Archive of Our Own

She waits for Rio in her backyard, anxiously sipping a cup of coffee.

It’s nice weather and she’d decided to take advantage of it despite the fact that she still has no idea how she’s even going to tell him what had happened last night. She doesn’t know which part is worse – that Dean had tried to have him killed, or that the money is gone.

And she wouldn’t tell him either, honestly, but she has no choice: His cut had been part of that money.

“Yo,” he comes in through the back gate, eyes taking her in.

She sits up straighter, feeling his gaze on every inch of her body.

Then it goes to all the holes dug into the grass. God, they'd been thorough.

“You got moles?” he smirks.

“Um, no,” she flushes. “It’s where I buried…” She struggles for the right descriptor. The? Our? “Your money,” she settles on.

(My money. Mine.)

His brow raises and she clears her throat uncomfortably. Then she gestures to the bench she’s sitting on.

“Would you have a seat?”

His stare is a bit confused, probably by how formal she’s being, but he thankfully doesn’t ask, ambling closer then sitting. Not on the bench beside her, of course, but on the actual table. It annoys her that he keeps doing that, but right before telling him she’d lost a bunch of his money probably isn’t the best time to bring that up.

“Can I get you a coffee?” she offers, stalling.

He moves his index finger in a quick circular motion. “Get to the point, Elizabeth.”

God.

She readjusts her posture before biting her lip: “Dean did something.”

“And?”

“And it was really bad. It got the money stolen.”

“I said get to the point, not skip the whole story.”

Beth lets out a long sigh then, realising there’s no other way, gets into it.

“He was stupid, ok? For some crazy reason, he thought he needed to kill you and he found these two kids who said they’d do it, but then they wanted the money upfront and he brought them here. He showed them where it was and then they tied him up, went through my drawers and stuffed his mouth so he couldn’t scream, and dug up all our money.”

She’d said it all in a rush, not looking at him – but now there’s silence, and she forces herself to turn to glance at him.

He’s surprisingly… expressionless.

Then: “Which drawers they go through?”

Her mouth drops open speechlessly.

She supposes he takes his answer from that and the pink blossoming across her cheeks, because he throws his head back and laughs long and hard.

She watches, half in embarrassment and half in amazement –

(has she ever seen him laugh like this? She doesn’t think so.

No, the last time she’d seen him laughing, it’d been harsh; cruel. Oh, I ain’t gonna kill nobody.)

– because the sound is joyful but also damning. He knows exactly which drawers.

“They put your panties in his mouth?”

The back of her neck prickles.

“Don’t say panties.”

It’s stupid, so stupid, the way even just him saying it has her lit up. Has her thinking about the way he’d yanked her blue thong off and then lifted her dress and–

“Oh, please don’t tell me you call em underwear; don’t be that lady.”

She thanks her lucky stars that he thinks that’s the problem. Not that she’s so desperate for him that just a word rolling off his tongue can get her near panting.

The opportunity there for the picking, she acts stroppy.

“None of this is funny!”

He continues laughing, a sound coming from his throat that makes a blush spread across her chest as she remembers the last time she’d heard it. Not long after the thong had cleared her legs.

“Damn, that Dean’s a trip, man,” Rio shakes his head, still weirdly amused.

Not to mention focused on the strangest part of the story.

Beth has no idea why he’s taking the news of his own assassination so lightly, but she decides not to ask – the alternative is far worse, and the last thing she needs is him trying to kill Dean in retaliation.

“They took every cent I’ve made,” she instead tries getting him to grasp the gravity of the situation.

“Oh, relax,” he waves a hand, “I’ll take care of it for you.”

She stares at his profile sceptically.

“You can get it back?”

“What I just say?”

He turns to look at her for the first time in a while.

She wonders if he can see down her top from where he’s perched atop the table.

“But how?” she tries staying on topic.

She’s all too familiar with his views on rotten eggs.

“Again,” he shrugs, “not your department, is it?”

Just stay in your lil lane, she remembers.

She meets his eyes and she can tell he’s thinking the same; knows how much it had grated on her.

But. Focus.

“They’re just kids.”

“Who stole. You need to set limits, mami, you know that.”

She blames the sun at her back for the glowing heat she feels. Not the mami –

(and it’s not the first endearment, either.

Come on, ma, it’s too good.

Oh, baby, what do you think this is, the Little League?)

– or the way he’s so sure that she knows what needs to be done.

Focus.

“You can’t solve every problem by shooting someone in the face,” she once again attempts to make him see reason.

“Alright, look,” he rubs at his jeans then turns to her.

Their feet are almost touching – his sneakered, hers bare – and his legs are wide apart. He throws a glance back at the house – to look for what, she doesn’t know – and she finds herself wishing he’d take her inside. Or pull her up onto his lap right now–

“Here’s your problem, ok,” Rio continues, oblivious. “That dumbass husband of yours in there gave em a taste,” he explains, jutting out a thumb.

And, oh. It’s about Dean, not them.

It annoys her, primarily because Dean isn’t even inside the house. And after this, Beth isn’t sure how much longer she wants him in it for, anyway. He’d tried to have Rio killed, for god’s sake.

But, processing his words, she shakes her head.

“What does that mean?”

“They know you make money! They know you can’t put it in a bank,” he scoffs, gesturing towards the garden. “So the next time they come knocking – and they will, ’cuz they know where you live and they know what you do – they’re just gonna want a cut of the action.”

She watches him, breathing heavily as she notes the way the sunlight hits the side of his face, the way his beard is illuminated, and the one side of his lips is a bright pink while the other is in shadow. His sharp cheekbone is aglow; the hairs of the eyebrow he has knitted at her tinted with it.

She tries hard to pay attention to what he’s saying, though.

“And they just gon’ keep taking and taking till you got nothing left but a good old-fashioned turf war on your hands.”

And she’s glad she’d tuned in because god, sometimes he can be dramatic – Dean had said they couldn’t have been over 19 years old. A turf war? In the middle of the suburbs? With 19-year-olds? Please.

“Or they’re just kids,” she points out, flat.

She regrets it immediately when displeasure shoots through his eyes and he shrugs, giving up.

“You better hope they play nice, then.”

He’s gone in a second and Beth wants to call him back, but it’s too late and it’d be useless, anyway. He’s too set in his ways.

She’ll have to find her own.

We’ll give you a car.

Beth wants to curl up in shame. She’d been one-upped by those same kids she’d shielded from Rio. And now not only does she still not have his money, she’s also in deeper. They know who she is.

Beth Boland of Boland Motors, whoopdeedoo. Stupid fucking commercials that cost so much to make. She’d been so desperate to get rid of Dean’s pig face and his child bride that she hadn’t realised how dumb it was to put her own face out there. Had ruined her own disguise.

She stares at Rio’s number and swallows, feeling ashamed. She doesn’t want to ask him. Would normally not want to ask him, but now it’s even worse because he’d offered – he never offers, never offers to help her, with no strings attached – and she’d turned him down.

Besides, they’re still just kids.

Then she remembers: We want a car, bitch!

Just like that, she’s dialling.

“You got my money?” he answers with.

She sighs, immediately defeated.

“They didn’t play nice.”

You were right, she hopes he hears.

“Hmm,” he hums acknowledgement.

He sounds smug but says nothing else, and Beth suffers in the dead air. She doesn’t know how to ask.

Nearly a minute has passed by the time he finally speaks again.

“You got an address?”

Her heart leaps – and god, she shouldn’t be that happy about him killing children, but there’s something about him taking care of this for her for free; about him not rubbing it in her face – and she rattles off the address.

“Cool. I’ll text you when to meet me there.”

“W–”

Wait, she intends to say, I’m not going with you!

But he’s already hung up.

And by the time he texts her, she’s already accepted it.

Accepted that watching these children die is her release and her punishment and, god, is Rio good at doling out them both.

He’s playing with a Zippo.

Elizabeth’d asked if it’s his trademark intimidation technique and he’d ignored it – she asks stupid questions when she’s nervous, and if he had a ‘trademark intimidation technique’ it wouldn’t be so goddamned clichéd.

Nah, he’s just bored.

He has it on good authority that the two chumps should be on their way home, but it’s been five minutes too long and he’s getting antsy; angry. The place is fuckin filthy and the neighbours are obscenely loud.

It pisses him off that he’s gotta be here right now. He’d never have offered if he’d known they live in a fuckin dumpster. Maybe he woulda sent Demon, who coulda clipped em one night after a party or somethin.

But then, he guesses, he wouldn’t be here with her.

He glances at her, seated at the tiny dining room table in the kitchen, just barely visible to him from his perch on the couch. She’s hunched over, probably berating herself. Good. He’s sick of this kinda shit happening on her watch.

Sure, this time it ain’t her fault, but she shouldn’t still have that stupid fuck of a husband stayin in her house. If he were one iota smarter, Rio could be pushin daisies right now.

Not that it bugs him too much.

It could, if he’d let it, but somethin else takes over instead. The why of it. Why want your wife’s business partner dead? Unless you knew that wasn’t all they were. But Elizabeth hadn’t told him –

(No, she’d said, Don’t

when he’d wanted to tell the lil carman all about em.)

– so he musta figured it out some other way. But would you put a hit out on a guy for fucking your wife once? ’Specially when you a cheater too? Naw. Rio don’t think so. Gotta be more than that. You gotta feel threatened. Gotta know there’s more to it.

So on top of not being concerned about these lil goofs, that’s what distracts him from the – poorly attempted – hit. The fuckin why of it.

He steals another glance at the kitchen. She still looks miserable and he feels bad, the why still on his mind, so he’s about to say somethin to set her mind at rest, but then the door bursts open.

He tosses the lighter back where he’d found it as the voices, excited, come closer.

He feels it run through his veins – the adrenaline; the thrill. His favourite high.

They flick on the lounge light and he’s glad ’cuz it lets em catch him in full, the light bouncin off the bird on his neck; reflecting off the gold of the gun he’s palming in his lap.

Their eyes go wide and he lowers his chin so he’s lookin at em face on.

“Heard y’all stole from me.”

They look at one another then shake their heads so hard it looks like they gonna come off.

“We didn’t.”

He leans forward a bit, rolling his shoulders.

“Elizabeth.”

He hears her heels click into the room; doesn’t take his eyes off em.

“This them?”

“Yes,” she says quietly.

They seem to take her in and for whatever reason, looks like things start to click for em. Like they didn’t realise before that she is who she is.

The wife. The wife of the guy who wanted Rio dead. The why of it.

One swallows then shakes his head, eyes comin back to Rio.

“She’s lying, man, she’s lying. We didn’t take anything from you.”

Beth watches Rio stand. Somehow she’s forgotten just how terrifying he can be, but this is the keenest reminder she could’ve asked for. His body is coiled, hand curved around the gun with purpose –

(But not too tight, he’d taught her. You gotta just grip it.)

– but his face is relaxed, as easygoing as that day in her dining room.

You wanna get down in the dirt so bad, but you wanna keep your hands clean – and, oh. Is that what this is? Is he trying to force her to get her hands dirty?

She’s distracted from this thought when he stops a few steps away from them.

“Now, see, that I don’t believe. Elizabeth ain’t no liar. You know what she is? She’s that lady from the car commercial.”

He grins big and Beth feels both embarrassed and deeply happy with the fact that she’d relayed that part of the story to Rio too. The two guys look like they’re about to pee their pants, clearly now realising that there’s no way out of this for them. Rio knows everything, every part of it.

He gestures with his gun towards the couch.

“Sit.”

Beth watches as they hesitate, exchanging glances, and then Rio laughs a little, putting a hand to his head like he’d forgotten something.

“My bad, I made that seem like you had a choice.”

The gun goes off before Beth even registers him aiming, and there’s a silencer on it but it’s still loud enough – at least until the guy grabs at his knee, where blood is spurting, and starts shrieking at the top of his lungs.

“Sit,” Rio growls, instantly straight-faced.

His friend helps him and the two scuffle over to the couch Rio had vacated, sitting. The one has both his hands wrapped around his knee now, near-sobbing, and Rio gets closer.

“Shut up or I’ll pop the other one too.”

The howling stops immediately and Rio takes a protracted breath, deliberate.

He’s making them suffer.

Beth doesn’t know what to do with herself – Rio had assigned her no task outside of being here and now she’s no longer sure whether he’s actually going to kill them – so she just stands there, watching. Watching as every so often their eyes dart to her as if they’re deeply regretting not just giving her the money earlier. It gives her a sick sense of satisfaction, she can't help it.

Rio rubs his gun against his chin as if it’s a finger and he’s thinking hard.

Then: “Where’s my money?”

The friend’s eyes go bigger; wild.

“He’s gotta go to a hospital, man! This is crazy!”

“What’s crazy is takin sum’n that don’t belong to you. Not bein prepared for consequences.”

“It’s behind the couch!” the shot guy yells. “Take it, just take it!”

Rio jerks his chin. “Get it.”

Beth passes the bags she’d brought along to the un-shot guy – the one who’d called her a bitch – and he starts moving the couch away then stuffing the bags with her boxes of money.

“And you best not short-change me or you gon’ be damn sorry,” Rio threatens.

His movements get quicker, jerky, and Beth moves, wants to help him, make it go faster, but Rio shakes his head. He’s between them and her now and he clearly prefers it that way.

After about a minute he finishes, four bags filled.

“Leave em at the door,” Rio instructs. “Come join your lil friend.”

He complies and the moment he sits on the couch, the gun fires off again and this time he’s the one yelling, clutching at his knee.

Beth sucks her lip into her mouth guiltily then crosses the room.

“I’m going to need your phone,” she says. “The one with the recording on it.”

They’re rolled over on their sides now, sobbing, but the one with the recording pulls out his phone with bloodied hands and it flops onto the couch. She uses her sleeve to pick it up before quickly pulling back so she’s behind Rio again.

“Hmm. You know, I really don’t like leavin things unfinished,” Rio says, contemplative. “I mean, that’s only two outta four knees.”

They groan loudly over their sobbing and Beth thanks god this place sounds like it’s currently hosting five different parties, each competing with the other for noise violations.

“Tell ya what,” Rio smiles, like he’s their best friend, “let’s make a deal. You tell anyone about this, my money, or anythin about Elizabeth and who she works for – Imma come finish the job. Yeah?”

“Yes!” they both shout. “DEAL, it’s a deal!”

“Cool,” Rio grins. “Pleasure doin business with ya.”

Her heart soars as she realises they’re done, they’d made it, they have their money back.

She rushes toward the front door, but realises he's not right behind her.

When she looks back, she sees Rio bent over one of them, whispering something into his ear.

But he’s done in a second, joining her, and in another minute, they’ve left it all behind, money in hand.

“And don’t fuckin put my money in your backyard again.”

Beth looks around. They’re at the storage facility, but this unit is different to the others, on the outskirts of the facility and more private.

They’ve left the money in the bags and what had before seemed like so much seems tiny in the ginormous room.

“Get me my cut by tomorrow noon and I’ll let you pretend none o’ this ever happened.”

Beth frowns. “You’re not gonna take it now?”

“I ain’t on retrieval and counting duty, honey. Make it happen.”

God. He’s so annoying sometimes. Well. Most of the time.

He’s turning to leave when she stops him.

“Rio.”

He twists back around with a raised brow.

“What did you say to that guy? Right before we left.”

He stares at her for a few seconds before coming closer, shoulders jerking a little in that way he has as his eyes take her in; consider her.

“Did ya like it?”

She frowns. “Like what?”

“Seein em bleed for you.”

Beth steps back, nearly trips over one of the bags.

She swallows. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Naw?" His dark eyes glimmer. "It didn’t turn you on?”

The blush rises, but she refuses to let him control the moment.

“Is that why you made me be there? As some kind of twisted foreplay?”

He sniffs out a genuinely surprised laugh.

“You still don’t get it, do you? Actions got consequences. That’s what I’m tryna get you to learn. You gotta step up, mami, I can’t always be goin this easy on you.”

There it is again: mami.

But she scoffs.

“This is easy?”

He takes another step closer.

“You got me arrested and you still breathin. Then you lied about takin care of the grocery store manager, went inside a drug dealer’s house, and what am I forgetting? Oh yeah, buried my money in your goddamn lawn then got it stolen.”

She stands still, not sure what to say. Nothing he ever puts her through feels easy.

But when he lays it out like that – god, she’s messed up a lot. And he’s let her. Let her live afterwards.

(When you got a rotten egg in the bunch, it stinks up the whole lot till you get rid of it.)

But that’s not what has her speechless.

It’s the why. Why, despite it all, hadn’t he cut her loose? Why had he been so ready to leave –

(I’m out. I’m done, man, time for something new)

– and then shown up at Boland Motors that night? Why does he keep giving her so many chances?

But before she can say any of this, he’s turning to leave again, and she panics; feels she has to address some of it.

You got me arrested and you still breathin.

“I didn’t want to be king.”

His spine stills and then, slowly, he turns back to face her.

“’Scuse me?”

“I didn’t get you arrested so I could take over,” she explains.

All this time, everything they’d done in that bathroom, and she’s never once explained it to him. Because they’d been even –

(Now we’re good, darlin)

– thanks to that bullet he’d put in Dean. Clean slate. But it’s still between them somehow, she thinks, and maybe now isn’t the perfect time to tell him, but maybe there will never be a perfect time.

“I thought you were going to kill us.”

His face twists as he snorts.

“Why, ’cuz you threw some keys in my face?”

She forces herself not to blush.

“Because I know how you deal with rotten eggs.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just like you knew I was gonna shoot those guys in the face.”

She’s annoyed he’s making it sound like she’d exaggerated – it’s not like he’d just said this morning that he wouldn’t actually kill them.

“You still shot them,” she points out.

“And left em to run half a marathon each. They should be thankin me, I went easy on em, too.”

“That’s easy?” she scoffs, now even more indignant.

“Yeah, and you should know,” he nods. “Your hubby took one to the chest and he didn’t even steal from me.”

Which reminds her.

“You’re not going to hurt him too, are you?”

He takes a curious step closer, his head cocked.

“Why would I do that, Elizabeth?”

“Because he tried to have you killed.”

He takes another step and now they’re so close.

“And why’s that?”

It knocks the breath out of her lungs.

“Because…”

But she falters, can’t finish. All Dean’s outbursts about Rio seem to snowball into one another in her mind, hurtling, until it arrives at just one: Why him?

God, she’d been so stupid; so blind. Blinder than even Dean, who had realised. Realised this isn't just about the tattoos; the danger, the strange. The money.

Rio’s still watching her, eyes expectant, and she tries to play it off with a scoff.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He nods very slowly.

“Uh huh. Alright.” He bites at his lip thoughtfully for a second then backs up. “I gotta go. Got a date.”

Her heart thumps painfully in her chest, nearly knocking her forward, and Beth wonders if that’s what he’d intended.

Wonders whether it matters.

Because in her mind she sees him hugging – really hugging – that woman again, kissing her on the cheek. Opening the door for her. Laughing at something she’d said.

“With the girl from the parking lot?”

Instantly she regrets it – his eyes widen with the realisation that she’d been watching, then quickly relax again as his features settle into derisive amusement.

“Maybe. Haven’t decided yet.”

She swallows hard. Of course he has options, ones he can just call at the last minute.

“Then you should go.”

But she doesn’t want him to go. Not to another woman; not at all.

“I guess I should,” he says, but doesn’t move, still just watching her.

She stares back, chin lifted, refusing to be the one to yield.

“I’ll get you your cut by tomorrow.”

“Good.”

She blinks long and slow, uncomfortable beneath his gaze, yet not wanting it to go anywhere.

“Enjoy your date.”

She’s no longer convinced he has one; thinks he just wanted a rise out of her.

She’s not sure if he’d gotten what he wanted.

“Hmm,” he hums acknowledgement.

And now, finally, he moves, rocking back on his heels. And maybe it's the movement – the away from her – that makes it bubble from her throat.

“Thank you,” she finds herself saying. “...Not just for this.”

For the Dubby, for going ‘easy’ on her.

He waves a hand, turns away.

“Rio.”

He comes to a standstill. Then, slowly, turns to face her again.

“Thank you.”

She wants him to know how grateful she is, truly. How good, how strangely comforting, it had felt to be able to rely on him. To know she could.

(You have to go over there, ok? Right now. They’ve got Jane.)

That night, this night. Wants him to understand the joy she’d felt at getting to see her daughter reunited with her favourite blanket. The relief she feels now that she can use this money for so many things she needs it for.

The words seem to hit him, like he really lets himself hear them, and then he steps forward till they’re inches apart.

“That the only way you gonna thank me?”

She swallows and she swears it echoes in the room, his eyes gleaming.

Then she moves so they’re even closer and he stands still, just watching. He doesn’t even lean down, even when her hand lands in his warm neck. Even when she presses up onto her toes then angles up slowly, slowly, till her lips touch his.

Oh.

Oh. This is what it’s like. She’s thought about it enough times that there’s something academic about him not kissing her back, just letting her press her lips to his and feel the soft of his mouth – strange; strange that it can deliver such sharp words – and taste the slightest bit of mint there. He’d eaten one, on the way over; offered her one, too, and she’d said no. 

It’s maybe a few seconds, but it stretches like forever till he's pressing forward and kissing her back.

It nearly knocks her off her feet in surprise, but then he’s wrapping one hand around her neck and the other around her waist as he presses his lips harshly to hers, demands she part them for him.

She does and then his tongue is in her mouth and Beth moans before she can think to stop herself and oh, she wants him.

She can feel herself throbbing – honestly, she has been since Naw? It didn’t turn you on? – and now the kiss isn’t enough anymore, she needs him everywhere. She reaches to push his jacket off and Rio lets her, albeit with a sound of complaint, before her hands go down to his belt.

It makes him finally pull away and there’s a wildness in his eyes that makes her ache.

He starts pushing her back, back, his one hand still holding her steady, and then she hits a wall and Rio doesn’t waste time slipping his hands under her dress and grasping for the cotton there.

Yes, yes. There needs to be nothing separating them.

In an instant her panties are at her ankles and she kicks them off as Rio works at his pants and for a second, she can’t wait, she pulls him closer and back to her mouth.

He can’t resist, kisses her hard, and Beth whimpers beneath the pressure and the heat of his tongue.

Then her hands go down to his, helping him, and soon they have him free and oh, she’d forgotten just how big he is; oh, she needs him now more than ever.

His lips pull away from hers to go to her ear.

“You wet for me, mami?”

Mami. She clenches.

“Yessss, yeah.”

He growls out a response and then he’s lifting her up, opening her legs around his waist, and she wraps her arms around his neck.

He presses up against her and she keens with a whimper, but he doesn’t enter her yet, just teases.

“Tell me whatchu want and I’ll make you feel so goddamn good, momma, I promise,” he whispers into her ear.

She tries to grind down but his hold on her is too tight, possessive, and she swallows thickly, knowing she has no other recourse. She’d started with the truth – Thank you. Not just for this – and now there’s nowhere else to go.

“You, Rio, you,” she cries out, eyes pressed closed.

“Hmmm,” he hums against her pulse, pleased.

Then he presses inside her and Beth moans, fingers digging into the back of his neck.

She says god’s name over and over as Rio slowly stretches her, pushes further in, and Beth doesn’t know if there’s any space left inside her.

He doesn’t move for a while, hot breaths circling around her collarbone, and when she’s finally adjusted to his size, she clenches a little.

“Make me come, Rio,” she breathes.

Beth feels his grip on her tighten, painful, but then it’s nothing compared to the way he rocks up into her and the sparks that shoot up into her veins like cracks of lightning.

She realises he’s sucking a – another – hickey into her neck too late to stop him, when all she can think about is the harsh rhythm they’ve built and how she’ll die without it.

“Just like that,” she nods on a breath, feeling her orgasm so close. “Keep going.”

“Stop fuckin talking or I ain’t gonna last, Elizabeth,” he admonishes roughly.

And it makes her smug but wetter, too, and for some twisted reason, she wants him to know she can do that to him.

Wants him to have no options; wants him to be riddled with her and her only.

“But, god, you feel so good,” she moans.

He mutters a Fuck against her neck and now his thrusts are faster, urgent, and her whimpers are his name, over and over. She wants him to go to bed tonight with her voice in his ears.

And then she feels the start of it, tearing at her skin like the harshest pins and needles. She feels it everywhere, just the beginning, perforated, and then it starts ripping at her and she can’t meet his hips anymore, can’t think or move; can only feel the jolts of pleasure rolling through, at once gradual and erratic.

Somehow, somehow, she finds the presence of mind for just a second to keep torturing him.

“Come inside me,” she demands. “Come all over me. Now, Rio—"

He does, with a long groan as his body strains against her and she feels his grip set bruises into her thighs that won’t be going anywhere for weeks.

Then he uncoils, goes weak, and he sets her down haphazardly before collapsing his body against hers to keep them both up. 

“Was that good enough?” she asks when she’s finally all the way down.

“What?” he asks, his voice sounding as far away as his mind.

“The thank you,” she explains.

It takes a second and then his body shakes against hers with laughter.

“…Yeah, it was good.”

Then, after a moment, he backs up; tips her chin.

“You ain’t as innocent as you look, huh?”

She lifts a brow, sultry.

“I thought that was the whole point.”

(I keep thinkin about what you said – about being a basic bitch and whatnot.)

He licks along his lips slowly and Beth clears her throat then jerks her head in the direction of her handbag.

“You should clean me up.”

He hesitates for only a second before zipping himself up then coming back with the wet wipes from inside her bag and sitting on his haunches to do exactly that.

When he’s done, he presses a kiss, soft but lingering, to her thigh.

Beth draws a deep breath – it's not just the soft of his lips and harsh of his beard against the sensitive skin, but also seeing him kneeled for her, his head between her legs.

In a moment he's back up, though, straightened; her panties in his hand.

But when she goes to take them, he yanks them out of her reach.

“These are mine.” His eyes take her in very explicitly. Smirks. “Just like you.”

She shakes her head, vehement.

“I’m not yours.”

His smirk widens; he's amused somehow.

“Your husband know that?”

God. Screw Dean and his pubescent hitmen, screw them.

But she forces herself to stay cool; realign her shoulders and shoot something right back.

“Is your date gonna know about this?”

Now he grins.

“What date?”

It renders her speechless and he steps closer, till they’re sharing a breath.

But he's not going to kiss her, she knows he's just teasing her, so instead she focuses on finding his hand, fisted, and she holds hers out below it.

“I need these.”

She’s not spending hours sorting and counting money then going all the way home without underwear.

He stares at her for a long moment before finally speaking.

“You wanted to know what I said to that thieving asshole?”

Beth nods.

“Said I’m the only one allowed to touch your panties.”

She can’t blink, can’t move, and Rio seems to revel in this before releasing her panties into her hand.

He backs up with a smirk, holding her eyes as she still stands there speechless, and then he spins and finally makes his way out.