Astrea works as an enforcer, her job involves taking down the most powerful of supernatural bad guys...and her extraordinary powers make her one of the very few capable of subduing them.
One day, she receives orders to take out a man accused of hein...
"I never took you for the bashful type Snowdrop, it's quite adorable." He chuckles, kissing my cheek before going over to the claw foot tub. I turn my face away, scowling as I turn redder. It surprises me too, but I don't say anything as he starts filling up the tub with warm water and soap...I just stare at his bare back as he leans over the tub, tracing over the lines of muscle and the tattoo inked there with my eyes...the intricate detail quite beautiful.
"You like something you see, love?" He rumbles happily, and I immediately snatch my eyes away to look at the wall.
Pizdets...
"You aren't very good at concealing your thoughts, not that I'm complaining sweetheart." He chuckles as he turns back to me, and I struggle to keep my gaze turned away from him, not wanting to openly ogle his bare chest right in front of him. Though I can't ignore him once he cups my cheek and turns my face towards his, those gleaming hazel eyes becoming even more distracting than his body.
"Don't be upset Astrea, I'm flattered that you like my tattoo, it's very special too me...though, not as special as the mark you gave me." He purrs, and I'm immediately drawn to it, the color a stark contrast to his tanned skin.
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
A snowdrop...his nickname for me.
"It's almost as beautiful as you."
I can't hide my flushed cheeks, their warmth competing with his. When did I become blushing schoolgirl? I'm an agent, a tracker...I've killed people for Goddesses sake!
"You're still adorable."
I really need to learn how to conceal my thoughts...
"You do, but for now let's worry about your bath before it gets cold." He chuckles, going behind me. "Let's get this shirt off so you can stop cursing at it."
How did he know I was cursing?
"The tone, I may not know the language, but cursing is something I can always recognize."
I bite my lip, holding back a chuckle as I debate over something.
"Russian..." I murmur, and he pauses.
"What?"
"It's Russian..." I say again, a little louder this time, shivering as I feel his fingers brush underneath the hem of my shirt.
"Interesting. Were you born in Russia or...?"
"My father was...he came to America at eighteen years old."
"So you picked it up from him...and English from your mom?"
I nod, my body tensing as he begins to pull my shirt up. It isn't until the air hits my back that I suddenly realize that I haven't warned him about-
