---
Two days later she landed. Evening flight. Mo Ye drove out to the airport like a man dragging his own nerves behind him. He gripped the wheel too tight, phone buzzing against the dashboard, but he didn't touch it. Every red light made him curse under his breath.
The terminal was crowded. He stood there, scanning every face that walked out until hers appeared. Hair a little undone from travel, eyes sharp, searching, like she'd been bracing herself for him.
She spotted him. Slowed down, but didn't stop. He moved too, and for a moment they were both caught in that awkward middle distance the part where you don't know if you should run or wait.
Up close she dropped her bag with a thud. "China, huh," she said, arms folded like a challenge.
He almost smiled. Almost. Instead he bent, grabbed her bag, and straightened. No answer. His throat refused to work.
They didn't talk much on the drive. Her hand brushed against the window controls, restless. He wasn't much better, his knuckles pale on the steering wheel. The silence felt like the same one they'd always carried heavy, not empty.
The hotel key card slipped into his hand at the counter. He didn't ask if one room was fine. He just booked it. She didn't say anything either, only gave him that side glance that said of course.
The door clicked shut behind them. She kicked off her shoes, tossed her bag against the wall, and dropped face-first onto the bed. "God. I'm so tired." Her voice muffled in the pillow.
Mo Ye leaned against the door like he needed the solid weight of it behind his back. He watched her shoulders rise and fall, her hair spilling over the sheets. Every inch of her body tugged at him, sharp and unbearable.
"Still the same bed hog I see," he said finally, the words tasting like dust.
She rolled over, hair messy, lips curling lazy. "Still the same coward?"
His hand clenched around the key card. Heat crawled up his neck. The air between them felt too small, too loud, and he couldn't look away from her.
She fell asleep hard, jet lag heavy in her bones. Chest rising and falling, hair spilling across the pillow. Mo Ye watched her, quiet, hands resting on his knees, mind slow.
After a few minutes, he got up, ordered food she liked the little things she never said out loud but he remembered anyway. When the doorbell delivered it, he carried it in, placed it on the table, arranged it just like she liked. No noise, just care.
Three hours later, she woke. Eyes blinking against the soft hotel light, hair a tangled halo. "what time is it?," she mumbled, voice raw.
He gestured at the food. "Eat. Get your strength back."
They sat together, plates between them, no rush. She ate slowly, eyes flicking to him every now and then, hands moving over the food almost automatically.
Later, she went to the bathroom. Out of habit, she left the door open. Mo Ye didn't move. He sat on the cold bathroom floor, back against the wall, watching her through the gap. Totally normal.
"Fi… you feel safe with me?"
She laughed softly, water dripping from her hair onto the tiles. "Yeah. Isn't it funny? You're an assassin, but I feel safe with you. Even though you could kill me right now and I wouldn't know how I died. I'd be a confused ghost."
He tilted his head, voice low, steady. "No. When I'm with you… I'm not an assassin. Not here. Not now."
She smiled small , the first ease since they arrived. The tension lingered, but it didn't burn. Not yet.
Kael
"You never called me Kael except when you wanted something."
She chuckled.
"True. Now i am calling you because i need something."
"What do you need?" His eyes deep, and him wondering if he needed to go out and buy something for her.
"Kael, i need you to touch me."
"What!"
"You heard me. Come here. Do it."
Mo Ye didn't need to be told twice. He immediately took off his shirt and shorts before joining Fiorella in the shower.
He backed her against the wall.
The water hit them, hot and insistent, steam curling around their bodies. Mo Ye pressed her back against the wall, hands tracing fire along her skin. Fiorella tilted her head, letting her hair spill over his shoulder, lips parting, a soft moan escaping before she even realized it.
She pushed into him, hips grinding, hands pulling at his shoulders, dragging him closer, demanding. "Kael…" her voice thick, ragged, testing, teasing.
Mo Ye lowered his mouth to hers, teeth grazing her lip, tongue sliding in to taste, claiming. She kissed back with the same hunger, hands clawing at his back, nails digging just enough to make him hiss. Every touch, every bite, every gasp pulled sparks through him, tightening him, driving him harder.
Her hands roamed over his chest, down his arms, dragging him closer until he could feel the heat of her body pressed against his. The shower spray ran over them both, hot water mixing with sweat and the slick of skin against skin.
He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard, teeth biting lightly at her jaw. "You're mine," he murmured, voice rough.
She laughed, low and breathless, pushing back just enough to make him smile against her skin. "Only when I want to be," she said, voice a whisper that made him shiver.
He gripped her waist, sliding his hands lower, fingers digging into her, dragging her against him. She arched, pressing harder, rocking into him, breath catching, moans spilling freely now. Her chest pressed against his, heart hammering, body trembling.
He moved with her, slow, deliberate, feeling every shiver, every gasp, every inch of her yielding and demanding at the same time. Water cascaded over them, but they barely noticed. The world was gone, only the slick heat between them, the burn of desire, the pull of bodies that couldn't be denied.
Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, nails raking down his back. "Kael… harder…"
He obeyed, pressing, grinding, hands claiming, lips devouring, until every moan, every shiver, every cry spilled into the water, into the steam, into the space they'd made their own.
She gasped, pressed tight against him, and he let himself go, slow and hard, until the tension cracked and rolled through both of them in shuddering, tremoring waves.
They stayed like that after, bodies pressed, breathing harsh and uneven, hearts pounding, letting the silence of the water and their heat speak the words they didn't need.