"You're improving," she told Marx he inclined his head slightly.
The other groups continued to pass.
Some watched the training.
Some watched her.
Sarge remained where he was.
Eyes always returning to Felicity.
Always measuring the space around her.
When the training ended and the laughter faded, Voss moved without warning.
One moment he was beside her.
The next he had her against the wall of a crumbling structure just out of sight of the others.
There was a small startled squeak.
Then a giggle.
She giggled against his chest, hands scrabbling for purchase in the folds of his shirt. Voss's arm locked around her slender waist, fingers splaying possessively across the small of her back. He bent his face to the juncture of neck and shoulder, and Felicity felt his breath hot and shaky burn through the fabric, her skin. A shuddered inhale, his chest swelling, and he drank in her scent like it was some addictive narcotic that made him wild.
