I slide into the passenger seat, watching him round the front of the car. The Aston Martin's interior smells like leather and him—expensive cologne mixed with something darker I can never quite name.
He settles into the driver's seat but doesn't start the engine.
I turn to face him, feeling suddenly like a teenager who just got caught doing something stupid.
"I'm sorry."
He looks at me. "For?"
"Ruining your night. You were... busy."
His mouth curves. "You didn't ruin anything."
"Drogo—"
"You make my night, babe."
The word lands different when he says it. Not entitled. Not dismissive. Like he means it.
His hand finds my thigh, warm through the thin fabric of my dress. Just rests there. Heavy. Possessive. Then he slides it under. Skin meets skin. Something that, through the years, has become normal for us. He slides his hand higher on my thigh. Too high. His finger is brushing my panties, and I immediately feel wet.
"Every time," he adds quietly.
I stare at his hand on my leg, heart hammering so loud I'm sure he can hear it. But for us, this is normal, so I act normal. I smile. But fuck, I want more. I want to tell him to go higher or just push his hand between my legs.
"You kicked her out, didn't you?" I ask. "The woman."
"The second you called."
"Rude. She won't be happy about that. And she would be right."
"Don't care." His thumb strokes once across my thigh as his fingers brush my panties more. Fuck. "You called. I came."
My breath catches. "You always do."
"Always will."
The silence stretches between us—thick with things I don't say, things I’ve never said in seventeen years.
His hand doesn't move.
Neither do I.
His fingers flex against my thigh. Once. Twice.
Seventeen years. Seventeen years of this dance.
Tonight, the line we've never crossed trembles. I don't think I can hold it anymore. I want him. Now. I want to knowif he feels the same. If he wants me as I want him. If he got even a little jealous tonight.
"Drogo—"
His phone buzzes. Sharp. Insistent.
He glances at the screen.
Everything changes.
His jaw tightens. The heat in his eyes goes cold—replaced by something harder. Dangerous.
