She wants to fuck him.
She feels dirty and angry, but she wants to fuck him. From the moment he turned around in the warehouse when they first delivered the wrapping paper, his sleeves rolled up, lips open just that tiny bit, eyes running over her body, she's wanted to fuck him.
She notices the lack of tattoos on his forearms and gets curious about what's under that tightly buttoned shirt.
She wants to fuck him and she knows that he knows it. She sees it every time his eyes fall on her and slide from her toes to her eyes, and he licks his full, kissable lower lip.
Shit, she wants it so bad. Just the once. Just to say she tried screwing someone other than a middle class suburban car dealer and it's wasn't that great really.
She knows she's lying to herself.
...
He knows what he's doing to her. Every glance, every touch. Every rare but carefully chosen compliment.
He smiles at her, genuine and wide instead of his usual wry quirk. The first time is in her minivan, when she asks what to say to the FBI and he can't help himself. He can imagine what it would be like, not hard and fast, but intense and satisfying... with just a tinge of rage. When he tells her to say they're making love it's sardonic and supposed to fluster her. She's speechless, and for a moment so is he, and the smile slips out. He leaves the car thinking about what he would do with his mouth, how he would take his time with every inch of her body until she was begging him to stop.
He hasn't felt like this before. This odd combination of lust and anger and ardent, hungry, desperate longing. He hates himself just a tiny bit for letting himself get worked into such a state, but he blames his abuela for feeding him telenovelas as a five year old, instead of making him watch Sesame Street and Slim Goodbody like all the other kids.
He told his mom about her. Not the specifics but that he'd met someone who made him so frustrated and enthralled all at once that he didn't know what to do. She had told him to take her to dinner, get her drunk on tequila and then go and sit on the roof of one of the abandoned warehouses with a couple of sleeping bags and a six pack to watch the sun come up. He had laughed and told her she wasn't that kind of woman.
Then his mama tells him the myth of Persephone and Hades for the thousandth time, and he's left wondering if maybe Beth is Hades in this situation.
...
She felt on fire that day in the cafe, when he told her not to use the Botox on herself. First with anger and then a slow burn in the pit of her stomach until he had touched her arm as he left, leaving her flushed and squirming in her chair.
Shit, she wants to fuck him. She wants to use him and get him out of her system, and then go back to her normal boring suburban life. Maybe see if Annie can help her get a job at Fine and Frugal. Use the accounting degree she paid tens of thousands of dollars for.
She goes home and masturbates in the shower. It's unsatisfying, and her mind keeps drifting to memories of Dean and the fifteen years of phoning it in in the bedroom.
And only ever in the bedroom. Never in the bathroom, or the living room, or the back seat of one of the shitty cars he does such a crap job of selling.
She thinks about fucking Rio on the stairs, not making it to the bedroom and instead riding him as the carpet digs into his spine and she gets rug burn on her knees. She's angry at wasting her fantasy after she's already come, and files it away for later.
...
He realizes she's overreacted after he tells her to go home to her family, but he acts almost too late. They're planning a robbery when he walks into the house and tells Annie and Ruby to clear out. Annie is shaking, but Ruby stands her ground and tells him he's the one intruding. He looks at the ceiling and promises not to do anything to mess up their not so perfect lives, shows them he's not carrying, and makes himself comfortable on the couch.
Eventually they leave, and it's just the two of them. Beth stands awkwardly next to the television and asks him if he wants a drink, and he accepts. She pours two glasses of bourbon and spills a little as she's tipping the bottle back up to cap it. She can see her hands shaking and he feels a tinge of regret, out of character he realizes but then he's done so much since meeting her that he barely recognizes himself any sometimes.
Either that or he's starting to remember who he used to be.
He tells her he knows they're trying to put him away and that it isn't going to work, and she asks if this is when he kills her. He can see the fear and resignation in her eyes and he doesn't smile this time, wry or genuine. He just gets up and takes her hands, putting the two glasses in her hands back down on the table. He has second thoughts and puts one to his mouth, gulping it down even if just for the placebo effect, and tells her he would never do that. He isn't putting on the gravelly voice he often uses with her, instead it's almost a whisper of a promise, and he can see her shiver as he tangles a hand in her softly curled hair.
Her eyelids drop a little and he can see the fight in her eyes between fear and desire.
He knows the game he's been playing with her, but he lost track of the finish line somewhere along the way.
So he kisses her, and it's nothing like he imagined. He imagined she would be soft and pliable and let him lead, but instead she's hard and rough. She bites down on his lip and he makes a noise almost like a whimper, and she growls and tears her mouth away from his. She steps away and tops up his glass, watching him beneath her lashes. He accepts the challenge and takes the bottle from her hand and caps it, places it at the edge of the table, and shoves the glasses in the same direction.
She asks him if he wants to fuck her and he says no.
…
She made him whimper, and the sound makes her stomach flip. He whimpers and chases her lips when she pulls away and even after that he still says he doesn't want to fuck her.
His hands are telling a different story though, trailing down her sides until they're under her ass, lifting her up on to the table. He tells her then that he wants more, that he wants her to touch her everywhere until she's so desperate for him that she'll beg him to do anything. She tells him that sounds an awful lot like what he told her to tell Agent Turner all those weeks ago, and he says so what if it is.
When he kisses her again it's like he's trying to make sure she remembers it. He's slow and deliberate, and his lips are so soft that she can't help but suck one into her mouth and tease it for a moment with her tongue. That's the moment he gives up and presses his mouth to hers hard and demanding. He takes kisses from her like bites, his mouth is wet and lush and she gives it right back, hands wrapped around his neck and up behind his ears.
He lets her take control, and she tilts his head in a way she knows must be painful. He just makes that noise again, the one that goes straight to her gut, and she knows at that moment that she's a goner.