"I'm afraid you're actually not going to be doing that."

         And at the end of the hallway, God incarnated, is the stupid love of my life. Stupid, and disturbingly sexy, as she incapacitates both of the officers in less than five swift movements.

          When both men are crumpled, black uniforms tousled around their bodies, Veah steps over them.

         I bite my lip. In my hand, I am still holding the cassette for Taken. "Maybe we should postpone the movie, because I really want to fuck you right now."

        And then I notice she is holding something―something that is not dangerous weaponry.

       Veah grins as she raises a paper bag with cinnamon-sugared steam rising from its edges. "I promise, I only had to kill a couple of people for this."

      Inside the bag, there are five warm, sticky cinnamon buns.

      "You're my other half," I say, sighing as I take out the first bun.

      "I hope you're talking to me," Veah teases. "That cinnamon bun didn't have to beat city traffic and a few Yakuza to get here."

      I take my first bite. I'm in love. "Whatever you say."

      "I can't believe I'm second place to a cinnamon bun," Veah groans, closing the door behind her and setting down her keys.

      "Get used to it."

      "Well, if you love that cinnamon bun so much, you can just use these two tickets I got to Hawaii and go on a honeymoon with it instead."

       In the bliss of a sugar-coated daydream, it takes about twenty seconds to register.

       "Hawaii?"

        "Yes, Hawaii, but if you don't want to go with me . . ."

       I finish the cinnamon bun. The warm, syrupy flavour melts on my tongue. "Well, maybe I love you, too."

       "Only a maybe?" Veah produces the two tickets from inside of her jacket. "I figure, you know, now that we're going to be on the run for a little bit . . . why not enjoy it? And considering we're newlyweds―"

       I throw my arms around her, and she kisses me.

       "You taste like cinnamon," she whispers against my mouth, gently biting my lower lip. I let out a soft, breathless moan, suddenly craving her.

       "You better make love to me right now."

       "Then you better admit you love me more than those cinnamon buns."

      "Jealous?"

      "Hardly," Veah whispers, her storm-and-slate eyes darkening. "But I'd like to hear it anyway."

      "Jealousy is a hot look on you," I argue, as her arms tighten possessively over me. I am on my tip-toes now, leaning up towards her lush, cherry-hinted mouth.

      "Every look is hot on me," Veah replies with a smirk.

      She's not wrong.

     "Fine," I concede. "I love you more than cinnamon buns." A pause. "Sometimes."

       Veah raises an eyebrow, her storm-grey stare electric in its intensity.

      "Fine," I confess. "Most of the time."

      "I'll take it," she says. Her hands slip over my waist, and she lifts me onto the edge of the counter. "No takebacks."

      "So Hawaii, huh?" My heartbeat skyrockets as she pulls off my top and leaves a trail of soft kisses down to my navel. "I . . ." Am finding it hard to breathe.

       "I thought you might like it. White sands, pretty blue sea . . . I can't wait to fuck you on the beach."

      The thought makes me dig my fingers into her shoulders. Needy. Desperate.

     "Not if I fuck you first," I challenge.

     "Oh?" Her stare is lit with the heat of a sky on fire. "We'll see about that."

      I suddenly can not stand the fact that we still have our clothes on.

      And Veah seems to agree, because the next thing I know, my bra is on the floor and my dress is hiked up around my waist. Her mouth brushes, teasing and featherlight, across my abdomen . . . lower . . .

       When she reaches the apex of my thighs, my fingers slide into her soft hair. I moan, "Heaven."

       One finger stretches inside of me. Then two. My hips writhe against the countertop, and I say her name like a prayer on the lips of a sinner. Desperate and dark and worshipping.

       The sight of her tattooed fingers deepening inside of me is enough to make my back arch. Pleasure twisting within me.

       With her other hand, Veah's knuckles graze the underside of my breasts. Her touch on me is demanding, territorial, and I know I can't last much longer.

       I throw my head back. Panting. "Veah―"

      "Come," she orders, and I shatter at her command. A guttural moan escapes me. Pleasure unfurls in my blood like the burning of a star, almost cataclysmic. Her skin on mine, her body moving with mine―it feels like ecstasy, and the climax keeps shuddering through me, relentless.

       Once I am panting, breathless, spent, I see the wicked smile on her face. Her hand is between my legs, tantalizing as it draws over the wetness buried there.

       Just as her fingertip slips inside of me, I grab her by the collar of her jacket and bring her mouth to mine. And then I push her―until she is against the wall.

       I fumble to undo the button of her pants, hungry to take off her shirt, her bra. Her piercing eyes meet mine. "I want to taste you," I say breathlessly.

        But then she lifts me by my hips. My arms curl instinctively over her neck as she carries me to the wide, velvet couch and lays me down.

       Her knee between my legs, she leans over―kissing me hotly, roughly.

      With her mouth on mine, I flip her over until she is beneath me.

      "I said I want to taste you," I growl.

      Her eyes widen, a reflection of my own feral desire. Then she watches as my hands explore her body, tracing every edge of her, every scar, until I reach that place where I know she is the most vulnerable.

       The power to the way Veah walks, the sheer confidence in the way she fights . . .

       I want to make her weak with my touch. I want to see her break with pleasure because of me.

       And by the time I am done, I have.

      "I think," Veah says finally, a slight hitch to her chest, "that you're a sex addict."

      "We'll see about that," I promise.

       She seals her mouth to mine, and I don't know when her arms began to feel like home, but curled on her chest, with her fingers brushing my hair, I feel safe.

        I fuck her again, and again, and even once against the giant glass window, with the city lights sparkling far below us.

       I manage to lose track of time altogether, until Veah and I are lying on the couch where we started. She says, "What movie did you pick out?"

      "Taken," I tell her.

      "That one about the girl who gets kidnapped?"

      "Yeah," I say, slipping the disc into the TV's player. "That movie scared me for ages when I was a kid. I haven't watched it since then."

      "Then I feel special," Veah says, "that you finally feel safe enough to watch it with me."

       "Well," I tease. "If I ever got taken, you'd probably kill hundreds of people just to get me back, too."

       There is not a single trace of amusement on her face.

      "I would," she says, as though she is entirely serious.

      "Oh, come on," I say, laughing. "I think even you have a limit, killing machine and all."

      Veah's voice is low, soft. Dangerous. "Do you remember when I told you there are still things you don't know about me? About how I got involved in the Mafia?"

      "Yes," I say, hesitating.

      "Then trust me." Veah's eyes search mine. "I have the ability to kill everyone who stands in my way. In the apartment next door, I can hear whoever is moving around in the kitchen. If I wanted to, I could throw that kitchen knife through the wall and kill him without even getting off this couch."

       "How . . ."

      "I'll tell you one day," Veah says, and there is something like nervousness in the way she looks at me. As though she is sure I will think she is a monster. "I promise. But right now, I just want to lay here with you, and watch a make-believe movie about a make-believe girl and a make-believe kidnapping."

        I settle into her open arms, resting my cheek against her chest. I can hear her heart beating, soft and steady.

       "I love you," I finally say, as the movie begins playing.

       "And I love you."

      Halfway through the movie, I fall asleep. My dreams are made of white sand, blue skies, and a girl with lightning eyes, making love to me on the beach.

>>>

A happier ending than I planned. I love you.

From the moon and back,
Sarai