Page 62 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Because that's not who you are now. Not who you're choosing to be."

My body responds without permission—pressing closer, seeking more contact. His breathing catches, hands tightening on my hips.

"I don't know how to trust people." The confession tears out. "Last time I did..."

Stop. Don't give him weapons to use against you.

But he doesn't lean forward hungrily for details. Doesn't probe for the story behind the pain.

Just nods, pulling me against his chest. "Takes time. Trust isn't built in a day."

"What if I'm not worth the time it takes?"

The question hangs between us, carrying more honesty than I've shown anyone since I was sixteen.

Please don't prove me right. Please don't confirm what I already know.

"Mira." He tilts my chin up, those intense eyes steady and sure. "You chose to help when you didn't have to. That makes you worth everything."

My breath catches. The certainty in his voice, the way he says it like fact instead of opinion, creates a rush of desire so intense my knees actually buckle.

I want to deserve that faith. I want to be worth his patience.

"You're not going to push for more, are you?" The question escapes before I can cage it. "Demand details, timelines, body counts?"

"You'll tell me what you want me to know, when you're ready."

That's it? No interrogation? No price for his patience?

Something uncoils in my chest. Not the familiar tension release of completed missions or eliminated threats. This feels like breathing after holding my breath for years. The feeling stems from something completely foreign. Safety. Actual safety, not the illusion I create through weapons and preparation.

He actually means it. How is trust making me want him more?

"That's..." My voice catches. "No one has ever said that to me."

"Then they were idiots."

The simple statement, delivered without drama or demand for gratitude, makes heat spiral through me. Not the calculated arousal I've weaponized for years. This hunger comes from somewhere deeper, rawer.

He's not taking anything from me. That makes me want to give him everything.

I close the final inches between us, drawn by gravitational pull I can't analyze or resist. His breathing changes as ourbodies align completely, but he doesn't grab. Still waiting for permission even as I feel him hard against my stomach.

Even now, he's not taking.

"This is—"

"I know." He doesn't make me finish. "Everything about us is."

The kiss ignites instantly, not gentle exploration but desperate hunger. Years of emotional starvation demanding sustenance. He tastes like copper and vodka and guilt. My hands thread through his hair while his find my waist, lifting me onto the railing.

Forty feet up, I should be calculating escape routes. But I wrap my legs around his waist, trusting him completely.

His mouth finds that spot below my ear that makes rational thought dissolve. For blessed seconds, the voices stop. No Katka, no Tomáš, just us.

My shirt parts under his desperate hands, cool air hitting heated skin. His fingers trace the scars across my ribs, old wounds from Alexei's training.

"Jesus, you're beautiful."