Closing her eyes she threw her head back, her fingernails lightly grazing over his abs as his fingers pressed a little harder against her flesh.

She hated the term ‘perfect’. She had heard it far too many times in her life, had too many people refer to her as such before she turned around and stabbed them in the back, sometimes literally. But here with Clint, among rumpled sheets smelling of sweat, sex, and blood, with him filling her so completely and making her feel so whole... well, this was about as close to perfect as she would ever concede.

To keep from getting too emotional or sentimental it was then that she started to move with long, slow strokes at first, the tempo increasing with each one.