Warm, luscious lips took his, cushioned his even though he wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be. His handful of encounters with women had been other assassins.
Half of their foreplay had involved slapping him and punching.
Drawing blood.
But the last thing he wanted was to hurt her in any way.
No, her sweet gentleness was what he was craving. A dying man starving for the taste of acceptance. For the return play of her tongue against his.
Jinx rose to his knees, so that he could pull off his undershirt and shorts.
Not to be outdone, Eve matched his moves by lifting her hips, and skimming her pants down her legs. Her face close to his body, she paused to leave a flurry of kisses around his bruised, multicolored flesh, avoiding his cuts.
Hands free, she cupped the ass she’d admired from across her living room.
His hard muscles tensed beneath her hands then released.
Jinx rolled to his side, then to his back, as he kicked free of the material. Eve stroked his body from shoulder to hip, watching as chill bumps spread in her wake.
She straddled his hips, very careful of how she moved. In spite of what he said, he had to be in pain. And by the scars on his body, she knew he’d been dealt enough of that in his life.
All she wanted was to give him comfort.
So she moved slow and easy, waiting to see if he’d object. Being an assassin, she would have assumed he would demand to be in control.
Instead, he led her hand to his lips so that he could kiss her palm.
Jinx closed his eyes as he savored her long, lithe body sliding against his. Not even the pain when she brushed against his injuries could blight the utter ecstasy he felt right now.
Biting his lip, he stifled a groan as she rose above him and ran her hand down his ribs, to the center of his body.
Just as he started to bend his knee, she cupped him and squeezed. He gasped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure that went through him.
“Like that do you?”
“You’ve no idea.” And she didn’t. No one had ever touched him with such tenderness.
He’d heard the term “making love,” but never had he understood why it was used. While there might not be any real feelings between them, this . . .
This felt like that.
Like she cared.
He knew it was stupid. They’d just met, and yet she held him like he meant something to her.
Was this always what sex was like for others?
Never before had he hated The League as much as he did right now. As much as his brother had violently stolen from him, The League had taken so much more.
His name.
His future.
All compassion and decency.
Any comprehension of normal manners and friendship.
His humanity.
