Page 83 of The Hitman

I move my hands behind my back and unhook my bra, but I don’t take it off.

“Voglio vederti adesso,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you’re catching on.” I drop my bra on the floor and walk toward him. I lift my right leg and place it on the mattress between his legs. He moves without any direction necessary. I watch him unclasp my shoe and pull it from my foot while I stabilize myself with both hands on his shoulders and give him my other foot. He leans forward and takes the other shoe off. He turns his head and brushes his lips along the inside of my elbow. He drops my shoe to the floor and grabs me at the waist, sucking my nipple into his mouth.

“I didn’t tell you to do that,” I say, even as I run my fingers through his hair.

He ignores me and laves each of my nipples with his tongue, slowly and thoroughly.

“Take off my underwear.” The cool air hits my wet nipple, and I shiver.

He almost rips my underwear, pulling them down my legs. His hands caress and massage my thighs before sliding around to my backside. I whimper when he grabs ahold of each cheek.

“Never mind,” I gasp. “You’re just as bad at taking orders as I am.”

He chuckles against my rib cage. The soft puffs of his warm breath against my skin are everything. I let him kiss and massage me for a few more minutes before tightening my grip in his hair and pulling his head back.

He laughs up at me. “Giusto. Proprio così.”

“Lay back.”

“Si, tesora.”

“What does that mean?” I ask as he climbs onto the bed. His dick is hard now and pointing at the ceiling.

“Yes,” he says and laughs.

“Smartass. ‘Tesora,’” I say, trying to mimic his accent as I crawl onto the bed over him. I straddle his stomach and feel his body jolt when my pussy touches his overheated skin. I’m wet. I’ve been wet since he was yelling at me at the restaurant.

“Treasure,” he breathes.

I place my hands on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my palm.

“Sei il mio tesora,” he says, and I can figure out what that means from context clues and the matched pounding of our hearts.

“Say it slower,” I tell him. “Against my pussy.”

“Como sei così perfetto?” he says, grabbing me by the hips and hauling me over his face.

My knees settle on either side of his head. His big, rough hands circle my waist, and he pulls me to his mouth greedily.

My groan is so loud it’s a scream.

If someone had asked me to explain why I was apparently willing to upend my entire already mess of a life for this hairy, cocky jackass, I honestly might have had a hard time explaining myself. I know. That sounds like a train wreck waiting to happen. Don’t tell Zoe. But I have an answer now.

Giulio eats my pussy with the same kind of energy he gave to pushing me away for my own safety. He’s thorough and methodical in everything he does. He parts my folds with his tongue, tasting me in deep, long swipes. When his lips close over my clit I fall back, and my hands land on his abs. He flinches underneath me and sucks my clit harder.

“Oh fuck,” I scream. “Your neighbors are going to hate me.”

“I don’t care,” he breathes against my pussy. He covers my clit with his fingers and starts to fuck into my opening with his tongue.

“Yeah. Me neither. Oh, God.”

I’m coming. So soon. That wasn’t the plan. The plan, if anyone’s wondering, was to make him come so hard he’d think three or four times before he tried to put me on another train without consulting me.

That’s okay; I’ll get around to that next time.

He keeps eating me until my back bows, and I hunch forward over his head. I grind my pussy along his tongue and come so hard that if he does try to put me on another train, I’m just going to double back again like I did this time. I’ve decided. I ride his mouth from one orgasm into another, and then one more before my pussy is so sensitive that I have to crawl off of his head — pushing his hands away because he’s trying to keep me in place. I flop onto my back on the bed next to him with a heaving chest.

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