Page 25 of The Hitman

He licks his lips. “Si,” he whispers, answering his own question.

“What would you like me to do?” I ask him because it feels right. I’m not sure why, but it does.

He lifts his eyes from my pussy and stares at me with a quiet intensity that makes me shiver. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself. I want to see what you like.”

“Is that what you showed me?” I ask, even though I know it was.

He nods and tips the wine bottle to his lips again.

I push two fingers inside myself as slowly as I can manage.

He moves that fiery stare back between my legs. Where it belongs. He watches as I begin to fuck myself in deep, agonizingly slow strokes, soaking my digits.

“Touch your clit,” he demands. And it is a command.

“You said you wanted to see what I like,” I tease even as I do as he says, shivering as I toy with the bundle of nerves with just the right pressure.

“Did he ever make you feel like this?” he asks me out of the blue.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” I huff and then groan as I accidently apply too much pressure to my clit in irritation. My toes curl.

He smiles wickedly.

“I will take that to mean he did not,” he replies smugly. “Did I tell you to stop?”

His voice is a deep, demanding whisper, and it makes me shiver again.

We make eye contact, and his bright brown eyes are warm, clear, and sympathetic. “You should not overthink this, tesora.” His voice isn’t cocky or teasing now. He sounds almost kind. As if he knows what I’m thinking, and he wants to distract me.

I so desperately want to be distracted.

That’s what I’ve been trying to do with the wine — we both know that — only I know that it hasn’t worked, not really. No matter how much I drink, how much money I charge to Ryan’s black card, or how many tears I shed, when I close my eyes, I still see the news footage of Ryan and Candee and the security footage of Trisha slinking down that hotel hallway. I can’t escape it, except I did, for a few minutes, while I watched him masturbate for me. That distracted me, and so I lean into the escape he’s offering, even if it’s only for a few moments.

I start to rock my hips against my fingers, trying to get deeper. I circle my clit with a bit more pressure.

He smiles and obscenely palms his dick through his shorts. There’s a wet spot where the head would be.

Watching him watch me turns me on so much that I’m moaning now, and he so obviously likes the sound that I spread my lips and moan louder.

I also catalogue the way his breath hitches when I briefly move my hand to my breasts to pinch my nipples through the lace. I watch with rapt fascination as his dick stiffens in his shorts, and he rubs his palm over it. I watch as that wet spot grows. I enjoy the way our breaths quicken at the same rate, and our moans mix.

I’m so close.

“Come here,” I tell him, shocking us both.

His hand stills. “Have you changed your mind?” His voice is full of hope. It’s a thrill to be wanted so thoroughly.

“Don’t you wish,” I pant, still fucking myself. “On your knees.”

“I do,” he says, lowering himself in front of me.

When he’s eye-level with my pussy, he moves his hands to the chair. He doesn’t touch me, but the chair moves. He pulls me closer; he pulls my pussy closer to him and his mouth.

“God,” I groan. My back arches, my eyes close, and I full-body shiver.

When I look back at him, he’s watching my face again.

I think this moment will last for just a second, but it doesn’t. I’m fucking myself so hard we can both hear the sound of my fingers invading my wet core, but he doesn’t look away from my face.

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