Scars were simply a part of life! She had her own share of them and he'd see those in time! Besides, scars meant he'd lived, and she much preferred feeling up a living guy!

Much preferred.

Dead guys weren't big on conversation after all.

Not that she was talking much. Her lips were busy on his chest, tongue playing over his ribs as her kept working his pants down. They started falling of their own accord when they hit his knees so she called it good and played fingers up his inner thighs.

Bath? Yeah, they'd get there eventually.