Page 17 of The Hitman

I flip the waitress onto her stomach. I pull her onto her knees by the strands of her long, mousy brown hair at the same time as I shove my hand between her legs. I circle her clit and wrap her hair around my fist, arching her back beautifully.

Her entire body is flushed, and she’s groaning softly. She shivers every time I move a finger to her opening, pressing against her firmly, waiting for her to open for me. Waiting for her to beg me.

“Per favore,” she whines after a few soft taps of my thumb, and I push forward as if I’m going to give her what she wants before pulling back. She whimpers. “Per favore.”

But that’s not enough, I realize. I don’t just want her to beg me softly; I want her to do it loudly.

My eyes drift to the wall at the head of the bed, and I realize what I want now — besides the Angry American’s thighs cutting off my sun and air. I want the bitch next door to be as angry with me as I am with her.

“Píu forte,” I hiss at the waitress.

“Per favore,” she says, shivering as I push my thumb inside her.

“Píu forte,” I bark, moving behind her.

“Dai. Dai. Per favore,” she says louder, but not loud enough.

Her entire body shivers as I take my finger from her wet pussy and place the blunt tip of my dick at her opening. I push her knees farther apart with my legs and then scream loud enough that if anyone is next door, I know they will hear me.

“Louder,” I say in English as I push my entire shaft inside her in a single thrust.

She screams loudly this time, and she doesn’t stop while I fuck her, hard and fast, our skin slapping together each time I bottom out inside her.

I don’t even know if the woman next door is in her room, let alone if she can hear me, but I imagine that she is and she can.

I also imagine that the hair wrapped around my fist and the pussy I’m punishing is the Angry American’s. There are a lot of people in this room.

I don’t hate that either.

* * *

Zahra

My heart is still racing. I’ve showered, changed, and drank the largest bottle of water in the minibar. The last couple of days aside, I’m not actually much of a drinker. A glass of wine with dinner or the rare boozy brunch with my friends is much more my speed. I’ve been overdoing it in my haste to drown my feelings, and I realize that now. Or I realized that when I’d been giving serious consideration to letting a strange man fuck me by the hotel pool.

Like…seriously considering it and about to do it.

I don’t know if this is rock bottom, but it sure feels like it.

I sober up and put on a cute little lace teddy I’d hoped to seduce Ryan in because I don’t have any real pajamas. I plop onto the bed, feeling more like myself than I have in days. I’m not going to pretend that I feel normal. Who knows what normal feels like for me anymore? But I feel…not like the dregs of a very expensive bottle of wine, and that’s a marked improvement.

And then I hear a loud moan from the hotel room next door.

“Per favore,” a woman yells. No, scratch that. She moans, and that makes me realize my grave mistake in my rush to sober up.

I haven’t masturbated in days, and I didn’t pack a vibrator for this trip. Big mistake.

The woman whines. If she says actual words, I can’t hear them, but I don’t need to. I know exactly what a moan like that means. I imagine whoever she’s with has pushed his dick into her so hard and fast that it took her breath away. I’m jealous. I know what that sound means, but it’s been years since I’ve felt it. It’s been years since Ryan and I have been so overcome with lust that we’ve fucked each other in the middle of the day. Well, it’s been years since I’ve experienced that. Who knows what Ryan and Trisha have been getting up to for the past six months?

The honeymoon was supposed to help us reset, but I’m here alone.

Alone and horny.

I don’t even think. I crawl to the head of the bed and settle against the pile of pillows. I press myself against the wall I apparently share with some unknown couple fucking each other like rabbits in the middle of the day. When I’m this close to the wall, I can hear their whines and panting breaths.

I bend my legs at the knees and spread them wide. I shiver as the room’s cool air hits my sex. I’m not even wet, but the kiss of the air conditioning is like a firm slap. I love it. I gently caress my breasts, massaging them, tweaking the nipples, thrilled at my own touch. Thrilled at any touch after the past two days.

The woman moans again, and my hips begin to circle unconsciously. My pussy clenches, unhappily empty. Can a pussy be unhappy? Whatever, mine is. And while I can’t go back in time and make Ryan not be a garbage human being, or even better, go further back to never having dated him at all, I can fill my empty, aching pussy.

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