Dad broke my engagement with my soulmate and childhood best friend to join forces with an up-and-coming mafia family. I was the collateral he sacrificed to become the Capello consigliere. While he reveled in power and prestige, I paid with my dignity.

The relief at losing my fiancé only lasted the hours it took for Samson to stumble through our door, still high from whatever shit he took at his dad’s party. After driving me home the night before, he’d crashed into a lamp post and spent the night unconscious at the wheel.

The man has the luck of the devil, but it’s about to run out.

Gunfire thunders from the grounds, accompanied by the panicked shouts of Samson’s men. Vibrations travel through the floorboards into my bare skin, making me tremble.

They’re coming closer.

It won’t be long before bullets rip through the cupboard door inches from my face, scattering wood chips and dust over my naked body. I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding so desperately against its cage that I swear it’s about to burst.

Sweat trickles down the valley between my breasts and soaks into the rope. At the sound of bullets shattering glass, I whimper.

They’re here.

Terror grips my senses, and the acrid scent of gunpowder sears my nostrils. Fear coats my tongue, metallic and bitter, making me want to gag. This reminds be so much of the time Samson forced me to deep throat his gun. I breathe hard, holding down a surge of panic as the voices reach a crescendo.

I’m going to die. Die before I even got a chance to apologize to Benito for breaking our engagement. Life with him was simple. I was the center of his attention—he catered to my every whim.

Benito placed me on a pedestal, treating me like a princess. It was impossible not to love him when his entire personality revolved around being at my side. When I enrolled in law school to follow in Dad’s footsteps, he did the same to keep me company.

Instead of living in a sorority house with my best friend, Martina, I stayed in an apartment by the campus with Benito. He insisted on separate bedrooms because he was saving us for our wedding night.

Our love was so pure that sometimes, I felt like one of his anime figurines—lined up on a shelf, pristine and untouched. He never let his hands wander beneath my clothes.

It’s funny how my final thoughts center on the man I wronged. Despite the chaos beyond the closet door, I would give my soul to be engaged to Benito again instead of Samson.

He isn’t just a monster, he’s obsessed with a little blonde girl he kept in his basement, and even placed a chip under her skin. I only found out about this an hour ago, when a red-headed boy brought her to Samson as collateral for a negotiation.

The girl explains why Samson only had sex with me once during the five years we were engaged. It was never about my supposedly loose pussy or off-putting red pubes. At twenty-eight, I was simply too old.

I need him to die. The world is a better place with one less child predator.

The closet door creaks open, flooding my vision with harsh light, making me squint. A large figure fills the doorway, clad in full body armor. Shivering, I tilt my head, peeking up at him through a gap in the ropes Samson wrapped around my eyes.

His face is hidden behind a black helmet, the tinted visor concealing his eyes. He raises a gloved hand, pointing a pistol directly at my face.

My stomach lurches. I can’t let him blow my brains across the closet wall. My soul will be forever tainted with the guilt of breaking Benito’s heart.

“Please,” I rasp, my throat so dry the sound comes out a strangled whisper.

The figure remains silent, his aim unwavering from the space between my eyes. My heart pounds so hard and fast that my ears fill with its echoes. I can’t let this be my last moment.

“Let me live, and I’ll give you anything,” I croak.

He stares down at me for several tense heartbeats, and my life flashes before my eyes. Memories of a childhood spent accompanying Dad to the Montesano mansion surface—where the housekeeper would take me to the kitchen and teach me to make cookies. Benito would linger in the doorway, watching from a distance.noveldrama

My mind fills with a kaleidoscope of snapshots, each one featuring the same bookish guy: buying me tiger lilies because they reminded him of my hair, surprising me with first-edition copies of my favorite novels, making me yuzu tea because I love everything citrus. Benito wasn’t like other sons of mafia bosses. He was lanky, awkward, meek—but endearing.

The memories are warm. Comforting. And for a moment, I’m transported to the happiest years of my life. Then, they fade, and I’m pulled back into the present, facing the barrel of this stranger’s gun.

After what feels like an eternity, the man in the doorway places his weapon in a holster and draws a knife.

I shudder, bracing for the cold bite of his blade. Warm blood will trickle down my skin, soaking into the ropes. I’ll still be trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey when the police bring Mom to identify my body.

Rage heats my blood. I don’t deserve any of this, yet here I am, staring into the cold visor of death. Gritting my teeth, I force down the emotion, focussing only on my survival. Dad should have lived long enough to witness how his choices led to my destruction.

The man reaches a gloved hand and grabs my shoulder, making me whimper. He forces my torso downward, pressing my lower body against my thighs, and cuts the ropes binding my arms.

My heart pounds a deafening drumbeat as my hands flop to the side. Circulation floods back to my upper limbs in an explosion of pins and needles. I wince at the prickling sensation, hoping he’ll withdraw the knife and leave. Instead, he grabs the ropes around the back of my head and forces me upright.

I stare at the finger tapping the padded triangle of fabric protecting his groin. It’s attached to the rest of his tactical gear with reinforced straps and buckles, but more importantly, misshapen by the bulge of his erection.

Dread rolls through my stomach like thunder, bringing it with a burst of suppressed fury.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

The fingers in my hair tighten as if the answer is obvious. Pain slices across my scalp, making me wince but also sharpening my memory.

I offered him anything to save my life. As if I had the choice.

Now, he wants me to suck his cock.

“F-Fellatio?” I whisper.

With a curt nod, he loosens his grip on my hair. A shiver runs down my spine, but I shove away the fear and focus on survival. Because if I get through this ordeal, I’ll be sure to apologize to Benito.

I raise trembling fingers to the quick-release buckles and unstrap the groin guard. The bulge in his pants expands, making my breath catch.

He looks well-endowed—impossibly large. I’ve only done this once before on a real penis. It was humiliating, painful, and unpleasant. Afterward, Samson shoved me aside, calling me talentless.

My stomach dips. What if I fail to please this man and he retaliates?

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pull down his zipper and groan at the monstrously thick cock straining against his silk underwear.

It’s thicker than the dildos Samson forced me to practice on, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen or imagined. Heart pounding, I ease down the fabric and release his length.

His hips shift—his only indication of impatience—before he yanks my hair by the roots. Hissing through my teeth at the pain, I drift forward, positioning my mouth so close to his erection that its heat radiates against my lips.

As I run my tongue along the flat of his veiny flesh, his grip loosens, and he exhales a long, deep moan. The primal sound shoots straight to my pussy. Breathing hard, I trace a line up his shaft, slowing at his thick crown.

My nostrils fill with the intimidating musk of his arousal, accompanied by the taste of salt. His heat pulses against my tongue, and in a perverse way, it’s pleasurable, and takes the edge off my anger.

Stifling a jolt of unwanted desire, I focus on making him come. I suck the head between my lips, working the underside with my tongue. The man rocks his hips back and forth, sliding his shaft in and out of my mouth.

I shift uncomfortably on the floor, the ropes separating my labia rubbing against my swollen clit.

His breath quickens, and I suppress a surge of pride at moving this powerful being. Switching my thinking, I imagine the stranger is Benito—only he’s dominant, dangerous, and demanding.

Arousal builds in my core at the thought of controlling his pleasure. I hollow my cheeks, taking him deep into my throat.

Every vein, every contour, every ridge presses against the membranes of my mouth as I swallow him whole. Thanks to Samson and his stupid toys, I’ve lost my gag reflex, and the man I’m pleasuring seems impressed.

My gaze flicks up, eager to meet his eyes, maybe hear a little praise, but all I see is my reflection in his helmet’s visor. The woman staring back at me looks like a flame-haired porn star, with lips stretched around a thick shaft.

I force myself to breathe as he thrusts forward, sliding his entire length down my gullet. His generous girth crushes my windpipe, cutting off my air. Tears well in the corners of my eyes. My lungs burn for oxygen, yet I can’t explain why the thought of choking on him makes my clit throb and my nipples tingle.

The rope splitting open my pussy no longer chafes, becoming slick with my arousal. It’s the first time I’ve reacted this way to my own debasement.

Gulping around his shaft hard enough to make him groan, I pull back and gasp for breath. My eyes water, vision blurring until I blink away the tears. They gather on the rope encasing my head, making the fibers expand.

I barely get the chance to inhale another breath before he snaps his hips, burying himself back down my throat. The unexpected force has me seeing stars, but he doesn’t pause to give me time to adjust.

Groaning, he pounds in and out of my mouth, using me ruthlessly for his pleasure. I roll my hips against the ropes, creating delicious friction.

By now, I can’t stop the tears. They seep through my binding, stream down my cheeks, and drip onto my breasts. I’m moaning through my mouthful, gasping, choking, bucking my hips, trying to match his rhythm.

My pussy throbs in sync with his thrusts. Every time he pushes deep, he ignites a fire in my core that grows hotter. I reach down between my thighs, unable to withstand the urge to touch my clit. My fingers slide along the soaked ropes then brush against my aching center.

Sparks of pleasure jolt through my system at the barest touch. I’ve never felt so excited at being at a man’s mercy. Never felt this level of euphoria.

The stranger quickens his movement, indicating that he’s close. I rub circles over my clit, timing them with his strokes. I want to make him come. I want to swallow his release. I want to please this man because my life depends on his satisfaction.

In this moment, he becomes my world, my entire universe, and I revolve around his axis of pleasure.

His grunts become harsher, filled with lust and anticipation, the sound resonating through my core.

After years of Samson’s abuse, I never thought degradation would get me so aroused, but here I am, allowing a strange man to use my throat as his fleshlight. Maybe it’s because I have a choice, even though it was limited. Maybe it’s because this stranger has proven Samson wrong. I’m not frigid, talentless, or undesirable. If that were true, I’d be dead.

Pressure builds up around my clit, a thrumming sensation close to unbearable. Sharp bursts of ecstasy radiate from my core, lighting up my nerves with every thrust.

A growl rumbles in his chest, and his grip on my hair tightens. This time, my body interprets that pain as pleasure. Shuddering, I increase the suction and quicken my strokes over my clit.

When he growls, something inside me snaps. My body tenses for a heartbeat before releasing a deluge of pleasure, coursing through my system and crashing through every nerve.

I groan around the shaft in my mouth, my pussy spasming and clenching in blissful climax. It’s like diving into the ocean and being tossed around by powerful waves.

His cock throbs before pulsing once, twice, three times down my throat. Warm cum fills my mouth, making my taste buds sing.

Stroking myself through the climax, I ride out the pleasure as the man above me exerts his final thrusts. He’s spurting faster than I can swallow, making cum dribble down my chin and settle on my breasts.

Without a word or a grunt or a pat on the head, he drops the knife, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. Then he pulls out, tucks himself in, and walks out without a backward glance, leaving me utterly destroyed.