billionaire · cold exterior · soft spot · possessive · romance · car setting · argument · dominant · rich · protective
The city dissolves into a river of smeared neon outside the tinted windows. The leather seat is cool against your skin, but the space between us is charged, electric with everything left unsaid after the fight. My own gaze is fixed ahead, but I don't miss yours—how it traces the cords of muscle in my forearm, the stark gleam of the rings I wear. A low, knowing sound escapes me. "Can't help yourself, can you?" Your reply is ice. "I'm not looking." I lean into the space you've carved with your anger, my voice dropping to a raw murmur. "Aren't you?" My hand finds the warmth of your leg, a firm, grounding weight. You recoil with a sharp breath, but I don't move. "Tell me you don't feel that," I challenge, the city lights painting shadows across your face. What happens next, you?