ben-raleighâ:
It was his turn to have his stomach twist into knots when the reporterâs unexpected show of tenderness was met with silence on the other line; Ben grimaced, already thinking of something to say to backpedal when the line went dead.
âShit,â Ben cursed under his breath as a slight panic began to settle. He glanced at his phone, waiting to see if Layla would call back and tell him that she accidentally hanged up, but when not even a text arrived, a loud groan filled the space of the sports car as he debated on reaching out⌠except he really had no idea what to say as the embarrassment slowly consumed him.
Too soft?
Too much?
Too fucking cheesy?
Fuck. Maybe Layla wonât mind if he didnât say anything about the abrupt ending of the call, the reporter thought as he prepared to leave. But before Ben could even turn on the engine, the reporter caught movement in front of the Seward house; he squinted, nose almost touching the car window when he realized it was Layla making her way towards him, barefoot and wearing an oversized shirt.
Ben quickly unlocked the door as an incredulous laugh escaped him the moment that Layla slid in the passenger seat; Bill was inside the house and could very well wake up at any moment and find his wife gone and that very thought was mind-boggling for the reporter. What was Layla thinking? What was he thinking? Ben was about to comment on her rain-soaked state when the redhead leaned in for a kiss that he eagerly accepted, parting his lips as her cold, damp hand rested on his cheek while Benâs own hands rested on her shoulders.
When she finally pulled away, blue eyes fluttered open as a grin spread on Benâs face; was this what he imagined would happen when he recklessly drove there in the early hours of the morning? Ben wasnât sure, but Layla pressing kisses on every bruise she could find on his face left the reporter all ruddy-cheeked and warmâ she had a tendency to surprise him with her softness.
And then she lifted his shirt, the sudden gust of cold on Benâs midsection making the muscles contract; Layla traced a finger along the stitches, eliciting a soft gasp from him at the coolness of her touch. Ben watched her, swallowing a lump in his throat, as the redhead leaned in to press her lips against the injury, traveling upwards to press another kiss until Layla pulled away again, catching him with parted lips. She chastised him, almost sounding motherly that got Ben to crack a smile before her next words made him pause.
âIâm not going to let anything bad happen to you.â
Ben wanted to argue that there was no way to prevent that, not with the way heâs been running around in and out of Wheeler for a case; but he didnât want to spoil the moment, fully aware that this was borrowed time. So the reporter nodded, his smile turning into a breathy chuckle as he cupped Laylaâs face and pulled her for another kiss.
âOkay,â he nodded, as Ben spoke through the kiss; his hands slid down her arms and felt her damp clothing. âYouâre wet, lemme justâŚâ and without pulling away the reporter reached to turn the heater on high. His mouth traveled down her neck and Ben murmured the rest of his sentence against Laylaâs skin.
ââŚkeep you warm.â
She fell into the kiss with ease, tasting the words he spoke against her mouth, and a smile formed on her lips. Benâs hands were hot as they ran down her arms, and as a shiver swept through her, the woman was suddenly aware that sheâd been cold. The warmth of his breath tickling her skin, and he heat from the air aided in her slowly growing temperature, as Layla laughed softly.Â
âYou know, they say body heat works best for that,â She teased, tipping her head back as her eyes fluttered shut.Â
Layla wanted so badly to climb over the divider between them, to settle into him, feel the heat of his body against hers, the way his hand would come to rest upon her bare thigh, savor the way the steering wheel pressed into her back when he kissed her. The temptation danced in front of he, as Ben played with the bottom of her shirt, sliding it up to reveal her waist. Bill was across the street, his presence filling every inch of their home, even in slumber. If sheâd spared a moment to look across at the large dark house, maybe Layla would have decided against it-- decided that only a minute or two could be spared. But Billâs seemingly unescapable presence didnât reach the interior of the reporterâs car, and with his mouth against her skin, her eyes closed as her hands slid to his shoulders in search of something to anchor herself, Layla didnât glance back towards the house, didnât pause to consider her husband.Â
Perhaps it was the events of the previous night that left her feeling uncharacteristically reckless, or maybe it had more to do with the man whose fingerâs skimmed her torso. Layla sucked in a breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she shifted in the seat. Her concern of hurting him mingled with the desire to get closer, and the woman remained where she was, guiding his mouth back to hers until Benâs hand found her thigh, fingers pressing softly into her flesh as he firmly guided her over the console to settle into his lap.Â
She was breathless, heart racing, unable or unwilling to pull away though her hand slid down his torso, coming to rest just above his injury, as she held herself carefully. Layla kissed him, lips brushing against his with every word. âI donât want to hurt you,â she whispered, before pulling away. Layla looked at him, blue eyes finding his in the darkness, as she pushed his hair back. She could read it in his eyes, tell by the way he was looking at her that Ben wanted it as bad as she, and the redhead bit back a smile. Leaning forward, she nipped softly at his throat, âI donât want to hurt you,â she repeated, before pressing a lingering kiss to his skin. And another, and another.Â


















