99 Percent Mine: A Novel

ONE YEAR LATER

GINEVRA

I descend the treehouse steps, my feet creaking on the wood. Moonlight shines down on the forest, providing scant illumination.

Benito was supposed to return ten minutes ago with the champagne. We still live separately but spend weekends together, alternating between Alderney Hill and the penthouse. During the week, Benito brings me lunch and picks me up from work before returning to the casino. I still have my social life with Mars and a selection of colleagues, and he’s careful never to overstep.

My gaze sweeps across the trees. He said he left a crate in his trunk and it wouldn’t take long to pick up a few bottles, but I’ve been waiting for ages.

Where the hell is he?

I reach the bottom of the stairs, and my shoes sink into a thick carpet of fallen leaves. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of branches fills the eerie silence, sending shivers down my spine.

My gaze sweeps up to the treehouse’s canopy, which sways with the breeze. The air is heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, clinging to my skin like cologne. Shadows flit and dance among the trees, and I swear I hear the crunch of heavy boots.

A breath catches in my throat. Is that him?

“B-Benito?” I whisper, my pulse quickening.

Maybe I should meet him halfway.

I continue walking along the worn path, forcing my legs to move forward, even though a knot of tension in my gut twists hard enough to make me clutch my middle.

The shadows between the trees shift, and I try to convince myself it’s my imagination, but prickles skitter across my skin, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Someone’s here.

Watching.

Stalking.

I glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing but foliage. By now, the treehouse is no longer in sight, yet I’m not even halfway toward the car.

Every primal instinct screams at me to run, but stubbornness propels me forward. My breath comes faster. Shivers crawl down my spine and settle between my legs.

Maybe the footsteps were my imagination?

Rustling from within the trees shatters that line of thought. I freeze, my body going rigid, my fight-or-flight battling with my lack of common sense. When the footsteps grow louder followed by excited, panting breaths, terror takes control and I bolt.

I crash through the undergrowth, my heart pounding in my ears. Branches whip my skin, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. The footsteps behind me quicken, snapping twigs under their relentless pursuit.

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 satisfied chuckle, 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.

He spanks my ass with a sting that jolts my clit like static electricity. I moan into the leaves, my skin burning with raw, animalistic desire.

There’s no denying how much I’ve missed the roughness of his touch, the primal dominance, the way it feeds into the dark corners of my mind. I can recognize the part of me that yearns to be used roughly by Bob Brisket.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper into the leaves.

Fisting a hand into my hair, he yanks my head back. Arching, I suck in a gasp of fresh air. The sound of his buttons popping open make me moan and shiver in anticipation, and the muscles of my pussy clench, desperate for release.

“I’m going to fuck you good and hard, little Ginny,” he growls. “And you’re going to like it.”

“Fuck you!” I scream.

“Take this cock like a good girl, and I’ll make your pussy purr.”

“You bastard. I love my husband.”

“Mr. Montesano isn’t here to save you, little Ginny, but if you cry out loud enough, maybe he’ll hear how much you’re enjoying this fuck.”

I force back a sob, but the cruel haughty laugh that follows goes straight to my needy core. He slides his hand up my inner thigh, his gloved fingertips parting my folds as if I’m his property. No matter how much I try to flinch and twist, I can’t release his grip.

“That’s it, little Ginny. Moan for me.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges my opening, making the most obscene wet sounds. Trembling, I try to resist, but I’m drunk on terror, intoxicated by the thrill, consumed by the depravity.

With a rough thrust, he enters my pussy. I cry out, my nails clawing at the forest floor. His grip tightens on my hips, holding me in place as he deepens the penetration, pushing hard into my cervix.

The stretch is incredible, and I swallow back a groan. But Brisket laughs, seeming to hear my pleasure.

“You love this,” he growls, pulling back his hips, only to thrust forward without mercy.

Pleasure explodes in my core, setting my nerves on fire. I clamp my eyes shut, trying to dismiss the sensations, but this jarring bend of agony and ecstasy is impossible to ignore.

Brisket fucks me at a relentless pace, each thrust igniting new waves of sensation. I moan, the sound ripping through my throat.

I can’t believe the way I’m melting under his ministrations, can’t believe I’m allowing this brute to drag me to the edge of my sanity, but with every snap of his hips, I fall deeper into an abyss of madness.

My muscles tremble. A scream builds in my chest. An agonizing crescendo of pleasure threatens to tear me apart. It’s unbearable, yet I’m too stubborn to use the safe word.

Just as I’m losing myself to oblivion, Brisket pulls out and flips me onto my back. Moonlight glints on his infernal visor, making him look monstrous. I scream, turning my head to the side but he grabs my throat.

“You don’t get to tune out, little Ginny,” he snarls. “You’re going to know you’re fucking Bob Brisket.”

I close my eyes. Shake my head. Refuse to give this monster the satisfaction, but his grip around my throat tightens, and he enters me from this new angle. Fireworks set off behind my closed eyelids and a rough voice echoes through my ears.

“Keep this up, and Mr. Montesano will lose his slut wife.”

My eyes snap open, and I stare into the reflective surface. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want it. Because I’ve never had a cunt so sweet. Because you’re my dirty little temptation, and I’ll never let you go.”

My mind screams for me to break away, to find some vestige of self-respect and fight. But the pleasure is too intense. Moaning, I arch my back, my hips moving in counterpoint to his thrusts.

His laughter is a deep growl, vibrating through my skull. “And you want it too.”

I jerk my head to the side, unable to face this truth, but he seizes my chin, forcing our gazes to meet.

“Look at me when I’m fucking you behind your husband’s back,” Brisket growls. “Look into the eyes of your monster.”

Shivers skitter across my skin. All I see in the visor is my reflection.

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?”

Chest lightening, I trace my fingers over his brow, smoothing out the furrow. “This was exactly what I needed.”

He lets out a long breath, his chest deflating with relief. I press a soft kiss to the side of his neck, and his shoulders relax.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He turns his head, bringing our brows together. “I love you too, and I’ll never stop.”

We lie under the stars, our hearts still beating fast, but something deep in my psyche releases. The air between us clears, and old resentments drift into the night.

The past year has been full of painful revelations, heart-wrenching truths, and forgiveness. I invited Benito for Thanksgiving, where he opened up about his early childhood, and how his friendship with me filled the void left by his mother’s depression. We worked through this with his therapist and discussed alternative ways to satisfy his need for stability and connection.

Now, there’s no lies, no manipulation. Just us.

I finally feel safe in Benito’s arms.

Pulling back enough to see his face, I trace the lines of his jaw with my fingertips. Eyes searching mine, he tenses as if bracing for a storm.

“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper.

A relieved smile curves his lips. “We are.”

I shift, sitting up to straddle his hips again, and rest my hands on his chest. He slides his fingers up my thighs, his gaze quizzical, his heart thudding beneath my palms.

“Benito…” I scramble for the right words. “What if I didn’t just stay for the weekends?”

He freezes, his features shuttering into that neutral mask. Even his chest stops rising and falling as he waits for me to elaborate.

Heart racing, I lick my lips. “What if I moved in with you full time? No more separation. Just us. Every day.”

The mask shatters, and he pulls me down, crushing me to his chest in a hug that draws out a gasp. Benito’s breaths become hard and labored, and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. But when he pulls me back, his eyes shine with disbelief.

“You—you mean it?” he asks, his voice trembling.

Chest chest flooding with warmth, I smile. “You’re my home. I’m ready to return.”

He buries his face in my neck, his laughter thick with tears. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I won’t stop improving myself. I won’t stop striving to be the man you deserve.”

Tears prick my eyes, and I stroke his hair. “You were always that guy from the beginning. Somewhere in the middle, other people warped our connection. I’m so glad we’ve found ourselves again.”

His lips find mine, soft and slow, sealing the promise with a kiss. When he pulls away, the grin I’ve missed so much spreads across his handsome features.

“You’re really staying?” he asks.

“Forever,” I whisper, smiling back.

I’m no longer that little girl who baked those cookies, or the damsel tied in knots in that closet. Our year of therapy has fostered a new understanding, and I’ve emerged stronger, more self-aware, and even more in control of my destiny.

Benito has grown, too. The walls around his heart have crumbled, bringing back the man I love, but he’s edgier, exciting, and enchanting. Moments with him range from soul-deep comfort to exhilaration. We’ve taken those pieces of ourselves and rebuilt a bond that feels unbreakable.

As we lie beneath the stars, I picture the life we’ll create together: lazy Sunday mornings in bed eating pancakes, and dinners with Benito’s brothers and their wives. One day soon, we’ll have the family we talked about the last time we were together. It’s a life I couldn’t have pictured when I was with Samson—a life I regretted being forced to leave. But now it feels so real I can taste it.

For the first time in half a decade, I have a future filled with love and passion. Benito is my perfect match. Nothing, not the threat of death or even world war three could ever tear us apart.

THE END