Page 46 of The Assassin's Captive
When we break apart, he keeps his eyes closed.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because you're the only ally I have in this game." I'm letting my hand show, but I feel like it's the right thing. Something is changing between us. "My old life is gone—my career, my reputation, my safety—all of it compromised. If I'm going to survive what Costa has planned for me, I need someone on my side."
"And you think that's me?"
"I know it is." I run my fingers through his hair, feeling him lean into the touch. "You could've handed me over to him the moment you learned who I was. You could've let those men find me and kill me instead of protecting your informant meeting. But you didn't."
"That doesn't make me trustworthy."
"No," I agree. "But it makes you mine."
Lorenzo's eyes search my face, looking for doubt or deception and finding neither, because I’m sure of myself.
"If I'm yours, then you're mine," he says slowly, "and I'm responsible for more than keeping you alive. For keeping you whole. That's not a job I can walk away from."
"I don’t want you to do that…" I trace the scar on his face and sigh.
"You should." His hands frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "I'm not a good man, Serena. The things I'll do to protect you will horrify you."
"Then don't tell me about them." I lean into his touch. "Just do what you have to do."
He kisses me again, with the desperate edge of a man accepting a burden he can't carry but won't abandon. I losemyself in the taste of him, in the solid reality of his body against mine, in the promise of protection wrapped in violence and moral compromise.
When we finally break apart, the sky has begun to lighten in the east. Dawn is coming, and with it, new threats to navigate.
But for now, we have this moment on the rooftop, this fragile alliance built on honesty and desperate need. It's not love—neither of us is naive enough to call it that. But it's connection, and in the world we're about to enter, that might be enough.
21
LORENZO
Ipull Serena through the doorway of my bedroom, her fingers still tangled in my shirt. The kiss on the terrace left us both breathless, and now the air between us crackles with heat that refuses to be contained. She looks up at me with those dark eyes, defiant even in her lust, and I know there's no turning back from this.
The moonlight bathes her skin in silver as I draw her closer. Her breath catches when I trace the line of her jaw, and she arches into my touch, her body speaking a language her mind still won't admit.
I grab her wrist and press her hand flat to my chest. “Feel that?” I ask, voice low. “That’s what you do to me.” My heart is hammering away at my ribs as if eager to escape. It's a rush of adrenaline knowing Serena isn't backing down from the path we both know is ahead of her, and she wants me along for the ride.
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Her gaze flicks down, then back up—hungry, unafraid. I step into her, crowding her against the closed door behind her. Her fingers curl against my sternum, then fist in the fabric of my shirt. She tugs at it roughly, and I strip it over my head and toss it aside.
“Is this what you’ve been thinking about?” she murmurs. “When you watch me sleep?”
I grab a fistful of her hair and tilt her face up to mine. “Every night.”
Her mouth crashes into mine, demanding attention from me. I kiss her hard, gripping her hips, feeling the tension coiled under her skin. My fingers find the edge of her T-shirt, and I lift it slowly, dragging it over her ribs, baring her inch by inch. She raises her arms, lets me pull it free, breasts bare, nipples tight from the chill.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings and yank them down, dragging her underwear with them. She steps out, breath ragged, legs bare and trembling and I bend and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking until she cries out, her hands buried in my hair.
She whimpers when I suck harder, so I do it again—slow, deep pulls with my mouth until her fingers twist in my hair like she’s trying to anchor herself. I switch to the other breast, biting the peak just enough to make her gasp. Her hips grind against my thigh, slick and desperate, and I grip her ass with both hands to lift her.
“Put your legs around me,” I order.
She obeys instantly, wrapping herself around my waist. I carry her to the dresser and set her down hard on the edge, knocking over a tray of cufflinks and keys. She spreads for me without being told, knees wide, dripping onto the wood.
“You think this is what I’ve been imagining?” I say, dragging my knuckles down the inside of her thigh. “No. I’ve been dreaming about fucking you on the floor, the table, the goddamn stairs. Everywhere I’ve had to watch you walk away.”
She drags her nails down my chest. “Then stop dreaming.”
