Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss novel Chapter 110

Chapter 110: Killing the mood= Leaving

Chapter Hundred and Ten

His mouth stayed shut, his jaw tight. If he said the rest... if he cracked open that door and showed her what was clawing inside him, it might ruin everything.

So he said nothing else.

But God, he burned.

Her nearness was unbearable. The slope of her throat, the way her shirt clung to the line of her back, the gentle rhythm of her breathing: it was all too much. And still, not enough.

He wanted to run his hands down every inch of her. He wanted to memorize her scars with his mouth, hold her until neither of them had to pretend anymore.

He wanted to be seen.

And he wanted her to let him see her, too. In every messy, broken piece.

But the words stayed trapped in his throat. Because if he told her that if he confessed that she was the first person to make him feel this *

unsteady, and this alive, what would she do?

Would she pull away? Laugh? Panic?

Would he?

His chest ached from the weight of it, this wild, desperate longing to reach across the silence and touch her heart instead of just her skin.

But instead, he stepped back. Just a little.

Not because he wanted distance, but because it felt too dangerous not to.

He was about to step away completely, to let her go, let the silence swallow what he didn’t dare say when she moved.

It was subtle at first. Just the shift of her feet. Then her hands found his chest, her fingers spreading across the fabric like she was grounding herself.

She stood on her toes.

And kissed him.

It was quick. Sudden. Like a spark leaping from a live wire.

Her lips brushed his with a kind of hesitance wrapped in boldness like she’d acted before thinking and thought too much after.

She meant to retreat. He could feel it in the way her body tensed, the way her weight shifted back on her heels.

But he caught her.

One hand slid around her waist. The other cradled the back of her head. It wasn’t rough but rather gentle. Firm. Not letting her run.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, soft and slow.

Was this the first time she had kissed him first?

Yes. Probably.

And damn if it didn’t undo something deep in him.

She wasn’t just answering his desire, she was offering something. Like trust. Like surrender.

His heart pounded, loud enough that he swore she could hear it. His fingers curled tighter around her waist as his lips pressed back into hers... deeper now, more certain.

The kiss stretched, time slipping out from under them.

He didn’t rush it. And neither did he push.

He just felt.

Felt the heat of her against him, the trembling of her breath, and the soft hum in her throat as their mouths moved together like they’d done this a hundred times... but this one felt different.

This one meant something to him.

When they finally broke apart, her eyes lingered on his lips like she hadn’t meant to enjoy it that much.

And him?

He was wrecked.

Every part of him ached with the need to say something... just anything.

But the words still choked in his throat.

So instead, he leaned in close, his voice whispering against her cheek.

"You are beautiful, Asli." He told her, though he wished he could tell her how scared he was.

Of how much he wanted her.

Of how much he was beginning to need her.

And most of all, what that meant for the man he thought he was.

She didn’t say a word.

Just looked at him.

That steady, unreadable look, maybe even a little daring, held him still. Then, slowly, she stepped back, her fingers drifting to the hem of her blouse.

His breath caught.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t make it seductive or dramatic. There was no teasing in her movements.

The fabric lifted, sliding up her ribs, past the gauze still taped to her side, over the curve of her arms, until it was gone; tossed onto the sink nearby.

His eyes didn’t go to her chest.

Not yet.

They lingered on the wound. The edge of white gauze tinged dark slowly through her skin like it was trying to remind him of how close she’d come to bleeding out in someone else’s arms.

It hit him like a punch to the ribs.

"You are still hurting," he murmured, his voice raw.

"I am fine," she replied, but her voice cracked just slightly around the lie.

She always did that and tried to wear her pain like armor.

But in that moment, with her standing half-bare before him, something had changed. There was a softness now... just a flicker... like she was handing him something fragile and daring him not to break it.

And still... she hadn’t looked away.

She trusted him to see her like this.

It did something to him, something irreversible.

The ache in his chest deepened, no longer just about hunger or longing. It was reverence. It was a kind of awe he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling.

He stepped forward, his hands reaching out, slow and careful. Not to pull her into bed. Not to strip the rest of her clothes away.

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