Page 30 of Stalking His Assassin

Yep, totally not complaining about being hauled around like a sack of potatoes. Even badass assassins know when to let their man carry them off like a caveman at the promise of a good pussy licking.

twelve

CHRISTOS

We've been homefor three days, and we've barely gotten out of bed for anything other than food and soaks in the tub, which always ends with us right back in bed. Grace has been insatiable, and I'm here for it. I love that she craves me as much as I crave her.

The shower turns off, and I can hear Grace talking to Potato. That cat is a stage four clinger. It's adorable how she treats him like a little human. The fluff ball has grown on me. I could do without him sitting on my face when he decides it's time to wake Grace up for breakfast, but otherwise he's the best cat I've been around. Though I might be biased based on how damn happy he makes my girl.

I follow Grace's voice into her closet and find her holding a pink shirt beside a black one. She's biting her bottom lip and studying them like they hold all the secrets in the world. It took nearly two weeks of my living here to find her drawers full of girly-colored clothes. When I asked her about it, she blushed brighter than the first time she walked into the bathroom naked. It took a lot of coaxing, but the colorful clothes came out of hiding and joined the rest of her wardrobe. She still has way more black than color, but it's a start.

"You should wear the pink."

She jumps and gasps in surprise at my voice. Something that's happened more often since we got back from the job. She's more relaxed and isn't on guard twenty-four/seven now that I'm here, and she trusts me to watch her back. It makes me feel like a fucking king because people like us don't trust easily and we certainly don't let our guards down enough to have someone sneak up on them. Even in our own homes, there's a certain level of awareness that prevents you from fully relaxing.

"I never wear pink outside…"

"Doesn't mean you can't start. You don't have to hide who you are just because of what you are."

"What if I get blood on it?" she frowns.

I chuckle. "My sweet, sweet Grace. We're going to dinner with your friend not on a job."

"What if someone needs killing?" she asks seriously. There's not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She's completely serious that it's an actual concern that she might need to kill someone when out for dinner.

"If someone needs killing, I'll take care of it."

"Oh. That works," she says with a huge smile.

I pull her close and kiss her deeply. "All you have to do is point, and they're dead."

She giggles. "Only if they need killing."

"Of course, my love."

Forty-five minutes later we are waiting for Harper to come down so we can go to the restaurant.

"I don't know what you insisted on driving," Grace gripes.

She's been complaining since I took the keys from her hand. I had to practically manhandle her into the passenger seat.

"Consider it a perk of having a boyfriend."

"Boyfriend," she scoffs, turning away from me.

I spin her around and tip up her face with a finger under her chin. "Am I not your boyfriend?"

Her nose scrunches up in disgust. "I don't like it."

"Then what am I?"

She opens and closes her mouth several times but can't come up with anything. "I don't know, but I don't like you being myboyfriend," she says the word with derision.

"What if I don't want you to be my girlfriend?"

A look of hurt flashes through her eyes but is gone just as quick as it came.

"Good. We understand each other then," she says cooly, looking away.

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