Page 243 of Fatality

My breathing quickens again.

“It's fucking dangerous. If we crash, if we hit—”

Evren suddenly bites down on the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

I yelp in surprise more than pain.

“Shut the fuck up and trust me.” He straightens up. “Racing, cars... that's my domain. You can trust me on, at least, that shit.”

He slides one hand from me to the steering wheel, the other to the gearshift.

He is kind of right, the only domain I can trust him is driving.

He is reckless, he is crashing into other cars but he decides to, not by accident.

The sudden loss of his arms makes my body lean back against his chest before I even realize I'm doing it.

“If it's too fast, dig your nails into me, elbow the shit out of me.”

He changes gears and drives again.

When his hand leaves the gear lever, it slides back around my waist.

I can feel his thumb brushing slow circles under the swell of my breast.

I’m still frozen, still terrified of crashing, of the speed but the fact that he is acknowledging it, that he knows it leaves me less of it.

I’m surprised he doesn’t mock me or uses it against me.

I won’t ever—probably—heal from that trauma, but it’s kind of reassuring.

My grip is still tight on his thighs, my hands aching. My mind still sees everything that could go wrong, my body still doesn't feel like mine to control.

But it feels almost—almost manageable.

I can’t tell if it's because he didn't mock me or because his physical contact is anchoring me.

The drive is tense, fast, still way over the speed limit. I'm still scared as hell, but I trust him with that.

The door of a garage slides open. His Charger pulls in and parks.

I don't know where we are. It's not the garage.

“Where are—” I start to ask.

“My personal garage, in my building.” he cuts me off.

I don't say anything else.

The thing that makes me wonder is why he hasn't lifted me off him yet and why we aren't going inside.

“Evren,” I whisper. “Why aren't we going into your apartment?”

“Because I'm good here.” He buries his face in my neck once again. “And you are staying.”

I'm about to protest, my body finally starting to feel like mine again, but he slides his hands to my hips, lifts me up, and instead of putting me back in the passenger seat like any normal person, he turns me to face him.

“Better.” He leans back against the headrest, his hands gripping my hips. “So, you're scared because of the accident? You'll only get to be scared with me. Only me.”