“This one?” she asks.
“Iraq. 2014.”
Her hand moves lower. Finds the knife scar along my ribs. The rough patch of healed shrapnel on my hip.
“And these?”
“Colombia. Syria.” The words come out rougher than I intend. Her touch is doing something to my brain—short-circuiting the tactical channels, flooding them with something warmer.
Her palm comes to rest flat over my heart. The beat is steady. Slower than it should be for a man who’s spent the last few days keeping her alive.
“Cassie—”
“Shut up.”
She kisses me.
This time there’s no anger to burn through. No fear to exorcise. Just want—clean and simple and devastating in its simplicity. Her mouth is soft against mine, unhurried, tasting like sleep and the faint ghost of the cheap motel coffee from last night.
I roll her beneath me. Take my time.
It’s different in daylight. No shadows to hide in. No darkness to blame. No adrenaline demanding release.
This is a choice.
Deliberate.
Conscious.
Two people reaching for each other because they want to, not because they’re drowning.
I watch every expression that crosses her face. Every gasp, every shudder, every moment she comes apart under my hands. The way her lips part when I find the spot on her neck that makes her breath catch. The way her back arches when I trail my mouth lower.
She’s beautiful like this. Not the polished beauty of the attorney in the Georgetown apartment—that woman in her tailored suits and courtroom armor. This is something rawer. More real. Her hair spread across the pillow like a sunset. Her skin flushed pink. Her eyes locked on mine like I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“Diego.” My name is a whisper on her lips. A prayer. A demand.
I move inside her slowly. Deliberately. Memorizing the way she feels, the sounds she makes, the way her hands grip my shoulders like she’s trying to anchor herself to me. To this. To whatever impossible thing is building between us.
Last night was a collision. Two people crashing together in the dark, all sharp edges and desperate need.
This is a conversation.
I see you, every touch says.
I choose you, every movement answers.
I’m here, her body whispers against mine.
I know, mine replies. I know.
We move together in the thin morning light, the silence broken only by breath and the rustle of sheets. Outside, a truck rumbles past on the highway. Inside, time stretches. Slows. Becomes irrelevant.
When she finally shatters around me, my name on her lips like something sacred, I follow her over the edge. The release is different this time. Softer. More terrifying.
Because this isn’t just sex. This isn’t just adrenaline, fear, or proximity.
This is something I don’t have a tactical term for.
