I wait for Ben this time.

No impulsiveness, no ultimatums, no demanding a quickie against random pieces of furniture. I want him. All of him, and I want him to take his time with me.

We take a car to my place from the neutral office designated by U.S. Marshal Aiden Watts and the prosecution’s office, leaving its impartial structure and the terrifying facts that were spoken within its walls, behind.

Lunchtime traffic is at its peak, and I fidget against the leather in the back seat, swollen and uncomfortable from our kiss.

Ben’s gaze cuts sideways, and I see the partial curve of a smile before his large, calloused hand whisks against my stockinged thigh. His fingers tap, explore, and slide up my skirt.

I’m about to whisper a shocked objection, but Ben lifts his other hand to his mouth, putting a finger against it and miming shhhh.

I feel the curl of movement under my skirt, the hook of his index finger as he finds my sensitive spot even through tights and underwear.

Choking on a moan, I pretend to adjust myself in the seat, praying the driver keeps his eyes forward.

“Take a load off for a while,” Ben says, his grin all pompous and arrogant. “Tilt your head back, close your eyes…”

All the while he’s rubbing against my clit, my hips undulating in time to his every beckoning finger-twist.

I do as he suggests, otherwise I’m going to orgasm with my eyes popping open and riveted to the rearview mirror, hoping the guy doesn’t meet my stare.

“Ben…” I whisper, oh-so-quietly.

“Yeah, hun?”

“Don’t…”

He bends closer, his nose almost hitting my ear. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t stop.”

Ben’s lips quirk against my tendrils of hair. “Wasn’t gonna.”

I stifle another moan. Dig my nails into the thick leather as an orgasm hits me right as we’re pulling up to my apartment. Ben nips at my ear, then draws away.

“Th-thank you,” I stutter to the driver, and it’s all I can do not to topple out into the winter cold.

“Easy,” Ben says through his laughter as he comes around the back of the car. “I got you.”

“I think you just ruined my Uber rating,” I say, but take his proffered arm. My legs are annoyingly wobbly and appeased at the same time.

“Knowing you, you probably screwed over that star rating long ago.”

“I object to that.”

“Fine. Just don’t object to what I want to do to you as soon as we hit your bedroom.”

My stomach does a little whoop of delight at the promise, and we rush past security, bang hard on the UP button of the elevator, and impatiently wait for it to shoot us to the right floor so I can be shot into the galaxy.

We can’t keep our hands off each other.

Kissing, pulling at clothes, tripping over each other’s feet, we make it down the hallway and to my door. I fumble for keys and hurl it open as we fumble inside.

I’ve had enough of Ben’s buttons. I rip at the shirt, exposing his delicious, carved pecs, and he slips both that and his blazer off his body and onto the floor.

“Tit for tat,” he says, then tears open my blouse. “Oh, definitely tits.”

He pulls at the lace of my bra, tucking the cups under my breasts and refusing to waste time unclasping it.

Sucking, pulling, twirling, biting, both my breasts are getting equal attention as Ben guides me backwards to the bedroom.

This time, throwing my head back seems natural.

Ben’s hands cup my waist, almost encasing me whole, and lifts me up before laying me across the bed. The weight of him is welcomed as he lays on top of me, taking his time on my lips, my neck, the sensitive line of my jaw.

I scramble for his pants, dragging my fingers along the taut muscle of his stomach, the gorgeous lines of his abs, until I find what I want and start peeling his pants away.

My hand curls around his dick and I stroke, eliciting succulent groans heavy against my ear.

“Pants. All the way off,” I gasp.

Ben rises on his elbows, staring at me frankly. “What did you promise? No demands. You’re all mine, for as long as I want.”

My answer is to writhe underneath him. And possibly frown like a spoiled child not getting her way.

Ben smiles. Stands and kicks off his pants and boxers, until I see the full daylight of him, as stunning as the night I had him in college.

I don’t care about the burns. They’re a part of him, a swirl of tragedy against the skin able to withstand it.

Rising until I’m sitting, I trail my fingers across his hip, drinking in the scars, a lot like I wasn’t allowed to in college.

Ben grips my wrist, exactly like he did that night.

But…this time, he guides me. Traces his burns with my fingers, grazing the pads along the bubbles and ridges of his tale of survival. He moves me to his arm, and we trace the burns there. I touch every part of him that was torn open and eaten by fire.

As if my touch were a healing balm.

I’m so riveted by the motions, the feel of him against my hand, that when I meet his eyes, I’m shocked to find them locked onto my face.

“You know all of me, now,” he says.

I swallow. And nod. I don’t flinch as he lets go of my wrist and reaches for my face, tracing the light pock marks on my cheek.

“You’ve known all of me for a long time,” I say.

“Yes.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “And you’re as beautiful as the day I met you.”

I blink back tears. This moment doesn’t need them. “And so are you, Ben.”

Ben lightly pushes me back against the mattress. Strips off my skirt, then peels down my tights, kissing the exposed skin of my thighs and legs along the way.

He rises to lie on top of me again, both of us fully exposed. Keeps my gaze as he slides into me, excruciatingly slowly. Smiles when I bite my lower lip.

I clench at the feel of him, unwilling to let him leave, since this is what makes me whole. He dips his head, watching as he lifts out, then drives in again. I bury my fingers in the skin of his ass—if I’m not allowed to demand that he stay, then I can sure as hell make it clear in other ways.

He groans, and I feel his exhale on my nipples. Goosebumps take up the tingle and scatter every which way along my body, from my knees to my collarbone, collecting into a swirl at my center, building, building…

Flying.

My hands clench against Ben’s body as he takes me to the sky, his movements faster as he buries himself as deep as he can go inside me and then retreats, over and over, until we’re both blind from ecstatic torture.

“I’m gonna come…” I say. “Ben, I’m gonna come.”

He lifts to his hands, then straightens and digs his fingers into my hips, pounding harder.

“Oh my God, I love you,” I say, my head thrown back as far as it can go, chin tilted to the ceiling.

The crescendo comes and I can’t make sound as my body spirals and explodes. Ben keeps fucking me through the pleasure, joining the ride.

His muscles tense and bulge as he comes. He grabs my jaw, jerking my gaze to his so I can see the moment he lets go, so we can stay connected, when he spills inside of me.

Ben collapses on me, both our chests and stomachs heaving, but he gathers enough remaining stamina to whisper against my ear. “Say it to me again.”

I don’t need to ask what. And I don’t need to hesitate. “I love you. I’ve loved you a long time, Ben Donahue. Even when I hated you, I loved you.”

He turns his head into my neck and presses his lips against my skin. “I love you too, my obstinate, amazing, ridiculously impossible gorgeous girl.”

My fingers press into the his shoulder blades. “Ben, what are we going to do?”

“About telling our friends?” He lifts his head. “Or about your boss and company knowing who I am? Or about the drug kingpin learning my identity?”

“Oh, God.” But I burst out in laughter, because what other alternative is there? Sob? Scream in fear?

“We’re in the fucking thick of it,” he says.

“But together, right?”

Ben finds my hand above my head and laces his fingers through mine. “You’re damned right.”

Ben showers with me, and we have slick, soaking hot sex against the tiles, his dick sliding into me with my back against the chilled marble, then bent over, with my hands squeaking down the glass partition.

He exhausts me in all the best ways, and maybe it’s for the better, since we plan to go to my brother’s as soon as we’re dry.

“Locke’s the first stop,” Ben says when he steps out and hands me a towel. “Maybe Ash or East will be there, too, I dunno.”

“We’ll tell them, and then I’ll go to Yang, see what I can do to staunch any leaks.”

“You think he’s said anything to Chavez about me?”

I’m upside-down, spinning a towel around my wet hair, but I shake my head in the negative. “He just doesn’t seem the type to compromise his career that way. Besides, he got what he wanted—your deposition transcript. He just didn’t get to be the interrogator.”

“I don’t have a huge handle on your business, but something tells me that’s a huge poker up his ass.”

“Sure is.” I straighten and wrap another towel around my body. “Which is why I’m going to gauge the temperature.”

“And possibly be thrown into the fire.”

“I’m prepared for that.”

Because I want to—and I get to, any time I want—when I pass Ben, I lay a kiss on his cheek. “You’re worth it.”

“You say that now,” he says as he follows me out of the bathroom. “But this is a huge hit against your career.”

“Ben, I love you,” I say sagely. “But I’m not choosing love over my career. This firm isn’t the only one in the city. I have the talent and I have the proof to back it up. You have enough to worry about right now. So, don’t worry about me, okay?”

Ben offers a smile. “Exactly why I love you, too, baby.”

I’m about to respond, but my phone rings. I hold the display up to Ben.

“Oh, boy,” he says, then busies himself finding his pants buried somewhere in our sex-sheets.

“Astor speaking,” I say when I answer.

“Office,” Yang barks. “Now.”

He clicks off before I have a chance to say anything further.

Ben, dressed in only suit pants and looking for all the world like he wants to be licked, says, “And?”

“Looks like my first stop is Yang’s office.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

I don’t argue. I don’t want Ben out of my sight any more than he wants me away from him. Physically, we’re having the best time of our lives. But in reality, there’s a very real danger surrounding him. And I don’t, for one second, want to be somewhere else if that danger ever comes into fruition. Beside him is where I’ll be.

“Let’s go,” I say once I pull on a green, long-sleeved wool dress.

We find our coats, take the elevator, and burst out into the chill where a car waits for us.

The drive is silent, mainly because Ben and I are catching our breaths, and both of us are probably going through a variety of scenarios in our heads.

When we arrive, Ben steps out first and holds the door open for me. He takes my hand as we walk.

“I’ll be waiting right outside, in the lobby, if you need me.”

I nod. Nerves wrapped their scaled fingers around my throat during the drive. It’s been easy to dismiss the fear during sex. Not so easy when facing my boss, who knows exactly who Ben is, and who is friends with the man who more than likely ordered a hit on his parents.

We step into the elevators, and then onto my floor.

I let go of his hand. “I’ll let you know when I—”

We both freeze at the same time.

“Ben,” I whisper harshly.

Chavez is sitting on one of our plush waiting lounges, casually reading the day’s news on one of our complimentary tablets.

He hasn’t noticed us. I recover enough to move before he does, pulling at Ben’s arm, but Ben’s a statue. A cold, gray, solid statue of stone as he stares down Enrique Chavez.

“Ben,” I say through my teeth. “Move. Now.”

He blinks, breaking out of the bear-trap hold of walking into the arms of a murderer. “I’ll wait right here.”

“No, you won’t—”

“No arguments,” he says, his voice so full of grit I barely hear it. “I’m not running away.”

“I…” Oh, fuck.

There really isn’t a choice. If he leaves, it’s obvious. If he stays, he could say something to Chavez, two decades worth of anger and resentment coming out within the cream and gold-lined walls of a midtown law firm.

Did Yang orchestrate this?

That thought, and only that thought, barrels me forward. “I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

Before I leave, I squeeze his hand, side-eyeing Chavez, who still hasn’t looked up.

Ben squeezes back.

I nod to the receptionist on my way past, my heels a storm of sound against the floor as I find Yang’s office, ignore his paralegal’s cry of, “Miss Hayes, wait, please!” and push open the glass door to his office.

Yang leans back from his seat behind his desk, steepliing his fingers. He says dryly, “Come on in, Miss Hayes.”

“Chavez is in the lobby,” I say.

“Yes, I’m well aware.”

“What is he doing here?”

“He’s a client of ours,” Yang replies. “Now sit down.”

“Ben is there with him,” I seethe out. “He’s sitting there across from—”

“How is that my fault?” Yang is nonplussed. “I didn’t tell you to bring Mr. Donahue here, did I?”

“I…” Frustrated, I sit across from his desk. “This is an incredibly dangerous situation.”

“I’m aware.” Yang picks up his phone’s receiver. “I’ll have Chavez moved to the conference room, in a non-obvious fashion, away from the man who by all accounts, should not be in this fucking office.”

I remain tight-lipped as Yang instructs his paralegal then sets down the phone. At least Ben has been distanced, but I hate that Yang’s right. Through the blur of rose-colored glasses, it seemed a good idea to keep Ben at my side. Now, it’s more like a time bomb.

“You wanted to see me?” I say to Yang.

“Indeed. This morning, I spent most of my time on the phone with the U.S. Marshal’s office getting my ass handed to me.”

“Oh?”

“It seems a deposition was done, at the request of the protected witness, where he laid out his recollection of the murder of his parents about twenty years ago.”

I nod, very aware of the delicacy of my words and when to use them.

“The transcript will be available by this evening, and, according to the U.S. Marshal, outlines the matter enough that I can decide what to do with our clients.”

“Okay.” I’m bracing for Yang’s ire, but none comes.

“I also spoke to ADA Rolfe.” Yang makes a show of opening up a folder laid out on his desk. “He assures me there is ample evidence to convict, the pompous prick.”

I continue to play dumb. “What kind of evidence?”

“Enough to identify at least one of the killers. I’ll know more once I read it, but I was under the impression—from you—that the witness didn’t remember anything.”

I shrug. “Minds change, I guess.”

Yang’s eyes narrow. “You guess.”

“Yes.”

Yang studies me for a while longer. “Either way, if any inkling of the witness’s identity leaks from his office, I’ve been assured there will be consequences. So, you’re here to assure me you will stay closed-mouthed and tight-lipped about this entire matter. Since you know the witness, I can’t give you the tirade I gave Mike and Miss Maddox, but you can pretend that I did. Are you ready?”

I sit straighter. “I’m sorry?”

Yang cuts a glance through the glass wall, towards the line of cubicles housing me, Mike and Taryn, among others, and out of fucking nowhere—

“HOW DARE YOU!”

My butt literally leaves my chair.

“You would think, being top of your class, you’d have the wherewithal to triple-check the fucking database a few times to ensure the accurate tracing of these alleged inheritance funds. You unintelligent but apparently educated twit.”

My mouth falls open.

“You got it wrong, Miss Hayes,” he roars. “The trail does not lead to one Benjamin Donahue. The funds were entirely withdrawn five years ago. The source is unknown. At least to us.”

“Um…”

“You had me confront a high profile man on something that had nothing to do with him. And could have brutally affected his reputation. Not to mention mine.”

My mouth works for a moment, about as fast as my brain. “I’m sorry?”

“I thought you were more thorough than this, Miss Hayes. You’ll be lucky if you ever get near a case of mine again. Now get out.”

I blurt, before my brain can stop me, “Does this mean—?”

“Out, Miss Hayes,” Yang says.

Yang wants nothing further said on the subject, and I’m more than happy to oblige. Rising, I smooth out my dress and turn to the door. When my hand’s on the handle, Yang speaks once more.

“Delete everything you have on that man,” he says in a lower tone.

“I already have.”

Yang’s expression doesn’t waver. “Donahue never confirmed his identity at the gym. You ensured that, and also spoke about a ‘mistake.’ Consider your mistake public at this point.”

“I understand—”

“OUT!”

I pull open the glass door and fly out of there.