Savage Possession

by Belinda Boring

  Tonight was his choice and after looking at the newspaper earlier, I couldn’t figure out which one we’d be seeing. There were three movies that promised guts and blood, and I tried to disguise my shudder.

  He sat there quietly, wearing a mischievous grin that suggested he was up to something and I braced myself for the worst. I checked my rearview mirror, careful as I drove through Pitt Street’s intersection. I flicked on my signal before moving over, making sure the lane beside me was clear.

  “Quit looking at me like that, and answer my question.” I laughed. “I need to know what blow ’em up, blood and guts movie you’ve picked so I can prepare myself.”

  “Well, I could tell you, but I love watching you squirm a little so . . . no. I’m not telling you anything. You’ll have to wait and see.” He looked through the side window, but not before I caught the smug look on his face. I wanted to throttle him. I shook my head in annoyance and poked out my tongue. He chuckled softly.

  “Don’t threaten me unless you know how to use it, Bri.”

  A blush burned across my cheeks and I opened my mouth to ask him how he knew. Before I could get the words out, he laughed again, tapping his knuckles against the window.

  “Remember, I can see your reflection so unless you want a refresher course in manners, I’d keep your tongue safe in that cute mouth of yours.”

  “And if I don’t?” I replied cheekily, a small heat building inside me. Gosh, I loved this man, bantering with him. The look he was giving me almost reduced me to putty.

  He pointed at the approaching street. “Pull over, sweetheart, and I’ll show you.” He added a wink to his grin, and countless possibilities flooded my mind.

  “You know I’d love to, but . . .” I drew out my reply, putting extra emphasis on the last word. “We don’t have time so I think I’ll pass.”

  “I thought so.” Quinn turned back toward the window and strummed his fingers on his knee. I was tempted to do it—stop the car. But instead, we fell into a comfortable silence.

  The peace was shattered by a vibrating sound against the seat. Someone was calling and each time it rang, anxiety crashed over me. Whoever it was on the other end was persistent—when the call ended, it restarted again.

  I blindly reached for my purse. When I couldn’t feel it, I glanced down at the floor and a horn blasted loudly. A second later, my fingers grazed the bag.

  The cell phone stopped buzzing, and I thumped my hand on the steering wheel in frustration. I glared at Quinn who continued to look out his window, something obviously on his mind. He was being unusually quiet, but instead of questioning him, I reached for the radio dial.

  An unfamiliar song started playing and I began my daily ritual. I couldn’t go five seconds without fiddling with the radio, changing stations at a rapid pace while searching for music. Sometimes I didn’t even listen to the entire song either—one minute singing loudly and the next bored.

  He often teased me about it. He’d watch to see how long it took before I grew restless and switched programs. It forced me to try and finish at least one, but so far it hadn’t worked. He simply laughed, telling me how much he adored my quirkiness. It didn’t bother me—I loved that he was easy to please.

  Not wanting to break with a well-established tradition, I searched for a great song and after pushing several buttons, finally found something with a good beat. Increasing the volume, I leaned back and started humming. Another intersection was approaching and I turned at the light.

  “What are you thinking about over there,” I asked, checking the rear view mirror. The clock on the dashboard told me we had ten minutes left before the movie started. The theatre was on the corner of Bryce and Chestnut Road—not too far away. It would take another five minutes to arrive so I relaxed.

  He reached over and caressed the side of my face before tugging on my hair slightly. The gesture was accompanied by a smile and it warmed my heart. The man had a thing for my hair. It didn’t matter what I did or how much time I spent styling it, within moments of Quinn being near me, he had his hands in it.

  I’d questioned him once, and he’d said he loved how it felt against his skin. He could sit for hours if I let him, running his fingers through it, pulling the reddish locks to his face so he could smell it. The sensation was completely erotic and one of his most endearing quirks.

  I couldn’t help but sigh in disappointment when he stopped.

  “I was just thinking about the future,” he answered, before returning to his thoughts.

  I knew I should respect his privacy—he would tell me in his own time. I looked again, waiting to see if he’d continue. Quinn didn’t return my attention.

  Obviously I was going to have to drag it out of him.

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