I won't bore you with the details of our dinner conversation. I don't even think I really remember it; that's how normal it was. At that moment in time I didn't think he was anything more than a regular man, a charming – possibly even devious – man. His eyes threw me for a loop; looking at me they were hot enough to churn my stomach, but they were dark when he looked around us as though someone would come to take him away.

But there was nothing else. He told me he was an engineer, that he designed ships and weapons; I don't know why he told me that, it was one of the first honest things he had ever said. He didn't talk much about his work much, he was more interested in me. He asked me questions forcing me to think, and he sat watching my face closely as I answered. I reveled in the way he looked at me, like I was fascinating, like I was something new he couldn't believe he'd found.

And so when we left the restaurant and he kissed me I let him; trust me when I say I kissed him back, because I was the one who deepened it. He had his hand around the back of my head, his fingers in my hair, pulling my mouth closer. He had soft full lips that dragged against my own, separating my lips for his tongue though it never came. He pulled away, and I wanted more.

I stood staring up at him, breathing deeply, feeling his chest brush against mine as he breathed. He made to kiss me again, bending his head and brushing his lips against mine and pulling away when I raised my chin – knowing I wanted it, and smiling slightly as he looked down at me. There was no darkness in his eyes then, nothing but lust and scorching heat.

He bent his head and put his mouth by my ear. "Do you want to go to your room?" he asked, his voice a low growl; and I honestly felt my stomach drop at how – I think the only word viable enough is sexy – it was. His hands were firm around my back, keeping me pressed against him; I don't know what I had enjoyed more, his mouth or the way he held me – I could feel the strength in his arms, as though nothing would be able to tear me from his grasp. Not even me.

"What if I said no?" I surprised him, I could see it in his furrowed brows when he turned his head to look at me. When he saw that the answer was in fact not no, a smile curled on his lips. I didn't notice then that out of all the smiles I had seen him wear, that was the first one that was genuine.

How could I have possibly noticed, he had grabbed the back of my head crushed his mouth onto mine. The moment our tongues met his grip turned to iron. He locked his arms around my back so tight I could barely breathe, not that I noticed; our tongues were waging war, my arms around his neck. I lost myself in him. And I don't think I ever came back.

There were people staring at us: repulsed, intrigued, impressed, turned on. We were in the middle of a sidewalk looking as though we would rip our clothes and fuck right then. And pardon my language but you need to understand that we never "made love." It was fucking. It was rough and hard, lust-filled and passionate, blinding and painful. And I enjoyed the hell out of it. And if there's one thing out of everything that happened I know as an undeniable fact, it's that he enjoyed the hell out of it too.

It still amazes me how vulnerable he allowed himself to be in those moments, when I knew exactly what he wanted and how he felt. He'd hold my hips or my thighs, pulling me further against him, demanding to be fully inside me – moaning, grunting, crying out with each thrust; littering my skin with his fingerprints. He lost himself in me. There were no thoughts of his "family" of Admiral Marcus, or of even what he planned to do next. In those moments when he was on top of me, or I was on top of him, he was completely mine. And I was his.

You see, it wasn't just this one time or even a few more days before he revealed who he really was. There was an entire month he spent with me, and we shagged and fucked. And we talked too. An entire month he slept at my side, or when I stayed late at the hospital he sat next to me the next day as I slept. A month of showers, of conversations, of sex, of sleeping together, of little touches. A month before he first threatened my life. There's still so much you don't know. But if there's anything you should know before I tell you the bad stuff, that's the month I fell in love with him. And if he was ever capable of it, I think it's when he fell in with me.

So I'll go into that month next chapter. Also, I'm thinking this is probably as detailed as I'll get for sex; and I'm sorry for the language. What I'm picturing in my head for them when they have sex, it's not gentle. So they fuck, plain and simple; it's rough and dirty, and hard. And there's just no nice way of saying how I'm imaging it. Also, I've been having trouble with picturing an actress for Ellie (and I'm not fully happy with the actress I have for Letters from the Sky). So I've been thinking about Annabelle Wallis (only problem is she's english), cause I think she's very beautiful. So let me know what you think.