Hans (Alliance, #4)

by S.J. Tilly

And then she repeated it back. Just as simple. Just once. Hans. And I haven’t fucked anyone since.

Because if Cassandra woke up tomorrow to a bowl of rotten produce, she would feel sad. She’d probably frown. Potentially pout. And I can’t be the cause of that.

“Yeah.” I resist the urge to smile. I always dreamed of a world where my Butterfly would let me touch her. It never occurred to me to fantasize about her being possessive of me. And I fucking love it.

“I can’t⁠—” I was going to say I can’t be reasonable about wearing someone else’s clothes, but the arm on the back of the seat hooks around my shoulders, and Hans presses his hand over my mouth. “You are going to listen to me for one fucking second before you finish that sentence. The backpack is full of your clothes, Cassandra Lynn. Your actual clothes.” My eyes widen. “I’m a sick fuck. I’ve crossed some pretty big lines when it comes to you. I won’t pretend otherwise. And I never wanted to drag you into the mess that is my life, but I still wanted to have you.” He uses his hold on me to pull me into his side. “I wanted to fucking keep you, Butterfly, from the moment I met you. And on the off chance something like tonight happened, I needed to be prepared. So, yeah, I took a few of your things. But now you have what you need.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “So be a good girl for me and find something to put on. Or don’t.” He shrugs against me. “You’re a beautiful woman. People won’t question what you’re wearing. But I’m a big creepy dude. If I showed up dressed in tactical black, dragging a girl like you behind me, people would assume I’m one of the trafficking assholes I’ve dedicated my life to killing.” I reach up and gently touch the hand over my mouth. Hans takes another big breath. “Please don’t ever tell me you can’t.” Twisting into him, I dislodge his hand and wrap my arms around his body. It’s an awkward way to hug someone. But… I have to do it. Please d...

It tastes better than I know it should. But that’s because it’s hers. She had her hands on it. Her mouth on it. I lick a smudge of mayo off my fingertip. From the few meals we’ve shared, I think it’s safe to say my obsession with consuming her food doesn’t just apply to her home bakes, but also to anything she’s eaten herself. My eyes move to the crumbs on her plate. Cassandra seems to let a lot of my bad behavior go, but licking sandwich crumbs off a hotel plate might be too much.

The thought of us being separated and not being able to find her has been clawing at my insides since the very first day we met. When I’d be out of town for hits, I would have nightmares about going home and her being gone. Missing. And ever since I stormed across the street with that book in my hand and got to touch her, got to put my mouth on her, that clawing sensation has turned into razors on my soul. And now that I’ve had her, now that I’ve made her mine, I know I wouldn’t survive losing her.