As another boom of thunder shook the windows in the house above, Xander pushed her back against the mattress, stared down, panting, at her. She stared back with that same hungry look, expectant now, her lips parted, cherry red against her white teeth. Her hair spread dark and curling wet over the pillow; her hands reached up to touch the hem of his shirt, to tug it free from the waist of his pants.
He tore it off. He couldn’t get everything off fast enough. She helped him, shaking, both of them shaking and panting and kissing all the while, touching and exploring while his clothes fell to the floor. He rolled on top of her, and she ran her hands over his back, stroking the scars there with something like reverence.
“My beautiful assassin,” she said against his mouth, her voice so tender
