Page 59 of The Hitman

“I didn’t even know that I would like someone telling me what to do, but you haven’t stopped since the day we met,” she says, lifting onto the balls of her feet to rub her cheek against mine. “But for every command you give me,” she whispers against my lips, “you take two from me. Whatever I want?”

I feel weak and strong again. “Yes,” I whisper against her mouth.

“Tonight, you’re in charge. Tomorrow, it’s my turn.”

“And then you go back to Milan and get as far away from me as possible,” I finish.

We stare at one another. I can see that she’s unhappy at my words — or, maybe how I’ve said them — but I think we both need the reminder that all of this is temporary.

She grabs hold of my cock boldly, stroking me once.

I hiss out a breath that sounds like a groan. “Cazzo.”

“Deal,” she says, swiping her tongue along my jaw.

* * *

Zahra

He’s not gentle with me, but he is.

I don’t know how Giulio manages to embody this dichotomy so consistently, but it gives me a thrill.

He spins me around to face the shower, and then he rips my lace underwear down my legs so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t shred them. I’m glad he doesn’t, though; I don’t believe in wasting good lingerie.

“Don’t move,” he tells me, palming my thighs and hips and ass as he stands up again as if he can’t bear to stop touching me.

He’s adorable. I’m not going anywhere but down to my knees. God, I want him to make me get on my knees.

I shiver when he lets me go to turn the shower on. As we wait for the water to heat up, I take the opportunity to drink in every hairy inch of him; the way his jet black hair contrasts with his skin, his dark nipples peeking out from under his chest hair; the neatly trimmed pubic hair hiding his balls, and the proud, erect weight of his dick between his legs. That’s my favorite part, actually. It’s sticking out straight and hard and staring right at me.

On reflex, I reach out to grab it. Giulio’s reflexes are too good. He grabs my wrist and tsks at me with a slow shake of his head and a wicked smile on his face.

“Tomorrow, you can touch me whenever and however you want, but tonight, you have to ask for permission.”

I don’t know how to describe how those words make me feel except as if there’s electricity in my veins. I cross my hands in front of my body, trying to hide the small patch of hair between my legs from him. His eyes follow the movement, and he smiles and shakes his head. The bathroom is warmer now, and he opens the glass partition for me.

“Step inside.”

I nod once and step forward carefully, but before I step into the shower, I touch the ends of my shoulder-length curly hair. It feels like it’s been days since I washed my hair, days since my hairdresser put every cream and holding product imaginable on my strands for the wedding that never was. I can feel all of the remnants of the products, days of sweat, and pollution on my scalp suddenly. I feel dirty in a way I hadn’t immediately after realizing that my life was a bunch of sentient lies in a trench coat.

I turn to Giulio and look him in the eyes. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me. I barely know exactly how I feel, but I know what I want from him. “Will you wash my hair?” I ask.

He’s in charge tonight, and I could make this request tomorrow when it wouldn’t be a request, but I want to ask him tonight.

I don’t know if it’s the memory of the anguish in his face as he compared himself to his father sticking in my head. I don’t know if it’s the personality flaw that Zoe has been telling me about my entire life; that I feel this ridiculous need to save everyone around me, but not myself. It could also be that I’m done. I’m not sure exactly when I made the unconscious decision to stop mourning my relationship with Ryan, but it’s over. I can’t undo what Ryan and Trisha did, and, to be honest, I don’t want to.

So what I’m asking Giulio in this moment is to help me wash away all those years I spent with the wrong man, a man who didn’t respect me enough to be honest, a friendship I’ll never get back, and all the regret I’ve been bearing for months about how I chose other people over my sister. I’m asking him to make me feel clean again, a ridiculous request of a hitman.

“Sarebbe il mio piacere,” he whispers to me. “Si.”

I get the gist.

When we step into the shower, I move immediately under the spray. The stream of water engulfs me. I can feel him behind me, his body making the shower that much warmer with the heat of his desire at my back, followed quickly by his fingers.

“I’ll clean your body first,” he tells me. I nod sheepishly.

He moves to the shelf at the back of the shower, and I turn to him. I watch as he opens the small bottle of body wash I left there after my shower this morning.You smell delicious,he’d said this morning, and I think of that as he opens each bottle there and sniffs them deeply, a look of pure ecstasy washing over his face.

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