“That’s why I left the organization I worked for, yes. After a while, you start wondering why you’re killing some kid just trying to keep his country free from people like you, instead of the person who sent you to kill him.”
He looked away then, just like he usually did when things got heavy.
But here was the difference: after a moment, he started to look back. And he didn’t do it smoothly, as if he’d just shaken the whole thing off. There was nolet’s change the subjectabout it. Instead, his gaze almost kind of crept back to her. Like he was just certain a blow was coming and feared it with all his heart—yet couldn’t help hoping that it wouldn’t, anyway. That somehow, she would accept what he’d said.
And when he saw that she had…
His relief was palpable. “Kind of thought there would be more horror and disgust when I told you this stuff, to be honest.”
“Oh there’s horror and disgust. Just not for you.”
“But those thingswereme. No one else did them.”
“Who’s more responsible? The knife, or the one who wields it?”
“Sometimes I think the answer is the latter. But mostly I know: knives can never make a choice. I made one every time my conscience told me no yet I decided to go ahead anyway. Every time I justified it with protecting my country and saving other lives, I made myself a moral coward. And nothing I do now will ever make up for that.”
This time, he didn’t look away. He held her gaze, in a way she understood completely. Now, he was trying to challenge her. Topushher into some kind of disapproval. His chin was metaphorically jutting out, almost begging for the blow.
So, instead, she just went ahead and did the only thing she wanted to.
She pressed her lips to his, long and soft and sweet.
And when she pulled away, her reward was his startled expression. It was his tone, full of hope and wonder. “You really want to kiss me after that?”
“I wanted to kiss youduring. I want to kiss you now while you’re wasting time asking stupid questions. In fact, every second that I’m not kissing you feels like a waste.”
“Sometimes, I really wish I didn’t feel exactly the same way,” he said, and she went to askwhy.The word was on the very her tip of her tongue, when he decided to explain.
Only he didn’t do it in words.
He didn’t saybecause I can’t stop myself from doing just that.
He just did it. He kissed her, hot and eager.
It fact, it was so eager she was starting to think those small shifts she’d noticed were not so small at all. They were seismic. They were inescapable. They were in every single thing he did, from the second his lips pressed to hers. Suddenly, his hands were on her body, instead of staying balled at his sides. They slid inside her pajama top without her having to ask and found her breasts without needing a push.
Then even sweeter, even better—he actually eased her top up. He bared her already stiff nipples, and licked, oh god, he waslickingthem. He was making quick little circles around each one, around and around until she was almost beside herself. She was moaning and rocking her hips and trying to urge him on without really urging him on.
But the thing was—she didn’thaveto now.
He looked up from her breasts, mouth filthily wet.
Hands still on her, fingers still teasing.
Then he said, “You want to come?”
Just like that. Just like it was nothing.
And god, it was all she could do to stop herself sobbing a yes.
“That might be nice. That might be good.”
“Take these off then.”
He snapped the waistband of her pajama bottoms.
He actuallysnappedthem.
