She laughed, nipped my bottom lip, then muttered, “Ignore it,” as she surged upright, our hands still united so she was on top, and showed me her appreciation for her gifts. I was a made man. I was a sniper. But through all the blood I shed, through all the violence I wreaked in our war torn city, I was so much more than either of those things. I was her man. Hers. And more importantly? She was mine. Forever.
