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Liz felt herself breathe out a sigh of relief, her hand returning to her chest once more.
“I’m fine, yes,” she said, stroking the exposed cleavage of her chest. “I think the better question to ask is if you’re okay?”
Ben scoffed at her, stuck his hands in his pockets, and started walking toward his car.
“They can’t touch the women like that, no matter what their fucking names are,” he muttered into the dark. “Sometimes men like that need to be put in their place.”
Liz felt her burning desire for him running up her exposed legs, stroking her cleavage like a hot summer wind. She had known from the beginning that he was intense, a shifter, and on top of all of that, a fucking mobster. Those were all surefire ingredients to create a man ready to burst at the seams at the mere quiver of disrespect.
So why was she so flustered? The idea of taking him in the back of the car was sexy beyond belief, but it was the conversations afterward, the time spent together, not fucking, that she found herself craving just as much as the sex.
That thrilled her and terrified her rather justly.
As always, he opened the door for her, and she climbed into the front seat. Despite his seeming calm persona after the earlier savagery, something in him was agitated. A thought, perhaps, rolling around in him like a rock in his shoe.
Ben got in and promptly drove off. On a normal night of spying and theater acting, Ben and Liz would go to her place and spend the rest of the night on top of each other, their hunger for their bodies eager and insatiable. Liz had never had so much sex in her life, yet she surprised herself in realizing how much she yearned for it, day in and day out, from the same man.
She wanted to touch his leg, the way she often would on their drives back to her apartment. Anything to try to comfort him.
They pulled up to the driveway of her apartment, and she felt mournful, the idea of being away from him for even a single evening too painful to consider. She lingered for a moment, turning to face him by propping up her elbow on the passenger’s side.
“Are you going to get in a lot of trouble for what you did?” she asked casually.
Ben turned off the engine, then leaned on the steering wheel. He smiled at her, sly and devilish.
“Trouble like going to see the school principal?”
Liz felt like the sun had split open inside her chest. She wrinkled her nose at him and playfully pushed at his shoulder.
“You ass,” she muttered.
Ben chuckled, then drummed his fingers against the leather interior.
“Not any kind of trouble I haven’t experienced before,” he said, shrugging once more. “He might give me a good blow to the chops, but don’t worry, I can handle it.”
He winked at her, and Liz had to resist the impulse to giggle like a schoolgirl.
“I still hate the idea of you getting hurt at all,” she said, reaching for his chin. “Though, I know you're a big tough shifter.”
She stroked the shadow of his stubble, beginning at his pointed chin, then ran the tips of her fingers up his extraordinary jaw. A gentle and tranquil silence sat between them, an indescribable essence Liz never wanted to escape from.
Ben touched her wrist without looking at her, slowly lowering it back to her lap. She wondered if she had said too much.
“I’ve really got to get going, baby,” he said, turning back to the windshield. “I’ll text you later and let you know what’s up.”
Liz nodded, then opened the door to climb out. She had one leg outside when she felt a force take her over, a possession of some kind, and she bent her head back into the car.
“Kiss me.”
Ben initially bristled, then softened, bringing his mouth to hers in the most innocent peck they’d ever given one another. But it was light years away from boring.
He tasted of teakwood and whiskey.
Liz forced herself away from him, her hand lingering flat on his chest.
“Ben?”
“Yes?”
