Page 57 of The Hitman

“If I were to ask you what you did for real, would you tell me?”

“Yes. But please don’t ask me.”

That shouldn’t work on me, especially after the train wreck that was my recent relationship. A man asking me to avoid the deadly elephant in the room should be a red flag, but it doesn’t feel that way. Why would his answer be more important than seeing him standing over a dead body with a smoking gun? Figuratively speaking. I don’t know if the gun was actually smoking; I was too busy looking at all the blood seeping into the soil.

“Okay,” I tell him. “I won’t ask.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So,” I say, forking the last of the pasta into my mouth. I feel both excitement and sadness, knowing that there’s no more. Well, no more on my plate. “What is there to do around here at night?”

His glass stills against his bottom lip, and I can just see his smile through the wine. He lowers his glass to the table and stares at me before answering. “Not much, actually. That’s why this was a good place to hide out.”

I nod. “Makes sense. So that means we’ll have to entertain ourselves?”

I see his throat bob as he swallows.

“I believe we were discussing the possibility of Italian language lessons this afternoon?”

So here’s a new thing I’ve just now learned about myself: I’m always horny. Someone — someone like Zoe, for instance — might ask how I’ve made it to my late twenties and am just now learning that I have a libido the size of Italy. Here’s the uncomfortable answer: I never wanted Ryan this much. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him, and it doesn’t mean we didn’t have a real relationship, but it does mean that after just a couple of days with Giulio, I’m realizing that maybe Ryan wasn’t the only one who was unfulfilled in our relationship. Maybe having sex two or three times a week was more than our married friends, but not nearly enough for me. Maybe Ryan and I were never going to work, no matter who he cheated on me with.

Now I’m not saying that Giulio is the love of my life or anything, but I am saying that I go from feeling full and happy to hungry and needy in a single breath. When he picks his wine glass up again, and his dark eyebrows bunch together over the rim as he takes a deep sip, I realize that if this day ends without me feeling this man’s mouth and hands on me, I will consider the mostly lovely day we’ve spent together a waste.

I push my chair back from the table and stand. He takes another sip of his wine as he watches me. I don’t know if he looks at every woman he’s with this way, but I do know that no man has ever looked at me with such singular intent.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I tell him.

He nods slowly as I move away from the table. I walk toward the small bathroom across from our bedroom and stop at the door into the hallway. I peek at him over my left shoulder.

“You can join me if you want,” I tell him in my most sultry voice.

He’s already halfway across the room before I finish the sentence.

* * *

Giulio

I’m not a young boy who’s not sure what gets his dick hard. I know, and as a shortcut, everything Zahra does makes me hard. I also know that I don’t have to rush. I know that we have all night and tomorrow and however long until it’s time for Zahra to go back to America. I know that, and yet I’m fumbling as I strip my clothes off in front of her. I kick my shoes from my feet and rip my shirt over my head, desperate to get naked and to get her naked. I take a careful second to unstrap my holster and set it on the bathroom counter. But then I push my slacks and underwear down my legs at the same time.

Zahra isn’t in a rush. She moves her hands to her back to unzip her dress lazily. The sound rips through this small room and me in an instant. I watch her move the straps of her dress over her shoulders with hunger. When she pushes her dress over her breasts, my entire body freezes. My hands still at the button of my pants. Blood rushes through my body when I see Zahra’s lacy purple bra, bare, flat stomach, and black lace underwear come into view. Her dress pools at her dainty feet, and I take her in from head to toe before I kick my pants from my ankles.

She’s still refusing to rush. She’s enjoying torturing me.

I’ll never tell her, but I enjoy it too.

She unclasps her bra and holds it to her chest.

I blow out a harsh breath and laugh. “Stuzzica,” I hiss.

“Does that mean tease?” she asks in a sultry voice that makes my balls ache.

“Si.”

“Good.” She drops the bra to the floor.

My mouth is actually watering.

Her breasts bounce as she squares her shoulders, preparing herself for me to see her. And I do. I think I could spend the rest of my life just looking at her.