Rowan's hand hovered over the ignition, keys already in the slot.
The engine hadn't even turned over yet when Nyx, still buckled in, still barely coherent, suddenly lurched forward.
Soft, vodka-warm lips pressed against Rowan's cheek.
Not a peck. A deliberate, lingering claim.
"You're mine," Nyx slurred against the skin, voice low and wrecked and possessive in a way that made the words feel like handcuffs.
"I hate everyone who thinks they can get to you. That lawyer fucker… anyone. They don't get to touch what's mine."
Rowan went rigid.
Every muscle locked at once, spine straight, shoulders squared, breath caught somewhere between lungs and throat.
The cheek kiss burned like a brand; she could still feel the exact shape of Nyx's mouth there, the faint dampness left behind.
Her pulse hammered traitorously under her jaw, loud enough she was sure Nyx could hear it even through the fog of drugs and alcohol.
"Get. Back. In. Your. Seat," Rowan bit out, each word clipped and dangerous. She didn't turn her head. Couldn't.
If she looked at Nyx right now... flushed, glassy-eyed, lips parted and still so close... she wasn't sure what would break first: her restraint or something far more dangerous.
But Nyx didn't listen.
He never did.
With a clumsy, determined shift, Nyx fumbled at his own seatbelt until it clicked free. Before Rowan could react, one long, powerful leg swung over the center console.
Then the other. Nyx landed in Rowan's lap in a sprawl of silk shirt and hard muscle, strong thighs bracketing Rowan's hips, broad chest pressed flush against hers.
His arms looped around Rowan's neck like they belonged there, fingers threading into dark hair and tugging just enough to sting.
Rowan's hands shot to Nyx's waist on pure reflex, intended to push him off.
Instead they froze there, fingers digging into the solid muscle above his hips, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric, the faint tremor of exhaustion and high wearing thin.
"Nyx..." Rowan's voice cracked on the name. She swallowed hard. "Get off me. Now."
Nyx only burrowed closer, nose dragging along the line of Rowan's throat, inhaling like he was memorizing the scent. "No," he whispered, lips brushing skin with every word.
"You came for me. You always come. Means you want this too… even if you hate admitting it."
Rowan's grip tightened, not to push away anymore, but to hold him still.
To stop the slow, drugged rocking of Nyx's hips that was starting to feel less like accidental shifting and more like deliberate provocation.
"You're high," Rowan said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're doing."
Nyx laughed softly, breathless, broken. "I know exactly what I'm doing." One hand slid down, palm flattening over Rowan's racing heart. "This… this is racing for me. Not for some random date. For me."
Rowan closed her eyes for one dangerous second.
She could feel everything: Nyx's heavy weight settling deeper into her lap, the way those hard abs flexed under her palms as he breathed, the faint tremor in his broad shoulders that said the comedown was creeping closer.
She could smell the club on him... sweat, perfume, cocaine's chemical edge... and underneath it, something uniquely Nyx.
Something that made Rowan's stomach twist with want and guilt in equal measure.
"I should drive you straight to the ER," Rowan muttered, more to herself than to the man in her lap. "Let them pump your stomach. Let someone else deal with this."
"But you won't." Nyx's lips found Rowan's earlobe, teeth grazing just shy of a bite.
"Because then you'd have to explain why your hands are still on me. Why you haven't shoved me off yet."
Rowan's exhale was ragged.
She finally opened her eyes and immediately regretted it.
Nyx was watching her. Even through the heavy-lidded haze, those dark eyes burned with single-minded focus.
Obsession. Ownership.
And underneath it all, something raw and terrified that looked almost like love.
Rowan's voice came out quieter than she intended. Hoarser.
"You're going to ruin me, Ravencroft."
Nyx's smile was slow. Triumphant. Heartbreaking.
"Promise?"
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Rowan's hands, still on Nyx's waist, finally pushed.
Not hard.
Just enough to create space. Just enough to remind them both where the line was supposed to be.
"Back in your seat," Rowan said again. This time her voice shook. "Buckle up. We're going home."
"'Home'?" Nyx echoed softly. "Yours… or mine?"
Rowan's hands were already moving again, firmer this time, palms flat against Nyx's ribs, ready to lift and deposit him back into the passenger seat.
But before the push could fully land, Nyx surged forward.
His mouth crashed against Rowan's.
Not tentative. Not teasing like the cheek kiss. This was desperate, open-mouthed, trembling, tasting of salt and vodka and the faint chemical ghost of cocaine.
Tears were already streaming down Nyx's face, hot and fast, wetting both their cheeks as he pressed in harder, fingers clutching Rowan's coat lapels like lifelines.
Rowan froze. Completely.
The world narrowed to the wet heat of Nyx's mouth, the broken little sob that vibrated against her lips, the way his tall, muscular body shook in her lap like he was coming apart at the seams.
Nyx pulled back just enough to speak, voice raw, cracking on every word.
"Why can't you love me like I do?" Tears kept falling, dripping onto Rowan's collarbone.
"I left everything for you. My family... they hate me more now, but I don't care. I tried to leave the drugs… I swear I tried. I controlled my anger, I stopped breaking things, I stopped screaming at them… all for you. And you..." His voice splintered. "You still look at me like I'm poison."
He kissed Rowan again.
Deeper this time. Hungrier.
One hand sliding up to cup the back of Rowan's neck, holding her there while the other fisted in her hair.
Tears slid between their joined mouths, salty and warm.
Rowan's hands, still on Nyx's waist, twitched.
She should push.
Every ethical alarm in her head screamed it: age gap, power imbalance, addiction, professional ruin, the man was barely conscious an hour ago...
But the tears.
The broken, pleading way Nyx whispered against her lips between kisses.
The way his whole body trembled like he'd shatter if Rowan rejected him now.
Rowan's resolve cracked.
Not all at once. Not dramatically.
Just… quietly.
Her hands stopped pushing.
Instead, they slid up Nyx's back, slow and careful, until one palm settled between his shoulder blades, the other cradling the nape of his neck.
Not pulling him closer. Not yet. But not pushing him away either.
She let the kiss happen.
Let Nyx pour every ounce of his messy, obsessive, aching need into it.
Nyx made a small, shattered sound against Rowan's mouth like relief and grief tangled together and kissed her harder, slower now, like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he moved too fast.
His tears kept coming, wetting Rowan's cheeks, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.
Rowan didn't deepen it. She didn't take control. She just… let it.
Let Nyx have this small, stolen piece of her.
When Nyx finally pulled back, gasping, forehead pressed to Rowan's, tears still falling, he looked wrecked. Handsome. Terrifying.
"You didn't push me away," he whispered, voice small and wondering. Like he couldn't believe it.
Rowan's throat worked. Her own eyes were stinging now, though she refused to let the tears fall.
"I'm still going to drive you home," Rowan said quietly. Hoarsely. "And tomorrow… we're starting real detox. No shortcuts. And if you ever pull something like tonight again..." Her voice hardened just a fraction. "I will walk away. For good."
Nyx nodded against her forehead, small, frantic little jerks.
"I'll do it. I'll do whatever you say. Just… don't hate me."
Rowan exhaled shakily.
"I don't hate you," she admitted, so soft it was almost lost under the low hum of the idling engine. "That's the problem."
She finally eased Nyx back into the passenger seat, gentler this time.
Buckled him in. Wiped the tear tracks from his cheeks with the pad of her thumb, lingering a second longer than necessary.
Nyx caught her wrist before she could pull away.
"Stay with me tonight?" he asked, voice small, vulnerable, nothing like the arrogant heir who usually ruled rooms. "Just… stay. Please."
Rowan looked at him for a long moment... the smeared exhaustion, the swollen lips, the glassy hope in his eyes.
Then she sighed.
"I'll stay until you're asleep," she said finally. "That's all I'm promising."
Nyx's smile was tiny. Tremulous. But real.
"That's enough," he whispered.
The engine idled low, a steady rumble under the quiet streetlights.
Rowan's hand was still tangled with Nyx's on the center console, fingers locked, neither willing to let go first. The air inside the car felt thicker now, charged, every breath heavier than the last.
Nyx's tears had slowed, but his eyes still shimmered, dark and fever-bright.
He shifted again in the passenger seat, leaning closer until his lips brushed Rowan's once more, soft at first, testing. Then deeper. Hungrier.
Rowan exhaled shakily against his mouth. "Nyx… we can't..."
But Nyx didn't let her finish.
His mouth slid away from Rowan's lips, trailing hot and deliberate down the line of her jaw, then lower over the sensitive skin of her throat, pausing where Rowan's pulse hammered wildly.
A soft, open-mouthed kiss there. Then another. Teeth grazed just enough to sting.
Rowan's free hand flew to Nyx's shoulder, gripping hard. "People would be watching," she rasped, voice strained, trying to cling to reason. "We're parked on a public street..."
Nyx lifted his head just enough to meet Rowan's eyes. A slow, wicked little smile curved his swollen lips, even through the remnants of tears.
"Glass isn't transparent, Doc," he murmured, voice low and rough from crying and want.
"Tinted black. And the car's soundproof. No one hears. No one sees." His fingers traced the edge of Rowan's collar, slipping the top button free with practiced ease. "Just us."
Before Rowan could argue again, Nyx's mouth was moving once more, down the column of her throat, over the sharp edge of her collarbone, then lower still.
Kisses turned to slow, wet drags of tongue against skin where Rowan's blouse gapped open. Each one sent a visible shiver through Rowan's body.
"Nyx..." Rowan's protest was weaker now, almost a plea.
Nyx ignored it.
One hand slid into Rowan's dark hair, fingers curling tight at the nape.
Then he pulled... not cruel, but firm, insistent... guiding Rowan's head back until her shoulders hit the driver's seat cushion. Rowan's breath hitched as her body followed, reclining fully now, seat tilted just enough to make space.
Nyx moved with her, fluid and predatory, climbing fully over Rowan until he straddled her hips, knees bracketing Rowan's waist. His silk shirt rode up, revealing the hard lines of his abs as he settled his weight.
He braced one hand beside Rowan's head, the other still fisted in her hair, keeping her pinned in place.
Rowan stared up at him, chest rising and falling fast, eyes wide with a storm of conflict: want, guilt, fear, surrender.
Nyx leaned down slowly.
"You're shaking," he whispered against Rowan's lips. "Not from cold."
Rowan swallowed hard. "This is insane."
"Yeah." Nyx's mouth brushed hers again, once, twice, teasing. "But you're still here."
He kissed her properly then... deep, claiming, tongue sliding against Rowan's in a way that made Rowan's hands finally move.
They landed on Nyx's hips, fingers digging in, not to push away, but to hold on. Hard.
Nyx moaned softly into the kiss, hips rocking once in a slow, deliberate grind that dragged a choked sound from Rowan's throat.
When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against Rowan's, noses brushing.
"Tell me to stop," Nyx said quietly, voice trembling now. "Say it like you mean it… and I will."