Page 51 of The Hitman
Her hand moves down my arm, our palms glide together, and then our fingers intertwine.
“You’re going to have to work on your pronunciation,” I tell her.
“You should give me another lesson,” she whispers.
That sounds near enough like a command to me.
I spin her around and press her gently against the closest wall.
Her mouth falls open, and she tips her head back. “Tell me,” she whispers. That is absolutely a command.
I take my time dipping my head. I want to build the expectation of our mouths touching for both of us. I want her to remember this moment because I will.
“Andiamo,” I whisper against her lips, slow enough that she can feel the way my lips stretch and then contract around the word.
“Andiamo,” she whispers back.
Better. “Again.”
This time when she speaks, I move my tongue over her mouth and that deep red lipstick, tasting it as she speaks carefully.
“Again,” I tell her.
She presses her mouth more firmly against mine. She says the word again and again as the kiss deepens until there are no more words, just her wet tongue gliding against mine, her legs spreading to invite me between them, her soft breasts pressing against my chest, her arms around my neck, her soft ass in my hands and the rough stone wall behind her.
“Verrai per me?” I whisper to her as I pull her into my body.
“Translate that,” she says even as she shivers in my hands.
I smile against her lips and kiss her again, before pulling away. “I will tell you tonight,” I tease. “Let’s go see the towers, yes?”
“Wait,” she whines.
I kiss her chin and run my thumb under her bottom lip. Her lipstick is still perfect. I’ll have to work harder to dislodge it.
“No,” I tell her, pulling away from her warm, soft body. I hold out my hand for her. “Come.”
She looks from my face to my hand to the front of my pants and licks those red lips again.
I feel her shiver as she slips her hand into mine.
“You’re going to regret that,” she whispers in a fierce, excited voice.
“Dio, I hope so,” I tell her. And I do.
18Zahra
“My feet hurt,”I whine.
“But you look gorgeous,” Giulio says. “We’re almost done.”
“Hurry,” I whisper into his ear and giggle when he groans.
“Sfacciata,” he hisses at me.
“Translate.”
“Tonight,” he says as he has so many times today. After that kiss this morning against the wall, we’ve settled into a playful routine. Each time he says something in Italian that I don’t understand — probably something dirty — I tell him to translate, and he promises me that he will tonight, with a grin on his lips. Based on the looks he’s been giving me, and the persistent semi-hard erection he’s been sporting all day, I imagine that we have a long night ahead of us. I’m ready to get back to the house to get down to business. I tried to rush him out of the village when we were done sightseeing, but he wouldn’t let me. Thankfully, Giulio remembered that we still don’t have any food at the house where we’re hiding out, and we stop inside a small grocer just off the Piazza della Cisterna for a few things to tide us over for tonight, at least.