I blink at him. My heart squeezes hard in my chest and my eyes burn.
“Not just her,” I admit. “For you, too.”
He squeezes my hand. I look down at the wound that still needs one more stitch and pull my hand away from his to finish it.
When I’m done, I put the needle and thread to the side and start looking at his other wounds. The cuts on his face, the bruises… They make me sick to my stomach.
“Your other wounds don’t look bad enough to be sutured,” I say. “You’re going to have some scars though.”
“What’s another one?” Tommy smirks at me, but there’s something more in his eyes. “Come here.”
He spreads his thighs just a bit and I sit down on my knees between them, placing my hands on his shoulders.
“Is everything okay? You probably need some painkillers, right? Where do you keep them?” I ask three questions in a row, but he doesn’t answer them.
“Aleksandr,” he mumbles, and his eyes sift down to my lips then back to my eyes.
“What is it?” I ask.
He lifts a hand and presses his fingers to a bruise on the side of my face.
“Thank you for saving me,” he whispers.
My eyes sting even more, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I would do anything for you, Tommaso,” I say. “Not just kill or die. I mean anything. I would give up all of this for you, this life… The way I have lived the last five years. The hunting, the plotting, the undercover work. I would live a normal life, for you.”
“Do you want to live a normal life?” he asks me slowly.
I pause for a second, and let my gaze drift to the side as I think. “All I want is you, Tommy. Any life, with you.”
I lean forward and press my forehead to his, and he slides his hands onto my waist.
“I love you,” Tommy says in a breath.
My heart pounds in my chest. Every bit of guilt I’ve felt for being with him seems to flood away from me for this moment. All I can do is slide my hands onto his shoulders and rub my nose against his before I speak.
“I love you too.” I can’t believe I’m saying those words. Words I never thought I’d say again.
His fingers trail up my shirt, and my own fingers slide into the neckline of his. Our lips touch, and I simply let them remain that way for a second or two. Touching ever so slightly.
Until the scent of Tommy’s blood, sweat and musk become too much, and I have to kiss him. Really kiss him.
I capture his mouth with mine and kiss him deeply. So deep that his groan is muffled in my mouth and my tongue glides over his.
He kisses me back eagerly, despite his wounded state. Tommy’s hands grip my bare sides under my shirt and goosebumps travel up my back.
I swirl my tongue around his and taste him, cherish him, as tears sting in my eyes.
I pull back from the kiss suddenly and look into his face.
“We shouldn’t, you’re injured, you—” I try to say, but he stops me. By kissing me.
Tommy kisses me hard. It’s warm and tastes like his blood, iron, and salt. The cuts on his lips drip blood every so often as we kiss and I lap it up like an animal.
I feel him tug at my shirt and I lift my arms so he can help me get it over my head, and I do the same for him, grabbing his shirtand pulling it off over his head and arms. My hands travel down his soft but muscular chest to his stomach.
“Are you alright?” Tommy asks against my mouth as a tear slides from my cheek to his.
