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🍒 Midnight Kiss

Pairing: Ben/Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: When your abusive ex showed up at the club you were at looking for you, you desperately threw yourself into the arms of another man, trying to hide, to blend in. You didn't realize that man was Soldier Boy.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 6880

Warnings: Smut, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Stalking, Language, Violence

A/N: Please let me know what you think.

MK Masterlist

Ben was out at a club with his “team” except for MM. He didn’t care for Butcher’s revenge-obsessed ass or the rest of the team for that matter. Starlight was self-righteous, The cumbucket was a fuckin’ pussy, The French dick was weird, MM couldn’t stand him but kept his distance so Ben didn’t give a shit and Kimiko, well Kimiko was okay. He had only agreed to come with them to get the hell out of the safehouse that they’d been holed up in for two weeks.

The girls were on the dance floor with the cocksucker, The French prick was at the bar with the Brit and Ben was standing off near the VIP section. The music was loud and the strobing lights were grating on his nerves but there were plenty of broads to look at. He let his eyes scan the room, roaming over them, like he was shopping for a car. He wasn’t in his suit but looked damn good in a pair of black dress pants and black button down shirt that was snug against his unnaturally large muscular chest, shoulders, and biceps. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a drink in one hand. He took a slow drink, surveying the real estate.

He didn’t notice you over by the bar, about fifteen feet to his left until you were right on top of him. His head was turned the opposite direction as he saw a blur of movement and felt your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him in tight, lips crashing into his. His eyebrows raised in surprise but he immediately let his eyes drift closed with a small groan of approval. He let his big strong arms come up to pull you in even closer, pressing you into his chest. You tensed slightly in his arms and he figured it was just from feeling his strength. It could be intimidating to a lot of women.

You were kissing him, but it was Ben who deepened it, thrusting his tongue into your mouth and tangling his tongue with yours. You let out a small whimper that flowed right into his mouth; almost a surprised sound. Ben could hear your heart racing but he mistook it for the encounter, assuming you knew who he was.

He raised one of his hands to the back of your head, letting his fingers tangle in your silky hair. He pushed his lips harder against yours, holding your head in place. After a moment, you pulled back and turned your head, eyes darting nervously around the large, loud room. When you turned back to him, your eyes were wide and then he saw it, the recognition.

“Well, doll, I’ve seen eager but that… that was just downright bold. I like it.”

Your mouth opened but no words came out at first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were standing near the bar when you saw him. Brad was here. Your good-for-nothing, abusive ex. You had dressed tonight to feel powerful, to feel like the version of yourself Brad hadn't broken, but the second you saw him, the leather skirt and halter top felt like thin armor. Panic took hold and you nervously looked around for an exit. He was between you and both exits. Your heart rate spiked and the familiar old fear took over. He was getting closer and he hadn’t spotted you yet but he was looking. His eyes took in the dance floor, searching. He wasn’t there by mistake. He was there for you. How the hell did he know I would be here?!

You glanced around for the biggest guy you could find who wasn’t with a woman. There! Off to the side. He was huge and alone. You didn’t think, you just reacted, rushing over to him, you pushed yourself into his arms and pressed your lips to his, praying he wouldn’t push you away and blow your cover.

He didn’t. But you also weren’t prepared for him to kiss you back like he wasn’t surprised or as if he’d done it a thousand times. You let out a little whimper when he did. If you hadn’t been terrified you might have even enjoyed it.

You pulled back and immediately looked around for Brad. You didn’t see him. Before you could worry about that you turned back to the massive stranger, who was looking down at you with a smug grin and an arched brow. That’s when it hit you—who you had just jumped in the arms of—Soldier Boy. Your eyes went even wider than they already were. Shock mingling with the fear of your ex. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Well, doll, I’ve seen eager but that… that was just downright bold. I like it,” he said, voice low and smooth as velvet and sin.

You opened your mouth but you couldn’t get the words out. Not a thank you, not a sorry, not an explanation for throwing yourself at him. Throwing yourself at America’s hero. The original supe. Your face flushed bright pink as you gaped up at him.

“Don’t be shy now, sweetheart,” he mocked. His hand which was resting on your hip, tightened slightly, fingers flexing.

You looked down to where he still held you, unsure of what to do next.

“I, um, I’ve gotta go. Sorry..” you said, starting to pull away. His hand shot out and caught your wrist, not too tight; not a demand but a request.

“Wait,” his deep voice rumbled over the music. “You can’t just kiss a fella like that and then run away. I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m sorry, Soldier Boy, but I really have to–” Your words trailed off as you turned and came face to face with Brad. His eyes were intense and boring into your very soul. He looked at you and then at Ben, clearly not recognizing him as you had.

Brad’s face twisted into that familiar, ugly sneer—the one that usually preceded a lecture or a host of bruises. He didn't see the legend standing in front of him; he just saw another guy in a bar, and Brad had always been too arrogant for his own good.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” Brad spat, stepping into your personal space, completely ignoring the massive silhouette towering behind you. “Running off to some loud-ass club to throw yourself at the first piece of trash you see? Get over here.”

He reached out to grab your other arm, his fingers clawing for a grip, but he never made contact.

Ben’s hand, still wrapped firmly around your wrist, didn't move, but his entire demeanor shifted. The smug, playful grin vanished, replaced by a cold, stony mask of boredom that was somehow more terrifying. With a casual, almost lazy flick of his arm, he pulled you behind him, putting his broad shoulders between you and the threat.

“You’re interrupting a conversation, junior,” Ben said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the thumping bass of the club like a blade.

Brad blinked, his bravado flickering for a split second as he actually looked up—and kept looking up—at the wall of muscle in the black button-down. “I don't know who the hell you think you are, pal, but this is between me and my girl. Back off.”

Ben let out a short, dry bark of a laugh, tilting his head back slightly. He looked down at Brad with the kind of pity someone might show an insect they were about to crush.

“Your girl?” Ben repeated, the words rolling out with a dangerous edge. He took a single step forward, forcing Brad to stumble back a step. “Funny. She didn't look like yours when she was tasting like strawberry lip gloss and desperation five seconds ago.”

Ben took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Brad’s. “And ‘back off’ isn't really a phrase I’m familiar with. Now, you’ve got about three seconds to turn around and vanish before I decide to see how far you can bounce off that bar top. One…”

Brad looked like he wanted to swing, his face turning a furious red, but then he caught the look in Ben’s eyes—the absolute, unwavering certainty of a man who had killed things much bigger than him.

“Two…” Ben drawled, his hand on your waist tightening just a fraction, a silent promise of protection that felt as solid as a lead pipe.

Brad took another step back, then another, his eyes darting toward the exit. He muttered something under his breath—a weak attempt at saving face—before turning and disappearing into the crowd near the dance floor.

Ben didn't watch him go. He turned back to you, his expression softening back into that practiced, charming smirk, though his eyes remained sharp.

“Well,” he rumbled, looking you up and down again. “Now that the trash has been taken out... you want to tell me why you're really shaking, doll? Because I have a feeling it wasn't just my good looks.”

Your pulse was still drumming a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and Ben could clearly feel it through the hand anchored on your waist. He didn't pull away. If anything, he adjusted his hold, pulling you a fraction closer as he scanned the crowd one last time to ensure Brad was truly gone.

“He's gone, sweetheart. Ran off like a kicked pup,” Ben rumbled, his voice dropping below the roar of the music. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “But you’re still trembling. And I don’t think it’s because you’re starstruck anymore.”

He tilted his head, searching your eyes with a look that was surprisingly perceptive for a man who usually only cared about his own reflection. The smugness was still there, but it was tempered by a dark curiosity.

“That prick... he's the reason you jumped me, isn't he?”

You tried to find your voice, your throat feeling like it was lined with cottonballs. “I—I’m sorry. I didn't know who you were, I just... I needed to hide. I was hoping he wouldn’t see me if I was with someone.”

Ben’s eyes darkened, a flash of something dangerous and ancient flickering in the emerald. He didn't like the idea of being used as a shield, but he seemed to like the idea of what Brad had done to you even less. It offended his distorted sense of chivalry.

“Hide?” He repeated the word like it was a foreign concept. He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Well, you certainly picked the right shadow to crawl into, doll.”

He took the final pull of his drink and set the empty glass on a passing server's tray without breaking eye contact. The air between you was charged now—less about the fear of your ex and more about the sheer, overwhelming proximity of the man holding you.

“Tell you what,” he said, his fingers flexing against your hip. “I’m bored with this noise, and I’m definitely bored with my company over at the bar. Why don't we get out of here? You can tell me your name, and I can make sure that little mistake of a man stays a memory.”

He didn't wait for an answer, already beginning to steer you toward the VIP exit with a possessive authority that left very little room for argument. “Unless, of course, you've got somewhere more important to be?”

Brad was still out there. And now he was furious. Soldier Boy felt like a safer option than leaving alone and he had protected you. You felt safe with him. You nodded and let him lead you out of the club.

You said your name in a voice that was smaller than you intended, your body still trembling slightly. “You can call me Ben,” he replied. “Afterall, you did just have your tongue down my throat,” he said, with a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I think you’ve got that backwards, Ben,” you shot back, before realizing again who you were talking to. You flushed slightly.

He just chuckled. “Maybe. But you didn’t seem to mind.”

The cool night air hit you like a physical weight, a sharp relief after the suffocating heat and neon haze of the club. Ben didn't lead you toward the sidewalk where the commoners were hailing cabs; he steered you toward a sleek, dark SUV idling at the curb, its windows tinted deep enough to hide a thousand sins.

He didn't let go of your waist until he had opened the heavy door, gesturing for you to slide in with a mock-polite sweep of his hand.

“I didn't,” you admitted quietly, sliding onto the leather seat. It was a half-truth; you had been too terrified to mind in the moment, but now that the adrenaline was fading, the memory of his mouth on yours was starting to burn a hole in your focus.

Ben climbed in beside you, the vehicle dipping slightly under his weight. He didn't sit in the center, but he took up so much space that the cabin suddenly felt very small. He looked at the driver—a man who looked like he was paid very well to see nothing and hear less—and gave a short nod.

“Just drive,” Ben ordered. “Away from the noise.”

As the car pulled into the slick New York streets, Ben leaned back, stretching his arm out along the top of the seat behind your head. He wasn't touching you anymore, but the heat radiating from him was a constant reminder of how close he was.

“You've got a bit of a bite for a girl who was just shaking in her boots,” he said, turning his head to look at you. The passing streetlights flickered over his features, highlighting the heavy line of his jaw. “I like that. Most people start stuttering the second they realize who I am. Or they start asking for an autograph. It’s all so boring.”

He reached into a small console and pulled out a fresh bottle of scotch and two glasses. “But you... you just used me as a human ‘no vacancy’ sign. That's a new one.”

“I’m stronger than tonight would suggest. It’s just… something about him takes that away. Even after all this time,” you said, voice slightly unsteady, thinking about him.

He poured a finger of the amber liquid into a glass and held it out to you. “Drink it. It'll stop the shaking better than that ‘hero’ nonsense the public believes in.”

You took the glass, your fingers brushing his. The contact sent a fresh jolt through you, one that had nothing to do with Brad.

“So,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “Tell me about this Brad guy. Because if I’m going to be your boyfriend for the evening, I should probably know if I need to go back there and actually break something.”

The mention of Brad made your grip tighten on the glass. You took a sip, the scotch burning a trail down your throat and settling like a warm weight in your chest.

“He's an ex,” you said, the word feeling like tar in your mouth. “One who doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no' or 'over.' He thinks he owns people. He thinks he owns me.”

Ben’s expression didn't change, but you noticed the way his jaw set, a small muscle leaping in his cheek. He’d lived his whole life in a world of power and possession, but there was a specific brand of cowardice in a man like Brad that clearly grated on him.

“Owning people,” Ben repeated, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. “That’s a heavy word for a little man to be throwing around.”

He took a slow drink of his own, his eyes never leaving yours. The car swerved around a corner, the movement shifting you closer to him. He didn't move away. Instead, he let his arm drop from the back of the seat, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. His thumb made a slow, rhythmic circle against your skin—a gesture that was surprisingly grounding.

“You said he takes your strength away,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the pulse point in your neck. “Men like that... they don't actually take anything. They just make you forget where you put it. But I’ve got a feeling you’re starting to remember.”

He leaned in just a fraction, the scent of expensive tobacco and leather surrounding you.

“If he shows his face again tonight, he’s not going to be dealing with you,” Ben promised, his thumb stopping its movement as he tilted your chin up to look at him. “He’s going to be dealing with me. And I don’t forget. I don't let people take things that don't belong to them.”

He let that hang in the air for a moment, the silence in the SUV heavy with an unspoken question.

“So, where to, sweetheart? I can take you home and walk you to your door, or…” He paused, a slow, predatory smirk returning to his lips. “We could find somewhere else to spend the rest of the night. Somewhere Brad wouldn't dream of looking.”

“Actually, I’m starving. Any interest in Maggie’s?”

Ben let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a look that was more mocking than friendly.

“Maggie’s Diner?” He repeated the name like it was a punchline. “Goddamn, doll. I figured you for something a little more... upscale.”

He took a slow, deliberate sip of his scotch, surveying you over the rim of the glass. “But you know what? I’ve spent the last several weeks eating whatever those pussies back at the safehouse call nutrition. A burger that actually tastes like cow sounds like the first good idea I've heard all night.”

He leaned forward, rapping his knuckles sharply against the partition behind the driver’s head.

“Turn this thing around, buddy,” Ben barked, his voice carrying that effortless authority of a man who’d spent decades giving orders on a battlefield. “We’re going back toward the club. Maggie’s Diner. And don’t take the scenic route; I’m hungry.”

He settled back into the leather seat, his arm returning to its place behind your head. He looked out the window as the SUV swung into a wide U-turn, his thumb absentmindedly grazing the hair at the nape of your neck. Your heart fluttered in your chest.

“If the service is as bad as the neon sign looks, you’re buying the next round,” he rumbled, that smug, velvet-and-sin smirk returning to his face. “But if the burgers are actually worth a damn, I might just decide to keep you around for more than just a quick exit.”

Half an hour later, Ben pushed his empty plate away from him, a satisfied expression on his face. “Well, sweetheart, I’ll give it to ya. That was better than I thought.” He reached out and brushed his fingers over the back of your hand which was resting on the table.

You smiled back at him. “Never underestimate Maggie’s,” you said but then your face dropped, eyes locked on something over his shoulder. You went pale as a ghost.

Ben didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn around or let out a sigh. He simply continued looking at you. “That fuckin’ pussy back?”

You couldn’t speak but you gave a nod that was so tiny he almost didn’t catch it.

“Fucking figures,” Ben said, voice flat and bored.

Ben took a final, slow sip of his Coke, his hand still covering yours on the table. He didn't even give Brad the satisfaction of looking at him.

“You really don't know when to quit, do you, son?” Ben’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate the salt shakers.

“Get away from her!” Brad’s voice cracked, high-pitched and frantic. The sound of a chair scraping harshly against the linoleum echoed through the quiet diner. “I saw you leave together. I followed you. You think you can just take what's mine?”

You watched in horror as Brad reached into his jacket and pulled out a switchblade. The blade snapped open with a metallic click that felt like a gunshot in the small space. The waitress behind the counter, gasped and reached for the phone.

Ben finally turned his head, just enough to look at Brad over his shoulder. He didn't look scared. He looked deeply, profoundly insulted.

“A knife?” Ben asked, a dark, mocking grin spreading across his face. “You brought a toothpick to a war zone. That’s adorable, kid.”

Brad took a step forward, the blade trembling in his hand. “I mean it! Back off or I'll gut you!”

Ben stood up then, and the sheer scale of him seemed to swallow the light in the booth. He moved with a terrifying, predatory grace—no wasted motion. He didn't rush. He just walked toward the blade like it didn't exist.

“You see this?” Ben pointed a thick finger at his own chest, right over his heart. “I’ve had bayonets snapped off in my ribs. I've had krauts try to skin me alive. I’ve been tortured by the goddamn commies for decades. And you’re standing there shaking like a leaf with a piece of sharpened tin.”

He stopped inches from the point of the knife, his presence looming over Brad like a tank.

“Now,” Ben drawled, his voice dropping to a whisper that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “You’re gonna put that toy away, or I’m gonna show you exactly what happens to people who interrupt my dinner.”

Brad lunged—a desperate, clumsy thrust—and in a blur of motion too fast for your eyes to follow, Ben’s hand shot out. There was the sickening sound of snapping bone, a choked scream from Brad, and the knife clattered uselessly to the floor.

Ben didn't even break a sweat. He stood over him, looking down with a cold, detached sort of boredom as Brad collapsed.

Brad was now on the floor, cradling his shattered wrist against his chest, his face pale and slick with a cold sweat. He was making a high, thin sound—half-whimper, half-sob—looking up at Ben with eyes that finally held the right amount of terror.

Ben didn't even look at the man sobbing on the floor. He just turned back to the counter, casually reaching into his back pocket. “Check, doll,” he called out to the waitress, as if he’d just stepped on a bug.

“Yes, Soldier Boy!”

Brad heard the name and looked up at Ben with disbelief scrawled across his face. Ben didn’t notice or care. He turned back to you, the smirk returning. “You ready to go, sweetheart? I think the atmosphere in here just went south.”

Stunned, you looked up at Ben, then dropped your eyes to Brad still whimpering on the floor, then back to Ben. You must be out of your damned mind because you didn’t fear Ben even after what he just did. You felt safe with him.

I don’t even know this guy. Why do I trust him so much?

You didn’t have time to dwell on that thought, Ben had paid and reached out to help you up out of the booth. As you both walked past Brad who was trying to pull himself up with his good hand, you looked down at him. With Ben at your side, you found a little of your courage, “Don’t ever come near me again,” you said, voice low and even.

Ben had a smirk on his face. “Ever. Or I won’t be so nice next time,” he added.

As you both climbed back into the waiting SUV, Ben’s hand landed on your thigh, his grip firm and possessive. He gave you a slow, approving nod.

“Atta girl,” he rumbled, that low hum in his chest vibrating through the seat. “Told that pussy off. Felt good, didn't it? Better than hiding, anyway.”

Your heart was racing and the adrenaline pumping through you from telling Brad to stay away and watching Ben take him down was overwhelming. You looked over at Ben– his handsome face, emerald green eyes catching the streetlights and his large muscular frame which made the backseat seem impossibly small. The feeling of his hand on your thigh was sending lightning currents through your body.

You didn’t answer with words, you surged up and crashed your lips into his for the second time tonight. Ben growled against your lips and pulled you into his lap roughly, his hand gripping your waist. The kiss was messy; teeth scraping and tongues fighting for dominance.

You were sitting sideways in his lap. He broke the kiss and started kissing down your jaw to your neck. You tilted your head back to give him better access as he kissed down your plunging v-neckline of your halter top and placed a wet kiss right between your breasts, smirking against your skin as a little sound escaped your lips. Working his way back up to your neck, he nipped gently at your collarbone, as his big, warm hand came down and slid between your thighs just below where the hem of your black leather mini skirt stopped. Ben let out a small groan as he squeezed your inner thigh gently, while he licked his way up to your ear, pulling a soft moan from you, your hand tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Doll, you keep this up, and we’re not gonna make it to the next red light,” he rasped against your skin, his voice thick with a hunger that made your stomach flip.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb hooked under your chin to force your gaze to meet his. Up close, he was even more overwhelming—the scent of scotch, leather, and pure, raw power. His eyes were dark, tracking the way your breath was hitching in your chest.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of fire in you for someone who was trying to disappear an hour ago,” he murmured. His hand moved from your waist, his palm sliding up your side until it rested over your heart, feeling the frantic, hammering rhythm of it. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

He shifted, his muscular thighs solid beneath you, and you could feel the dangerous tension coiled in his frame. He wasn't a man who did anything halfway, and the way he was looking at you made it clear he was done playing the role of the knight in shining armor. In the dim light of the cab, he looked a hell of a lot more like a wolf than a gentleman.

“Now,” he rumbled, his hand sliding back down to grip your hip, pulling you flush against his chest. “Are we going to keep testing the suspension on this car, or am I taking you back to my place so I can see what else you’re hiding under that shy act?”

He didn't wait for the answer. He leaned back into the leather, watching you with a predatory heat that told you exactly what was in store if you said yes.

“Driver,” he barked, not breaking eye contact with you for a second. “Change of plans. Take us to the safehouse. And don’t spare the horses.” The driver immediately obeyed, the engine of the SUV rumbling as the speed increased.

Ben’s hand moved from your hip, his fingers trailing slowly up your spine until they tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging just enough to make you look up at him. The streetlights outside were a blur of gold and white, casting moving shadows across the rugged, sharp lines of his face.

“The safehouse?” you managed to whisper, your voice still a little breathless.

“The team’s there,” he rumbled, a dismissive flicker in his eyes as he thought of Butcher and the others. “But it’s a big house. Thick walls. They know better than to knock on my door when I’ve got company.”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours for a brief, heavy second. The vibration of the moving car and the heat of his body made the rest of the world feel like it was fading into a dull hum.

“You're quiet again, sweetheart,” he noted, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a surprisingly steady touch. “Regretting the invite? Or just thinking about what happens when we get behind a door that locks?”

He didn't sound like he was giving you an out; he sounded like he was enjoying the anticipation. He was a man who lived for the conquest, and right now, the way you were looking at him was clearly more satisfying to him than any medal or parade.

“I'm not regretting anything,” you said, your voice finding a new edge of confidence.

Ben’s smirk widened, turning into something dark and genuinely impressed. “Good. Because I'm not a patient man, and I've spent enough time waiting around for things to happen lately. Tonight, I'm taking what I want.”

The SUV slowed as it approached a set of heavy iron gates, the gravel crunching under the tires. Ben didn't move to get out yet. He just sat there in the dim light of the house, watching you with that intense, emerald gaze, waiting for the driver to round the car.

Ben stepped out of the car as the driver opened the door, you still in his arms. He swung you around so that you were facing him, legs coming up to wrap around his waist instinctively, skirt riding up.

As he stepped onto the front porch he looked at you again. “Last chance to change your mind,” he mocked softly, though his grip on your neck told a completely different story. “Once we go inside, I'm not letting you go until I'm finished with you.”

You leaned in a couple inches and kissed his neck. He let out a satisfied grunt and he strode through the front door, you wrapped around him, his movements heavy and steady.

“Prove it,” you said, voice steady, eyes locked on his.

“Oi! Nice of you to join us, mate,” Butcher sneered. “And who is this then?”

Ben completely ignored him. Walking straight towards his room.

Hughie was standing across from Butcher. “Uh, hey, man. Are–”

Ben cut him off, not stopping, “Fuck off, dickbag.” You buried your face in the crook of Ben’s neck, trying to ignore the sneers from the living room. Between the short hem of your leather skirt and the way his massive arm was hiked under your thighs to keep you pinned to his chest, you were fairly certain half your ass was on display for the room. Ben didn't seem to notice—or if he did, he didn't give a damn. He just tightened his grip and kept walking.

The door to Ben’s room hit the wall with a heavy thud before he kicked it shut, the click of the lock echoing like a finality. He didn't bother turning on the lights; the moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains was enough to illuminate the sharp, hungry lines of his face.

He didn't put you down immediately. Instead, he pressed you back against the solid wood of the door, his weight pinning you there. The air in the room was cooler than the car, but the heat coming off him was intense, almost suffocating in the best way.

“You like to play with fire, don't you?” he rasped, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly hum that made your knees weak even with your legs locked around him. “Telling me to 'prove it' in front of those fucksticks.”

He tilted his head, his nose brushing against yours. The smirk was gone, replaced by a raw, unyielding focus. He looked like a man who had finally found something worth winning.

“Butcher and the rest of 'em... they think they know me. They think I'm just a weapon they can point at a target,” he murmured, his hand shifting from your neck to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading deep into your hair. “But you... you're the first thing in a long time that isn't a mission. And you don’t look at me like most people do.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his emerald gaze dark and possessive. “I told you I wasn't letting you go. I meant it.”

“So don’t,” you challenged.

His grip tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. You could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart—a soldier’s heart, hardened by decades of war but currently beating harder for the woman in his arms.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous, woman,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours.

He didn’t wait for a response. He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, one hand anchoring the back of your head while the other stayed locked on your waist. He hiked you up higher against the door, grinding his hips firmly into yours. The friction was a promise, his hard cock pressing right against you, leaving no doubt about exactly how much he wanted to prove it.

You grabbed a fistfull of his hair and pulled his head back, breaking the kiss. “Ben,” you breathed out, raggedly. His eyes were blown wide and fixed on yours. He swung you around and threw you onto the bed. You bounced with a squeak.

His massive frame was on top of you instantly, grinding himself down into your core. He worked with a soldier's efficiency—halter top undone and skirt discarded before you could even draw a breath. You laid on the bed in nothing but a thong as his eyes raked over you hungrily.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, doll,” he said, his voice a few octaves lower than five minutes ago.

You flushed slightly under the intensity of his gaze, suddenly feeling a little less confident. He noticed. Of course he did. Ben grabbed your chin roughly and tilted your face up to meet his eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare think you’re anything less than perfect. Got it?” he growled. “Show me that woman who told me to ‘prove it’.”

You bit your lip and nodded. Get your shit together. Soldier Boy just called you gorgeous. Act like it! You took a deep breath and got out of your own head, allowing you to lose yourself in his green eyes that were shining in the moonlight. You reached up and ran your hands over his rock hard abs under his shirt.

Now on your knees, your confidence back and feeling bolder, you ripped his shirt open, buttons popping off and scattering across the room. Ben’s eyes darkened and he let out an animalistic growl, surging down and pinning you to the mattress with his weight. His dick straining against his pants, ground down into your core. You let out a gasp that was cutoff by his mouth on yours. Ben’s tongue was demanding. Your fingers found his hair again, threading through it as his mouth claimed yours roughly.

Ben pulled back and shed his remaining clothes quickly. With a grunt that was all for show, he ripped your thong and slid the shreds off of you tossing it behind him. Again, he paused taking in your glistening curves.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re soaked. It’s already dripping down your thighs for me.” You didn’t have a chance to respond before his mouth was attached to your pussy, working you like a man starved for it. You arched off the bed, a gasp flying out of your mouth as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Hard. He took it between his teeth and began flicking it with the tip of his tongue at an unnatural speed, sending you into an orgasm faster than you’d ever experienced before. Your walls clenched around nothing and you were moaning his name. Ben worked you through it, not letting up until you came down and were practically panting.

Ben pulled back just slightly, still hovering between your thighs, with your arousal glistening on his lips and in his beard. “Damn, doll. That was fast. Those little pussies you’ve been dealing with don’t know how to take care of a woman, huh?” You could see the pride in his grin.

You didn’t have a chance to catch your breath. Ben was back above you, settling between your thighs. You reached down, your fingers curling around him, and your eyes widened. You looked down, taking him in—he was massive; long, so fucking long and thick.

Fuck. He’s going to split me in half!

Ben caught the sliver of apprehension in your eyes. His grin widened, smug as hell. “Don’t worry, doll. I won’t break you. Unless you want me to.”

Your eyes snapped back up to his. “That’s not funny, Ben.”

He chuckled. “Hold on tight, baby,” he warned as he pushed the thick head into your drenched entrance. “Fuck,” he breathed out. “So goddamn tight. Jesus.” His brow furrowed as he struggled not to just push all the way in. As he sank in, inch by inch, a low groan left his lips. He closed his eyes and dropped his head to your shoulder.

You shivered as he finally bottomed out. He stayed still for a moment, hot breath fanning your shoulder. “Ben. Move. Please,” you said in a half whine.

He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to your lips, a jagged breath escaping him. He pulled out slowly and sank back in, watching your face. Once he knew you could take him he picked up the pace. It wasn’t long before he was pounding into you.

Ben brought one large hand up to pin your wrists above your head. Your moans were so loud, you turned your face into your arm to quiet them. He tightened his grip on your wrists, his thumb pushing into the soft flesh. “Don’t. I want to hear every single sound, doll,” you opened your eyes and his piercing green eyes were boring into yours.

He pulled out and flipped you around without warning. Ben had you on all fours, his hands grasping your hips as his own hips snapped into you. The sound of skin slapping skin was echoing in the room. “Ben…ohh…shit…” you moaned, your head tossing back as the heavy, rhythmic friction of his hips crashed against you again and again. He was driving so deep that his balls rhythmically slapped against your clit.

Ben shifted his hips and expertly hit your g-spot. His thick head was grinding against it with each thrust. There was no build-up, your orgasm slammed into you without warning. You screamed his name, muffling it in the sheets. Ben fisted his hand in your hair and pulled your head back. “Ah ah. Let me hear it,” he drawled, breath coming in bursts, still thrusting into you hard and fast. Your walls clamped down on his cock and he let out a low, long groan. “Shit, sweetheart.” As your walls fluttered around him tightly, Ben lost control. His thrusts were erratic and he followed you over the edge, spilling hot spurts of cum deep into your throbbing pussy.

You collapsed forward onto your stomach. Ben pulled out and laid back against the pillows, propped up near the headboard, one hand behind his head and one hand resting on your ass cheek. He gave it a sharp slap, jolting you briefly in surprise.

Rolling onto your side, you looked up at Ben whose chest was covered in sweat and heaving. His ragged breaths matching your own.

Ben didn't look tired; he looked revitalized, like he’d just walked off a battlefield he’d thoroughly conquered. He turned his head slightly, those green eyes catching the moonlight as he watched you try to find your breath.

“Well,” he rumbled, his voice even rougher than before, the sound vibrating through the mattress. He gave your hip a final, possessive squeeze. “Safe to say I proved it?”

You let out a weak, shaky laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as you looked at him—sweat-slicked, smug, and looking every bit the dangerous man you'd finally stopped running from.

“You’re a real asshole, Ben,” you breathed out, though there was no heat in it.

The smirk he gave you was sharp enough to cut glass. “Maybe. But I’m the asshole currently keeping your bed warm. And I don’t hear you complaining.”

He reached over, snagging the edge of the heavy quilt and dragging it up over both of you, not with gentleness, but with a sudden, protective gruffness. He settled back against the pillows, his large frame taking up most of the bed, and waited. It wasn't an invitation; it was an expectation.

Slowly, you slid closer, resting your head on his shoulder. His skin was hot, and the steady, powerful thud of his heart was the only sound in the room besides the distant hum of the city. For the first time in a long time, the world outside that door didn't matter.

Part 2

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