“Yeah, well at least you might be able to hit my heart, unlike the bullseye—” I’m not surprised when I feel the hard jab of an elbow sink into my stomach. The air whooshes out of me, but as soon as I catch my breath, I’m laughing. Paedyn huffs and I tug her closer to me, using this game as an excuse to hold her, touch her. Her head rests on my chest as she examines the target, breathing deeply. And I’m doing the same. My chest heaves, the feel of her against me almost too much to breathe properly. We fit together so perfectly, so right. I can hardly think, or breathe, or move when my fingers
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