Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ben Solo, Upper East Side, March 1987

Ben Solo fucking hated mornings.

Not because of the early hours or the cold, or the steady rhythm of polished shoes tapping across the marble floors. It was the people they brought. The ones with their rehearsed smiles, designer labels, and lives of effortless luxury. The ones who never had to stand behind a hotel desk just to scrape by in a cramped, dingy apartment in Queens.

And the ones who were happiest? He hated them most.

Rey Nima was the epitome of that kind of happiness. She floated through the grand lobby like a breath of fresh air, her cropped powder blue wool coat perfectly tailored, her long legs bare despite the early March chill. Her hair, tied in a high ponytail, bounced with every step. And she didn’t just smile—she radiated warmth, offering it freely to the concierge, the housekeepers, and to Ben himself.

“Good morning, Mr. Solo,” she said in that sweet voice, the kind that lingered. “You look tired. Everything okay?”

Ben forced a smile. “Just the usual.”

“I brought muffins,” she added, holding up a small pink box. “There’s chocolate chip in there, your favorite, right?”

She was kind. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

And he hated her for it.

Rey lived on the top floor—Penthouse 19A—paid for by her father’s money and filled with her mother’s antiques and a record player that only spun sad French love songs. She had a boyfriend, Poe, a useless pretty boy who was never around. Rey didn’t seem to mind. She laughed alone. She danced alone. She bloomed like a flower no one watered, somehow still radiant. Still full of life.

Ben couldn’t understand it.
Why should she be so happy, when he was drowning in bitterness?

That afternoon, she returned from a jog, cheeks flushed and glowing.

“Hey, Ben,” she said, panting lightly. “You’re good with tools, right? Something’s wrong with the sink in my kitchenette. The pipe’s leaking.”

Ben nodded, hiding the spark in his chest. “I can come take a look.”

He followed her upstairs an hour later with a tool kit in hand, careful to keep his eyes off the curve of her waist as she led him into the sleek penthouse. The apartment smelled like lavender and lemon polish, the air warm with sunlight. She smiled at him, handed him a glass of water, and talked about nothing—her classes, her dreams of studying abroad, some new perfume she loved.

Ben crouched beneath the sink, listening to every word.

He fixed the pipe. Told her it was nothing. Said goodbye.

⸻

It was nearly midnight when Rey’s door opened again, softly this time. Quiet enough that not even the doorman would’ve heard the click if he hadn’t been the one turning the key.

Ben stepped inside wearing gloves and carrying his duffel bag . He didn’t need light; he knew the layout by memory. The couch. The rug. The exact creak in the floor near the kitchen island. He moved carefully, almost reverently, walking deeper into the space until he reached her bedroom.

He slid under the bed.

And waited.

He could hear everything—the soft thump of her heels when she came home, the clatter of keys dropped on the counter. Then her voice. Clear. Sweet. Frustrated.

“No, Poe, I don’t need you to come over. I needed you earlier.”

A pause.

“Why do I always have to beg you to care?”

Silence followed. The soft shuffle of her changing clothes. The sound of her brushing her teeth. A record playing low—Édith Piaf, again. He could picture her lying down, her hair spread across the pillows, her skin glowing even in the dark.

He waited longer. Until her breathing slowed. Until it grew deep and steady.

Then, slowly, he slid out from under the bed.

Pulled the rag from his pocket.

Uncapped the small brown bottle.

Bent over her.

“Shh,” he whispered, holding the cloth gently over her mouth and nose. “Sleep tight, Rey.”

She stirred slightly, but didn’t resist. Within seconds, she was still.

Ben stood above her, staring.

She looked like an angel—soft, warm, untouched. Too good for this world.

Too good to be this happy.

And he would fix that. Piece by piece. Night by night.

This was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Ben Solo, Upper East Side, March 1987

Rey’s apartment was bathed in the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.

Ben moved silently, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint, lingering scent of her perfume—a sweet, intoxicating mix of vanilla and something more enticing.

Rey layed on the bed, unconscious, her breath shallow and rhythmic. Ben had already administered the chloroform, watching as her eyes fluttered closed and her body went limp. A sense of power surged through him as he stood over her, his eyes roaming her vulnerable form.

He began his inspection of the apartment, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

The bag was heavy with his tools of the trade: duct tape, rope, a syringe, chloroform, Ambien, and a set of keys to every tenant's room in the building. He had prepared for every contingency, every possibility. He was in control, and he intended to stay that way.

The living room was his first stop. He placed small, discreet cameras in strategic locations, ensuring they would capture every angle.

One behind the bookshelf, another tucked into the corner of the ceiling, and a third hidden within the decorative plant on the windowsill. He made sure they were angled to capture every movement, every whisper.

He then moved to the kitchen, placing a camera above the sink, another in the corner of the ceiling. He opened the fridge, his eyes scanning the contents. He helped himself to a bottle of water, taking a sip before continuing.

The bedroom was next. He placed a camera in the corner of the ceiling, another behind the mirror on the dresser. He opened the drawers, his fingers brushing against her lingerie.

He felt a surge of excitement as he pulled out two bras and three pairs of panties, their soft fabric sending a shiver down his spine. He brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply. His cock hardened.

The scent of her was overpowering, and he groaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed. He stuffed them into his duffle bag, along with the duct tape, rope, syringe, chloroform, and Ambien.

He then moved to the bathroom, his eyes scanning every inch of the small space. He placed a camera in the shower head, another behind the mirror. He opened the medicine cabinet, his eyes scanning the contents.

His eyes fell on the small, familiar pack of birth control pills. A cruel smile played on Ben’s lips as he reached for them, his fingers brushing against the cool plastic.

He opened the pack, his eyes scanning the contents. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and he had brought the necessary replacements with him.

He pulled out a small vial from his duffle bag, containing pills that were identical in appearance to the birth control pills but with a very different purpose. He carefully replaced each of Rey's pills with one from the vial, ensuring that the pack looked unchanged.

He then turned his attention to the shower, running his fingers over the tiles. He imagined Rey standing there, the water cascading over her naked tight body, her eyes closed in bliss.

As he stood there, his duffle bag at his feet, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He had planned this meticulously, every detail accounted for. He was ready. He took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the room one last time. He was satisfied with his work. He turned to leave, his heart pounding with anticipation.

He moved back to the bedroom. Ben stood over Rey's unconscious form, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation. He had her exactly where he wanted her—vulnerable, helpless, and completely at his mercy. He took a deep breath, his eyes roaming over her body, taking in every delicate curve and line. She was beautiful, even in her unconscious state, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

Ben began to undress her, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation. He slipped off her shirt, revealing her breast, and then her shorts, leaving her in just her underwear, he soon took that off. He paused for a moment, his eyes taking in her delicate naked body that he was soon going to ruin.

Ben quickly removed his own clothes, his body already responding to the sight of her. He climbs onto the bed, His cock already so fucking hard at seeing her unconscious body on the bed.

Ben positions himself between Rey’s legs.

He leans down, his breath hot on her ear, and whispers dark, twisted words. "You're mine now, Rey," he growls, his voice low and menacing.

He tugs on his cock and enters her slowly, feeling the resistance of her hymen. He pushes harder, feeling it give way with a sudden, sharp pain. “Oh fuck.” Ben groans as he feels Rey’s tight pussy on his cock. He looks down and sees blood on his cock.

Rey moans softly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again, unconscious to the violation

“I guess Poe didn’t claim you soon enough.” Ben whispers thrusting into her.

“Fine by me, I’m going to sleep tight knowing that I’m the first cock that’s going in this pussy.” Ben growls.

He feels a warm, wet sensation as he fully enters her, her virgin blood staining the mattress beneath them. Ben groans as the sensation of her tight, virgin body around him sending waves of pleasure through his body.

"God, you’re so fucking tight, Rey," he whispers his voice thick with lust. "So wet. Your blood on my cock, it's the most intoxicating thing I've ever felt.”

He begins to move, his hips thrusting against hers, his body taking what it wanted. He could feel her blood mixing with his own sweat, creating a sickening, twisted symphony of their union. He groans again, his body shaking with the intensity of his pleasure.

He moves faster, his body slamming against hers, Her breast jiggles as he pounds into her tight cunt. his breath coming in ragged gasps. He can feel her moaning softly, her body responding to his touch even as her mind remained unconscious. He groaned, his body pressing harder against hers, his desire threatening to consume him.

"You like that, don't you, Rey?" he whispers, his voice thick with pleasure. "You like it when I touch you while you sleep, when I take you, when I claim you as my own. You're mine, Rey. Mine to take, mine to claim, mine to use. Mine to do with as I please."

“Fuck.” Ben shouts as he thrusts into Rey harder, he grabs her thighs so tight so it wraps around his waist. Making his cock pound deeper into her. He feels her body arching against his, her moans growing louder, more desperate. He groans, his body pressing harder against hers.

Ben reaches down, his fingers finding her most sensitive spot. He begins to rub her clit, his touch becoming more insistent, more demanding. He feels Rey’s body responding, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

Ben moves faster, his body slamming against hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps and groans. Rey’s tight pussy is pure heaven and he never wants to leave.

He soon feels her body tensing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He knew she was close, and he increased the pressure on her pussy He could feel her orgasm building on his cock, her body arching against his, her moans filling the room. Ben groans as his body shaking with the intensity of his own pleasure. He was close, so close, but he wanted to feel her come first.

"Fuck baby Come for me," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "Come for me, my little virgin. Show me how much you love it. Show me how much you need it."

He feels Rey’s body convulsing, her orgasm tearing through her. She moans loudly, her body arching against his, her nails digging into his shoulders. He gasps as the sensation of her tight, virgin cunt around his cock pushing him to the edge.

Ben feels his orgasm building, the sensation of her tight, virgin body around him pushing him to the edge.

He groans loudly, his body exploding as he reaches his orgasm.

Ben comes inside of her, his body shuddering with the intensity of own his release. He can feel his seed filling her, claiming her, marking her as his own. The sensation of his cum inside of her sends waves of pleasure through his body.

He pulls out of her slowly, Wanting to watch his cum drip out of her used and fucked pussy.

He can see the mixture of his seed inside her cunt spilling on the expensive mattress and her virgin blood staining the mattress, a very stark reminder of what he had done.

Ben gets up and grabs his camera from his bag and takes picture of sweet Rey after she has gotten fucked so hard while asleep. He takes a picture of the blood on the mattress and her red pussy that has his seed coming out of it. He groans feeling his cock hardened and he reminds himself to frame these pictures so he can always remember he was Rey’s first.

Not her stupid fucking boyfriend Poe.

He puts Rey’s shirt back on and her panties back on.

Ben puts his clothes on and he then quietly makes his way to the door of Rey's apartment, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He pauses for a moment, looking back at Rey, who is slumped on the blood, drugged and unconscious. A faint smile plays on his lips as he takes in the scene one last time.

He turns his attention to the fat black cat lounging on the couch in her living room. Noodles, Rey's beloved Cat, stretches lazily before standing up and arching its back in a stretch. Ben walks over and gently strokes Noodles' head, giving the cat a soft scratch behind the ears. Noodles purrs contentedly, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room.

"Bye, buddy," Ben whispers, his voice barely audible. He gives Noodles one last pat before standing up straight and heading towards the door. He takes one more glance around the apartment, ensuring he hasn't left anything behind, and then steps out, closing the door quietly behind him.

The sound of the latch clicking into place echoes through the hallway as Ben walks away, the duffel bag bumping against his leg with each step.

The apartment is silent, save for the soft purring of Noodles, who remains blissfully unaware of Ben's departure.

Chapter Text

Rey Nima, Upper East Side, March 1987

The shrill ring of the alarm clock cracked through the silence like a whip. Rey groaned, dragging a hand across her face before fumbling to silence it. 7:45 a.m. The numbers glared at her in red. Too early. Way too early for the way she felt.

Her body felt… heavy. Ache settled in her bones, her limbs stiff like she’d run a marathon in her sleep. She blinked up at the ornate ceiling of her room in the, her mind struggling to swim up from a fog.

She sat up slowly, wincing. Her lower back throbbed. A dull cramp twisted in her abdomen, and between her legs, a sharp discomfort made her pause.

She threw off the covers. And froze.

A dark blood stain bloomed on the white sheets beneath her thighs.

“What the hell…” she muttered aloud, heart stuttering. She touched her inner thigh, then reached down to the fabric of her panties. Her fingers came away red.

For a moment, panic flickered behind her eyes.

Then she sighed, slumping forward. “Of course. Of all mornings…”

It was just her period. A particularly rude, unexpected start—but nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she couldn’t shake how… sore she felt. Like she’d been tossed badly around in her sleep. Her muscles screamed, and her head was really foggy in a way that had nothing to do with the cramps.

Noodles, her fat black cat, hopped up onto the bed beside her, purring as he curled against her side.

Rey smiled tiredly and scratched behind his ears. “You didn’t warn me, traitor. Some familiar you are.”

Dragging herself to her feet, she shivered slightly in her tee shirt, her legs weak. The bathroom tiles were cold beneath her soles, and she caught her reflection in the mirror—dark circles under her eyes, a faint flush on her cheeks, and hair a mess of tangled honey waves.

“I look like I got hit by a cab,” she muttered, turning on the shower.

Hot water pounded against her skin as she stood under the stream, letting the warmth ease the stiffness. She tried to hum a tune—something from her Edith Piaf record last night—but it came out flat, and she stopped.

Still… there was no reason to be dramatic. Periods sucked. That was all.

After drying off, she pulled on a soft white sundress with yellow flowers scattered across it, pairing it with low heels and a cream cardigan. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror. The makeup helped; at least now she looked alive. The puffiness around her eyes was nearly hidden. She smiled at herself, practiced and bright.

Back in the bedroom, Noodles yawned loudly from his perch on the windowsill.

“Wish I could swap lives with you for a day,” she joked, grabbing her tote bag and a granola bar. “Do nothing. Nap in sunbeams. Yell for food. That’s the dream.”

She gave him a peck between the ears before heading out.

⸻

The elevator was silent as it hummed downward, the golden doors reflecting her image back at her. She dabbed her lips with tinted balm. Her head still throbbed faintly, and her stomach was cramping, but she kept her posture light, her smile ready.

When the doors opened, the marble lobby greeted her with the smell of polished wood, fresh lilies, and coffee from the café down the hall.

And there he was.

Ben Solo stood by the glass entrance, immaculate in his dark uniform, cap perfectly positioned, posture rigid and proud. He was handsome in a brooding sort of way—tall, dark-haired, always polite, but distant. Mysterious. Maybe even cold.

“Good morning, Ben!” she chirped as she stepped out, her voice warm and cheerful despite the heaviness in her bones. “You look sharp today.”

Ben’s eyes flicked over her, a subtle pause before he offered a stiff nod.

“Morning, Rey.” A beat. “You’re out later than usual.”

She blinked. “Later? No, same time as always.” She glanced at her watch. “7:55 on the dot. Like clockwork.”

Ben tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Huh. Must’ve seemed longer today.”

She smiled, brushing off the odd tone. “Maybe your morning’s dragging.”

Another pause. He studied her face. “You alright?”

Rey laughed softly. “Do I look not alright?”

“You look a little pale,” he said, voice lower now. “Tired.”

“Well,” she said with a sigh, brushing hair from her face. “Women’s troubles, you know. The kind of morning where your own body declares war.”

Ben didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered longer than necessary.

“Well… I’m sure you’ll feel better soon,” he said eventually.

She gave him a parting smile. “Nothing a triple espresso can’t fix. Have a good day, Ben.”

As she walked out into the crisp New York air, a small breeze lifted the hem of her sundress, and she tucked it down with a laugh. She looked back once, catching a final glimpse of Ben, still watching.

She shivered—though the air wasn’t cold.

Just tired, she told herself again. Sore. Cramps. That’s all.

But as she joined the sea of commuters heading toward the subway, she couldn’t shake the faint sensation trailing behind her.

Like the feeling of being watched.

Chapter Text

Ben’s POV – 1987, New York City

The air was thick with the haze of a typical New York afternoon. The sun hung low, casting a warm, golden glow across the lobby of the apartment building. Ben had just finished his rounds, the work of the day nearly behind him, but something—something about the way the elevator doors opened—made him pause.

There she was.

Rey.

She was walking with Poe, her boyfriend. The one he had seen before. The one who, for reasons Ben couldn’t explain, made his blood boil. Poe was with her now, his hand brushing the back of her neck in a way that felt too intimate, too possessive for Ben’s liking. He kept his distance, standing just outside the lobby, watching as they walked past, oblivious to his presence.

But it didn’t take long for things to spiral.

Their voices were low at first, a quiet bickering, too distant to make out. But as they neared the entrance to her apartment, their words grew sharper. Poe’s voice cracked with frustration.

“You’re unbelievable, Rey,” Poe snapped as they entered the lobby, dragging her by the wrist. His grip was too tight, his voice too loud. “I’m doing everything I fucking can, and somehow I’m still the asshole in your little victim story.”

Rey flinched, her heels scuffing the floor as she tried to pull away from him. “You’re hurting me—”

“Oh, now I’m hurting you?” he shot back with a bitter laugh. “You know what’s fucking hurting? Being with someone who acts like I don’t even exist. I’m your boyfriend, Rey. Your boyfriend. And you treat me like I’m some stranger off the street.”

Rey winced, her body tensing as she tried to pull her wrist from his grip. “Poe, stop—people can see us.”

“Let them,” he barked. “Maybe they’ll finally see what a cold, ungrateful little bitch you really are.”

Rey froze, mouth parting in shock, but Poe kept going, his anger snowballing.

“I’ve been patient. So fucking patient with you. And for what? You don’t let me touch you, you barely talk to me unless it’s about school or some boring-ass book you’re reading. I’m your boyfriend, Rey, not your fucking classmate.”

“Then please start acting like it,” she said through gritted teeth, voice trembling with both fear and fury. “Start acting like someone I’d actually want to be with.”

He laughed bitterly. “Oh, that’s rich. You won’t even let me kiss you unless I practically beg for it, and don’t even get me started on sex. It’s like I’m dating a fucking nun.”

Rey’s eyes darted around the lobby. Her face was pale, her body trembling—but the crack in her composure widened. And then she muttered, low but sharp:

“At least a nun has the balls to commit to something.”

Poe’s face twisted instantly. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Poe’s eyes darkened. He stepped in fast, and before Ben could move, his hand flew out and struck her across the face—hard.

The slap echoed through the building, sharp and sickening.

Rey gasped, stumbling back as her hand flew to her cheek. Her eyes were wide with shock, lips trembling. “Poe—” she whispered, but her voice broke off into silence.

He moved faster than he could think.

“You don’t ever put your hands on a woman,” Ben growled, his voice low, dangerous, as he shoved Poe away with a force that sent him stumbling back into the wall.

Poe sneered, his eyes flashing with defiance, but Ben wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to explode. “Don’t you dare touch her again,” he snarled, his eyes never leaving Poe’s.

Rey stood frozen, her hand trembling as it reached up to touch her reddened cheek. The shock on her face was evident—she hadn’t expected him to step in. But he had. And he wasn’t backing down.

Poe laughed, a bitter, cold sound. “You think you can protect her, huh? Do you think she wants you to?” He glared at Ben, his voice low with venom. “You’re a fucking doorman. What do you know about her life?”

Ben could feel the pulse of rage in his veins, a sick, dark hunger that threatened to take over. “I know enough to never let a piece of shit like you lay a hand on her again,” he spat.

Poe glared at him for a moment longer, then turned and stormed out of the building without a word. The door slammed shut behind him with a loud, final thud, leaving only the lingering echo of his presence in the air.

And then there was nothing but silence.

Ben turned to Rey.

She was still standing there, her cheek flushed with the aftermath of Poe’s slap. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She looked small, fragile, her shoulders hunched as she silently wiped at the tear streaks on her face. Ben could see her trying to hold herself together, but she was broken. She was breaking and deep down Ben loved every second of it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaking, barely above a breath. “Thank you so much, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes flickered to her, please cry. He wanted to say it, but he couldn’t. He just nodded, trying to push the rising excitement and happiness back down.

“Are you… alright?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes wide and uncertain. Then, as though she hadn’t been aware of the tears streaming down her face until now, she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“I… I don’t know,” she said, her voice small, fragile. She glanced at the floor, as if trying to steady herself. “Would you… would you like to come up for tea? And maybe a cookie?”

Ben hesitated. He shouldn’t go inside. He had work to do. He had to keep himself distant.

But then he saw the way she stood there, her shoulders sagging in exhaustion, her face bruised, and something in him shifted. Something dark that he couldn’t control.

“Well,” he said slowly, stepping closer. “Maybe one cookie won’t hurt.”

Her eyes lit up, a faint, relieved smile tugging at her lips. “Just one?”

He nodded, his voice low. “Just one.”

She smiled fully then, and Ben felt a strange twist in his stomach. He wanted to be here.

She led the way to the elevator, and he followed her inside. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what had just happened lingering in every breath. They rode up in silence, the hum of the elevator a quiet backdrop to the chaos unfolding in his mind. He could still feel the echo of Poe’s slap against her skin, the way she had flinched, the way she had trembled in his grip. It made his skin crawl. Made his hands itch to do something about it.

When they reached her floor, Rey stepped out first, her steps light, but there was an underlying fragility in her movement. She led him to her apartment and motioned for him to sit down on the couch.

“Please, sit,” she said softly, her voice carrying a touch of grace, even in her brokenness. “I’ll get the cookies I baked last night.” Her hands trembled as she moved to the kitchen, her back turned to him.

He didn’t sit. He couldn’t. He walked around the apartment he’s been in too many time, his eyes scanning every corner. It was cozy. Clean. And yet, it felt right. This was her sanctuary, her private space, and yet… it was a place he knew he could slip into unnoticed, every night, without her knowing. Where he could rape her every night without her knowing.

He lingered by the window, staring out at the city below. The lights of the city twinkled like stars, beautiful and far away. But they didn’t hold his attention. It was her that kept pulling him back.

Rey returned with the plate of cookies and a steaming cup of tea. She set them down on the table before him, but he didn’t sit. Not yet.

“Rey,” Ben said quietly, his voice low. “Has… has that happened before? With Poe? Has he… hit you before?”

She didn’t answer. Ben just stared at her.

He was waiting.

Finally, he spoke. “You don’t need him, Rey,” he said softly, the words heavy with meaning. “You need someone who’ll protect you, someone who’ll save you from all of this.”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she just stared at him, her face unreadable. And then she faked a grin and asked a question.

“What do you think I need, Ben?”

Ben let that question hang between them, the weight of it suffocating the air. He wanted to tell her that what she needed was him. Him. But the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he just watched her.

Chapter Text

Rey Nima, Upper East Side, March 1987

The city bled gray and blue through Rey’s window. Steam curled against the glass as she boiled water for tea, humming faintly, barefoot on the kitchen tiles.

She still hadn’t told her mother what happened. About Poe.
She didn’t know how. Or what she’d even say.

“He slapped me.”

“This isn’t the first time he’s been violent with me.”

“He looked like he wanted to kill me.”

“Ben stopped him.”

No. That last part she could never explain without sounding foolish. Or worse—like she wanted him to protect her.

But she did. And that was the strangest part of all.

There was something about Ben. Not just the way he stood between her and Poe with terrifying calm.

⸻

Rey had six classes that day. She dressed carefully, choosing a deep burgundy wool skirt with a subtle houndstooth pattern, paired with a cream silk blouse. A soft ivory cardigan rested on her shoulders, and black leather ballet flats completed the look. Her brown hair was braided neatly, and the faint scent of rose and lavender lingered in the air.

As she rummaged through her drawer for her favorite soft pink lace-trimmed underwear, she frowned. They weren’t there. She couldn’t recall where they’d gone but shrugged it off, settling for a plain white pair instead. It was a small thing, but the unease stuck with her.

Frowning, she dug deeper. Nothing.

Weird. She was sure she’d folded them just two days ago.

She picked a different pair and shrugged it off. Her suite was big and always a little bit of a mess. Maybe they were in the laundry.

But later, when she left the big bathroom, she noticed something else.

Her closet was slightly ajar.

And she always kept it shut.

⸻

Rey was finally done with her six classes that she had. She was exhausted as she stood in the hallway outside her suite, struggling with the key. The lock jammed for the third time that week. She grunted, pushing against the handle.

Ben was there in seconds.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice like velvet dipped in smoke.

She turned, startled. Then smiled, cheeks pink.

“Um—yes, please. It’s always doing this. I think the key is bent or something.”

Ben leaned in, one hand brushing past hers as he took the key. His fingers grazed her knuckles.

“You shouldn’t have to struggle with it,” he murmured. The lock clicked. “Fixed.”

Rey laughed, genuinely grateful. “You’re always saving me.”

Ben didn’t reply. Just gave her a small nod.

And then she said it. A careless, innocent thing. Said with a smile.

“You should have a spare key or something,” she joked, unlocking her suite. “I mean, you’re basically the only one who can open this door without kicking it in.”

Ben’s gaze lingered on her. Something hungry behind it.

“Maybe I should,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, cheeks still rosy from the cold, eyes warm and trusting. “Well… if you want… I could leave a spare at the desk for emergencies?”

He nodded, not too eagerly. “That’d be helpful. Just in case.”

She smiled, her voice softening. “You know, I trust you. I really do. I’m not sure why, but… you’ve always been kind to me.”

There was a pause, the air thickening between them, before Rey realized what she’d said. She blinked, her smile faltering for just a moment, but the words hung in the air, unspoken fears swallowed by the trust she had offered.

Ben didn’t respond immediately, his eyes searching hers. There was something about his stillness, the way he lingered in that moment, that made Rey feel like she had said too much—but not enough to take it back.

“Well, I appreciate that,” Ben said, his voice low and almost too smooth. “It means a lot to me, Rey.”

Rey smiled again, unsure of why she felt a small pang in her chest. “I’ll leave the key with the front desk tonight, okay?”

“Perfect,” he replied, turning to walk away.

She stood there for a moment, her hand resting lightly on the doorknob, staring after him.

⸻

That night, Rey left the key with the front desk. She wrote For Ben on the small envelope, her perfect handwriting looping like a child’s.

Back in her room, she poured herself a glass of water, turned on the TV, and sat cross-legged on the expensive couch in her silk pajamas. She didn’t know why—but she kept glancing at the door. Her thoughts wandered.

Ben had nice eyes. Quiet eyes. Not like Poe’s. He was strong, silent. He never asked for anything. Never touched her.

She liked that.

She also liked that he noticed things. Like her pink blouse. Or the way she always wore white socks with her loafers.

She bit her lip, smiling to herself, unaware of the camera in the corner blinking once, then vanishing into stillness.

Chapter Text

Ben Solo, Upper East Side, March 1987

In the dimly lit penthouse, the soft hum of the television filled the air as Rey layed unconscious on the couch, her chest rising and falling with each steady breath. Her cat, Noodles, perched on the armrest, watched Ben with curious, unblinking eyes as he quietly entered the room.

Ben, moved with a predatory grace, his eyes locked onto Rey's sleeping form. It had been a week since he last fucked her and he was craving her immensely.

He held a small cloth soaked in chloroform, which he pressed gently over her nose and mouth. Rey's breathing deepened, and she sank into an even more profound slumber.

Ben's heart pounded in his chest as he took a moment to admire her. Her lips were slightly parted, and her hair was sprawled across the couch cushion. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, his breath hitching as he began to undress her. He started with her shirt, revealing her bare breasts, and then moved to her pants, leaving her in just her underwear.

Ben quickly stripped off his uniform, his body trembling with anticipation. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, and it drove him wild. He leaned down, whispering in her ear, "You look so beautiful when you're asleep, Rey. So peaceful, so innocent. But I know what a dirty little slut you can be."

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down, exposing her completely, showing her mound that was completely shaved. He ran his hands over her thighs, up to her waist, where he gripped her tightly, leaving bruises on her soft skin.

Ben positioned himself at her entrance, feeling her wetness. He pushed his cock into her slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her warm pussy. He let out a low groan, the sensation of her tight, pussy enveloping him was almost too much to bear.

He began to move, his hips thrusting against hers as he pounded his cock into her. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the room, mingling with his grunts and her soft, unconscious moans. He leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting until she whimpered. Fuck she sounded and tasted so sweet.

Ben could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he drove into her harder and faster.

"Fuck, Rey," he gasped, his voice hoarse with pleasure. "You feel so good. So tight, so wet. I'm going to fill you up, make you take every last drop of my cum."

With a final, powerful thrust, he came, his body shuddering as he released deep inside her. He collapsed onto her, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He could feel his cum leaking out of her, a warm, sticky sensation that only turned him on more.

Ben rolled off her, a satisfied smile on his face as he looked at the creampie he had left inside her. He reached down, running his fingers through her slick folds, coating them in their combined juices. He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean as he savored the taste of her.

He dressed slowly, leaving Rey unconscious on the bed. Ben took a moment to catch his breath, his body glistening with sweat. He looked over at Rey's cat, Noodles, still perched on the armrest, its eyes following his every move. He stood up, his legs slightly shaky from the exertion.

He walked over to the kitchen, the cool tiles beneath his feet a stark contrast to the heat of his body. He opened the cabinet, pulling out a can of cat food. He popped the top, the scent of fish filling the air as he dumped the contents into a bowl. He placed the bowl on the floor, and the cat immediately pounced, its tail held high as it began to eat.

Ben then opened the refrigerator, the cold air hitting his face as he reached in for a soda. He popped the tab, the hiss of the carbonation filling the silent room. He took a long swig, the sweet, bubbly liquid refreshing his parched throat.

He leaned against the counter, his eyes drifting back to Rey's unconscious form in the bedroom. A satisfied smile played on his lips as he took another sip, his body still humming with the aftereffects of their encounter.

He knew he should leave, but he lingered for a moment longer, savoring the quiet of the penthouse. The cat looked up at him, its bowl now empty, and meowed softly. Ben chuckled, finishing his soda before placing the can in the recycling bin.

He walked back to the living room, pausing just to look at Rey one last time. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her face peaceful in sleep and peaceful even after he fucked her hard. He saw her shirt opened and the bruises formed on her waist and breast.

He turned and left, closing the door softly behind him. Noodles watched him go, its tail twitching as it settled back down on the armrest, the television's glow casting long shadows across the room.

Chapter Text

Rey Nima, Upper East Side, March 1987

Rey stirred, her eyes fluttering open to the soft, golden light filtering through the sheer curtains of her penthouse living room. She felt like she had been hit by a train, her body aching and her head pounding.

She groaned, rolling onto her side, and that’s when she noticed her pajama top was open, her breasts exposed to the cool morning air. She quickly buttoned it up, her heart racing as she tried to piece together the fragments of the night before.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her muscles protesting with every movement. She stood up, her vision swimming for a moment before steadying.

She shuffled to the bathroom, the marble floor cold beneath her feet. Rey turned on the faucet, the sound of running water filling the silence as she splashed her face with cold water.

She looked up at her reflection, her eyes meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Her complexion was pale, and her usually vibrant eyes looked dull and tired.

As Rey reached for her toothbrush, she caught a glimpse of her waist in the mirror. She gasped, her hands flying to her sides. Dark bruises marred her skin—fingerprints, clearly etched into her flesh. Her waist was bruised, and her nipples bore the telltale signs of rough handling.

Rey stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest as she sank onto the closed lid of the toilet, trembling. She felt a horrible, gnawing feeling in her stomach, a sense of unease that she couldn’t shake.

She tried to think, to remember, but her mind was a blank slate, the events of the night before a jumbled mess of shadows and echoes.

She stood up, her body screaming in protest, and turned on the shower. She stepped under the hot spray, the water cascading over her body, washing away the foggy and blank remnants of the night before.

As she gently washed between her legs, she paused, noticing a strange white substance. Her brows knitted in confusion. Sheltered by wealth and naivety, she had never thought much about her body’s quiet mysteries. She assumed it was just discharge—something normal, nothing to worry about.

Still, as she rinsed it away, a flicker of unease settled in her chest, her thoughts circling as she tried to make sense of it.

Just as Rey stepped out of the shower, the sharp, insistent ring of the landline echoed through the penthouse, slicing through the quiet like a blade.

She wrapped a towel around herself, water dripping onto the polished marble floor as she hurried into the living room. The beige rotary phone sat on a side table, its curly cord coiled like a snake.

She picked up the receiver, pressing it to her ear, her damp fingers slipping slightly on the smooth plastic.

“Hello?” Her voice was tentative, barely above a whisper.

“Rey, darling!” Her mother’s voice was unmistakable—rich, smooth, and edged with a kind of performative warmth that always made Rey tense. “I was hoping to catch you before the day completely slipped away. Honestly, it’s nearly noon—what on earth have you been doing? You sound out of breath.”

Rey adjusted the towel around her chest. “Just out of the shower.”

“Well, thank God for that. I was starting to think you’d become one of those girls who spend their mornings lazing around in bathrobes like—what’s her name—Daryl Hannah.” A sharp little laugh. “Anyway, listen. I’ve had the most exhausting morning with the interior decorator, and I thought we could meet for lunch. One o’clock?”

Rey hesitated. Her mother never called without a motive, and her invitations usually came laced with passive jabs and thinly veiled interrogations. Still, refusing would just invite more scrutiny.

“Sure,” she said, keeping her tone flat. “Where?”

“La Grenouille, of course.” Her mother sniffed, as if any other choice would be utterly beneath them. “I already rang Jacques—he’s holding our usual table. Wear that silk blouse I gave you from Bergdorf’s, the cream one. It brings out your cheekbones. And for God’s sake, heels, Rey. You’re far too petite to wear those dreadful flats all the time.”

Rey rolled her eyes, grateful her mother couldn’t see her. “Okay.”

“I’ll have Clive come get you at twelve-thirty. Be downstairs on time. Last time he waited fifteen minutes while you were still powdering your nose like some stage actress.”

“Okay,” Rey repeated, voice tight.

“Oh—and I do hope you’ve been taking care of your figure. I noticed the last time we were out that you were looking a bit… soft in the arms. You know how quickly it all goes south at your age.”

Rey glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror—wet hair clinging to her cheeks, bruises blooming beneath her towel. Her stomach turned.

“I’m fine.”

“Well. We’ll see at lunch, won’t we?” Her mother’s voice turned syrupy sweet. “Looking forward to it, darling. It’s been far too long. And who knows—maybe you’ll actually tell me what you’ve been up to for once. It’s like you’ve become a nun lately.”

Rey gave a clipped laugh. “See you soon.”

The line clicked dead without a goodbye.

Rey lowered the receiver slowly, staring at the wall for a moment, the air heavy with the echo of her mother’s voice.

She dressed quickly, her mind a whirl of thoughts and questions. She looked at her reflection one last time, her eyes meeting her own gaze in the mirror.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the day ahead.

Chapter Text

New York City, March 1987

The sun had come out in full force, casting a golden haze over the high-rise buildings of the Upper East Side.

Rey stepped out of the revolving door of the Four Seasons, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. She wore a pale blue sundress that cinched at the waist, the thin straps delicate over her shoulders. Her long, honey-brown hair was still slightly damp at the ends, curling naturally down her back. Her lips were glossed, her eyes wide and uncertain behind her large sunglasses.

And then she saw him.

Ben.

He stood near the brass entrance, tall and composed in his crisp doorman uniform. The sun caught on the sheen of his dark hair, a few unruly strands curling over his forehead. His posture was perfect, but relaxed—shoulders squared, one hand resting at his side, the other adjusting the cuffs of his white gloves. His profile was striking.

That cute, too-big nose she’d come to like so much, the dark hair that always managed to fall just over his big ears, and that unmistakable mole on his cheek—like a tiny, perfect mark of imperfection.

He looked beautiful today. And Rey’s heart fluttered for reasons she didn’t want to think too hard about.

“Hi, Ben,” she said cheerfully, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt.

He turned to her briefly and gave her a small, polite nod. “Morning, Miss Nima.”

Just that. Nothing else. His voice was low, distracted.

Rey blinked.

He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Kaydel, one of the tenants in the building. Kaydel was laughing, her manicured hand brushing Ben’s arm like she had every right to touch him. She wore red lipstick and a power suit with shoulder pads that screamed money and confidence.

Rey’s smile faltered, though she tried not to let it show. Usually Ben opened the door for her, held it like a gentleman with a ghost of a smile just for her. But today, he didn’t even notice when she reached the entrance. He was too busy listening to Kaydel giggle about whatever nonsense rich women flirt with.

Rey swallowed, pushing the door open herself.

She walked out, not looking back.

The black limousine was already waiting at the curb. Clive, the driver, stepped out wordlessly to open the back door. Rey nodded to him in quiet thanks, sliding in and settling into the cool leather seat.

She didn’t glance back at the hotel. Didn’t want to see Kaydel still laughing. Didn’t want to see Ben standing there, distracted, like she didn’t exist.

⸻

La Grenouille sat nestled on East 52nd Street like a relic of a bygone era—velvet drapes, polished brass, flowers at every table. The kind of place where the servers knew your name and the maître d’ bowed just slightly too low if he knew who you were.

Rey stepped in, the scent of lilies and old money hitting her all at once.

Her mother was already seated.

Vivienne Nima looked like she belonged to a different species altogether. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed into a French twist, her Chanel sunglasses still perched on her nose despite being inside. She wore a cream silk blouse and pearl earrings the size of grapes. A glass of champagne sparkled in her hand like it was part of the outfit.

“Darling,” Vivienne said, lifting her sunglasses to rest on her head. “Finally. You’re late.”

“I’m five minutes early,” Rey said, sliding into the booth across from her.

Vivienne waved a manicured hand. “Still late.”

A waiter arrived instantly, pouring Rey a glass of sparkling water. She ordered a salad she wouldn’t touch. Her mother didn’t look up from her menu.

“So,” Vivienne began, sipping her champagne. “How are your grades?”

Rey sighed. “Fine. Same as always. A’s.”

“Well, let’s hope they stay that way. We didn’t put you in Columbia for you to turn into a B student. And college?”

“I got on the Dean’s list.”

Her mother’s brows arched. “I know. I got the letter. I just wanted to hear you say it. And what are we majoring in again? Something lucrative, I hope?”

“English literature,” Rey said.

Vivienne pursed her lips like she’d tasted something sour. “So… broke forever.”

Rey let the silence sit.

“And Poe?” her mother asked casually, as though she were asking about a pet.

Rey tensed.

Her mother didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

“He slapped me Mom,” Rey said, voice soft but steady. “And It’s not the first time. We’re over. I’ve really had enough.”

Rey felt relief and the pressure off her chest at finally saying it out loud.

Vivienne didn’t flinch. She took a slow sip of her champagne, then set the flute down.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “you’d better find yourself another rich boyfriend, then.”

Rey stared. “What?”

Her mother arched a brow. “Look, honey. Your father and I love you, but you’re not going to be feeding off our money forever. Unless you miraculously publish the next Great American Novel—and trust me, the odds are against you—you need a plan. A real one. A smart girl marries rich. Especially if she wants to live like this.”

She gestured around the restaurant—crystal glasses, velvet seats, the hum of privilege in the air.

Rey leaned back in her seat, stunned but not surprised. Her mother had never said it outright before, but she’d always hinted.

“So that’s it?” Rey asked. “That’s your advice?”

Vivienne picked at her salad delicately. “That’s reality, sweetheart. Men are investments. You don’t fall in love with them, you acquire them. And if you’re smart, you make sure they keep you in the lifestyle you’re accustomed to. Or better.”

Rey looked down at her untouched food, a weight settling in her chest. The worst part wasn’t the cruelty—it was how numb she felt to it. This wasn’t the first time her mother disappointed her. It wouldn’t be the last.

She glanced out the window, sunlight pouring in like gold.

How was it possible that she came from someone like this?

Vivienne kept talking, something about her friend’s daughter marrying a plastic surgeon. Rey nodded, pretending to listen, but her thoughts drifted—to Ben, to the way he didn’t look at her this morning. To how lost she felt, despite how beautiful the day was.

And how deeply, profoundly alone she really was.

Chapter Text

She Looked Like Spring, and I Wanted to Ruin It

Ben Solo, Upper East Side, March 1987

She stepped out of the revolving doors like something out of a dream.

Ben saw her before she saw him.
The sun caught on her hair, turning it gold. The pale blue sundress clung to her in the breeze, swaying just enough to make his fingers twitch. Her heels clicked against the pavement like music, like something delicate trying to walk through a world far too rough.

She didn’t look real. She never did.

Rey Nima.

Untouched. Innocent. Beautiful in a way that felt cruel.

Ben stood at his post, the gold-plated entrance of the Four Seasons glinting behind him. His cap sat just above his eyes, but he tilted his head slightly so he could watch her without looking like he was watching.

Her lips curled into a smile when she spotted him.

“Hi, Ben,” she said, voice too sweet, too soft, too perfect.

And fuck—he loved when she said his name like that.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t greet her the way he usually did. Not today.

Because Kaydel was talking.

Kaydel—the blonde from the twelfth floor with legs that never ended and a mouth that never shut. She was pressed too close, her perfume nauseating, her red lipstick already on her teeth. She touched his arm when she laughed, called him “Bennie” like she knew him.

He hated her.

She was vulgar. Easy. The type of woman who thought because she had money, she could buy attention. She probably would’ve let him fuck her in the supply closet if he smiled the right way.

But that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t interested in women like her.

He only cared about Rey.

And Rey was watching.

He saw it in her eyes—the flicker of confusion, the flash of jealousy. A tightness in her mouth she didn’t know she was showing. Her steps faltered for just a second.

Ben said nothing. He let Kaydel keep talking. Let her laugh. Let her touch his sleeve again.

Because Rey was standing there.

Jealous.

Sad.

And he loved it.

It thrilled him in a way nothing else had.
She didn’t even realize what he was doing—how deliberate it was. How he wanted her to feel it. The sting. The ache. That horrible little thought creeping in that maybe he didn’t like her after all.

Of course, he did. He more than liked her. He needed her.

But he wanted her to suffer.
Just a little.

Just enough to start depending on him.

She walked out without another word, her sundress catching in the wind. And when she didn’t look back, Ben smiled.

⸻

It was too easy.

He watched from the corner of the lobby as the limo pulled away from the curb. Clive behind the wheel, Rey in the backseat—off to lunch with her plastic mother at La Grenouille. She always left around this time when her mother summoned her like a show pony.

Ben checked the front desk. Empty.

He walked toward the service elevator, the one the tenants never used. He had the master key in his pocket—one of the perks of working in luxury.

The ride up to the penthouse was silent.

When he stepped inside Rey’s apartment, he didn’t even bother turning on the lights. He liked the way the sunlight poured in through the tall windows. It made everything feel fragile.

The air smelled like her—citrus shampoo and warm linen. Her perfume lingered faintly in the hallway. He stepped out of his shoes like he lived there.

Ben walked straight into her bedroom.

He’d been here every night.

The bed was unmade, the sheets twisted from where she’d tossed and turned. The edge of her journal stuck out from beneath a pillow. He didn’t touch it. Not yet. That would come later.

Her underwear drawer was exactly where he imagined it. Third one down. Satin and lace. Everything soft.

He ran his fingers through it like it was a display case. Pale pink, white, navy—he paused when he found the one he wanted.

A lacy lavender bra, delicate and floral. The strap was slightly twisted, like she’d pulled it off in a hurry. He lifted it to his nose, breathing in deep. There was something so vulnerable about it—how small it was in his hands.

He stuffed it into his coat pocket.

Then he left.

Then he walked over to his front desk.

He pulled out a slip of hotel stationery. The pen was already there, gold-tipped and fancy. He clicked it open, thinking carefully before writing.

____________________________

“You looked beautiful today.
I like watching your nipples bounce under expensive cotton when you forget to wear a bra—don’t think I haven’t noticed. I notice everything. I like the way your face folds when you’re sad. You’re prettiest when you think no one’s looking. Especially me.

I want you to feel small. Helpless. I want you to wonder what I’ve seen—what I know. You’ll never know when I’m inside your home. You’ll never know what I’ve touched.But I touch everything. I take my time with your things. With you.You don’t realize you belong to me yet.

But you will.”

______________________

Ben folded it neatly, like a love letter.

But it wasn’t love.

It was something much worse.

⸻

He dropped the note in the building’s mail chute on his way back down. No stamp. No envelope. She’d recognize the handwriting when it landed in her mailbox. He knew she would.

He passed by Kaydel in the lobby. She waved. He ignored her.

All he could think about was the scent of Rey’s pillow. The softness of that bra in his pocket.

She had no idea how close he was.

How often he watched.
How long he’d been waiting.

And how next time, he wouldn’t just take something she wore.

He’d take her.

Chapter Text

Ben Solo, Four Seasons Hotel, New York City, 1987

Ben watched the black limo pull up from his post inside the revolving doors. He didn’t move. Just lit a cigarette and kept his eyes trained on the rear passenger door.

She stepped out slower this time. Not like this morning when her dress danced around her thighs and she practically glowed like morning light. No—now she looked… dimmer.

Something was off.

Her smile was wilted, her shoulders not as straight. And even from where he stood, Ben could see that look in her eyes. That fragile, hurt look. Like something inside her had been picked at.

But not by him.

He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding behind a polite, professional smirk. She looked sad. But not because of him.

And that made him furious .

Rey was his to unravel. His to confuse. To control. To sadden. And eventually, to save.

Not her mother. Not Poe. Not anyone else.

The glass doors swung open with the breeze, and she stepped inside. She was still wearing the sundress. Her lipstick had faded. She was holding her clutch tighter than before.

But when her eyes met his?

She smiled.

And it wasn’t fake. Not the polite kind she used on doormen or drivers or the maître d’ at La Grenouille. No. This was real. For him.

“Hi, Ben,” she said softly, with that voice that made his chest ache.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, a touch warmer than usual. He gave her a faint smile, just the corner of his mouth turning up. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t light up like she was the sun—but he didn’t freeze her out either. Just let the silence settle, calm and effortless.

That’s what made him different. The way he didn’t chase, didn’t overdo it. Just stood there, quiet and composed, like he had nothing to prove.

Rey shifted on her heels. She looked down, then back up at him, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

“I was wondering if maybe…” she started, voice small, “you’d wanna have dinner with me? Tonight?”

Ben blinked. Slow. He tilted his head slightly, as if surprised—but not thrown.

She looked nervous, like she regretted it the second it left her mouth. Like she was bracing for a no.

He didn’t give her one.

Instead, he offered a soft, almost teasing smile. “Thought you had lunch with your mother.”

Rey’s eyes narrowed, confused. “How do you know that?”

He leaned an elbow on the desk, his posture relaxed, reassuring. “Your mom always calls down. Wants to make sure you get to the restaurant on time.” He chuckled—quiet and kind. “Guess she doesn’t trust you to eat without supervision.”

Rey groaned, dragging a hand down her face as she leaned on the marble counter. “God. That’s so her. Lunch with her isn’t even lunch—it’s just her sipping champagne and reminding me I need to ‘watch my figure.’”

Ben’s smile faded into something softer. He didn’t say anything for a moment—just looked at her like he saw her, really saw her.

“You deserve better than that.”

The words were quiet, like he hadn’t even meant to say them out loud.

Rey’s cheeks turned pink. She ducked her head, then glanced up at him through her lashes.

Ben gave a slow nod, like it was a decision he’d already made. “Alright. Dinner it is.”

Rey blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. You asked, didn’t you?” He smiled again, that warm, easy kind of smile. “Meet me down here at 8:30. Cancel your driver—I’ll take you. And leave your card.” He said it gently, teasingly, with a lift of his brow. “I wanna spoil you tonight.”

“O-okay, yeah,” she said again, nodding too much, her voice shaky and light. “I’ll, um—I’ll see you then.”

Just as she turned to go, he called out, casual as ever, “Don’t forget your mail.”

“Oh! Right—thank you,” she fumbled, grabbing the envelope from the counter, her fingers brushing his just a second too long.

“I’ll see you at 8:30,” she added quickly, eyes flicking up to his.

He only smiled in return, watching her walk toward the elevator with that same soft expression.

The moment the doors closed, his face dropped.

Perfect.

Ben watched until the doors shut behind her.

Then he turned toward the front desk, dropping his cigarette into the tray. He smirked to himself as he leaned over to check the time.

8:30 couldn’t come fast enough.

⸻

Behind the polished marble desk, he reached for the security panel. His fingers moved automatically, typing in her floor, her unit.

The monitor flickered to life.

And there she was.

The grainy black-and-white camera feed showed her unlocking her penthouse door. She looked over her shoulder once—just a nervous habit—and disappeared inside.

Ben didn’t look away.

Not when she took off her heels.

Not when she untied the sash of her dress.

Not when her bare shoulders slipped free from the fabric and the sundress fell to the floor.

His breath slowed, his pupils dilated.

She had no idea he was watching. She never did.

And yet, tonight, she’d invited him in. Not just to dinner, but deeper.

Into her life.

Into her trust.

Into the place where he could finally start to rebuild her… after he slowly, carefully, completely broke her apart.

He lit another cigarette and exhaled into the silence.

She was so easy. So soft.

And she’d made her first mistake.

Letting him in.

Chapter Text

March 1987 – Upper East Side

Rey Nima’s POV

The car waiting outside the Four Seasons wasn’t the kind you saw parked along the curb for long. It was cherry red—clean, old-fashioned, and polished to the point it gleamed. She didn’t know much about cars, but it looked like something out of an old movie—convertible top up, long front, red leather seats visible through the glass. 

She wasn’t expecting him to drive something like that .

Ben leaned against it like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just rolled up in the sexiest car she’d ever seen.

His uniform was gone. In its place: a crisp white shirt tucked into dark jeans, and a black leather jacket that looked worn-in and lived-in and perfect on him. His sleeves were pushed up. His forearms were… a situation.

She almost turned around and walked back inside.

Instead, she smoothed her coat and walked toward him, her heels clicking on the sidewalk.

“You clean up nice,” she said, trying to sound casual.

He smirked. “So do you.”

Then he opened the door for her. Actually opened it, waited for her to slide inside, and then shut it gently behind her.

Poe used to lean on his horn when she took more than thirty seconds.

Ben got into the driver’s seat and looked over at her. “Ready?”

She nodded, hugging her coat tighter as he pulled into traffic.

⸻

Dinner was at some French place she’d never heard of, tucked behind a gold-trimmed awning and a polished door that didn’t even have a handle.

Inside, everything was candlelight and low music and white tablecloths that probably cost more than her rent.

She sat down across from him, trying not to fidget.

A waiter brought the menus. Ben didn’t even glance at his.

“We’ll have the ribeye, medium rare, with a baked potato,” he said smoothly. “And a cheeseburger with fries. Medium well.”

Rey blinked, confused. She glanced at him. “Wait. You—how did you know I love cheeseburgers?”

Ben’s lips curled, just barely. “Lucky guess.”

She stared at him for a beat too long.

It was probably nothing.

Just a coincidence.

A weird, perfect coincidence.

She gave a small laugh and looked down at her napkin.

Ben signaled the waiter again. “Two glasses of the ’79 red.”

The server nodded and disappeared.

Rey peeked up at him. “Wine, too?”

“You don’t drink?” he asked, raising a brow.

“I’m only 19 so no, not really,” she said quickly.

Ben leaned back, one arm stretching across the back of the booth, his eyes fixed on her like he was seeing more than she wanted to show.

“Relax,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “I’m not trying to get you drunk. I just like watching you squirm.”

⸻

When the wine came, he poured hers first. She sipped it slowly. It was warm and rich and stronger than she expected.

Ben watched her over the rim of his glass.

“So,” he said, “tell me about you.”

Her mouth was dry. She took another sip. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Don’t lie.”

She smiled shyly. “Fine. I’m an English Lit major.”

“Knew it.”

“Why?”

He tilted his head. “You’ve got a dreamy kind of face. Like you’re always somewhere else.”

She laughed, cheeks flushed. “That’s not very flattering.”

“I meant it to be.”

She looked away, sipping more wine. “I also draw. I mean—I try to. My mom doesn’t really like it. Says it’s pointless.”

“She sounds exhausting.”

Rey laughed again. The wine was definitely hitting. Her arms felt lighter, and her words came easier.

“I just like it. Sketching things that don’t exist. Making little worlds in the corners of notebooks.”

Ben’s hand slid over hers on the table.

Her voice hitched, but she didn’t move.

His thumb rubbed across her knuckles.

“You ever show anyone your drawings?”

She shook her head. “They’re kind of… private.”

“Maybe one day.”

She smiled. Nervous and warm and fluttery inside.

When the food arrived, her eyes lit up. The burger was perfect. Toasted bun. Crispy fries.

“You really did guess right,” she said, half-laughing. “I never let myself eat this stuff.”

Ben raised a brow. “Why not?”

“My mom says it’ll ruin my figure.”

“She sounds like she needs to be pushed down a flight of stairs.”

Rey choked on her wine, laughing.

He leaned in. “I’m kidding.”

⸻

Somewhere between the last bite of her burger and her second glass of wine, his hand found her thigh.

She froze for a second. His palm was warm through her dress. His thumb made slow, steady circles on her naked skin.

She couldn’t even finish her sentence. Just blinked, stared at her empty plate, heart pounding.

And she didn’t stop him.

She didn’t want to.

His touch was so gentle it almost felt… reverent. Like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

But he was.

Every movement was intentional.

Rey swallowed hard. Her cheeks were on fire, and she couldn’t blame the wine entirely.

“I feel…” she whispered, “kind of dizzy.”

Ben didn’t blink. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

The words should’ve been ordinary. But the way he said them—they stuck in her.

I’ve got you.

⸻

They lingered at the table longer than necessary. Rey was soft with wine, drowsy and full, her head light as she leaned back against the booth cushion.

He watched her the whole time.

“How do you afford this?” she asked quietly, almost sleepily. “Doormen don’t usually make…”

She trailed off. She didn’t want to offend him.

Ben didn’t blink.

“I have other incomes,” he said simply.

Rey nodded. “Like a second job?”

“Something like that.”

The same answer as earlier.

A flicker of discomfort stirred in her chest again. A little whisper of something odd.

She looked down at his hand on her thigh.

But it didn’t feel wrong . It felt warm. Comforting.

Not like Poe.

Poe had been rich, too. But he had never listened. Never smiled when she talked about books. Never remembered what she liked. Poe had touched her like he owned her.

Ben touched her like she was something breakable.

“Why’d you become a doorman?” she asked suddenly, looking up at him.

Ben blinked. Smiled slowly.

“I like people,” he said. “I like keeping an eye on things.”

“Really?”

“There’s one person I keep an eye on the most.”

Rey tilted her head, lips curling. “Aww. Who?”

He looked at her, something flickering behind his eyes.

Dark. Unreadable.

“Oh,” he said softly. “You don’t know them.”

She laughed gently, thinking it was a joke.

“Mysterious.”

But her skin prickled a little under his touch.

She told herself the coincidence with the cheeseburger was just that—a coincidence.

That he was just lucky.

Just sweet.

Chapter Text

March 1987 – Manhattan
Rey Nima’s POV

Soon dinner was over.

Ben drove, one hand loose on the wheel, the other draped casually over the console—close enough to touch, but not quite.

She was warm. Maybe from the wine, or maybe from the way his hand had sat on her thigh through most of dinner. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. The slow press of his palm. The circles. The heat.

His car smelled like leather and something sharp—aftershave and nice cologne. It suited him.

He glanced over once as they pulled up in front of her building. “Here we are.”

She didn’t move. Just looked down at her hands on her lap. “Do you…want to come in?”

The question left her lips before she fully registered she was asking it.

He smiled, that slow, unreadable smile. “Only if you’re sure.”

She nodded and grinned .

He was already out of the car, walking around to open her door for her. His hand reached out to help her down, and she took it, skin brushing skin.

His touch lingered, with his arms wrapped around her waist.

Upstairs, the elevator ride was quiet. She felt her pulse in her neck, in her wrists, in her ears. Her head was still a little light from the wine. Or maybe it was from him.

The key clicked in the lock. She stepped inside, the soft sound of her heels echoing across the marble tile. The penthouse was too quiet. Her mother was out. Thank God.

She walked toward the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to—”

It happened so fast.

Her back had barely turned before she felt him behind her—on her. A sharp push between her shoulder blades sent her stumbling forward until her chest met the door. Her hands slapped against it for balance.

And then—his mouth.

His mouth was on her neck, hard and fast, trailing up to her jaw, and before she could even breathe, his lips crashed down on hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was a claim.

She gasped, and he took the opportunity—his tongue slid past her lips like it belonged there, deep and slow and unforgiving. She moaned into it without meaning to, dizzy from the sudden hunger in him, dizzy from how good it felt.

His hands were on her waist, gripping hard, holding her in place. He wasn’t letting her move. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Her head swam. Her knees trembled.

The kiss was too much. His tongue was everywhere—hot, invasive, possessive—licking into her mouth like he was starving. Like he had waited years for this.

And Rey—Rey melted. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She pressed them against the door and let him take control.

She had never kissed like this before.

Never been kissed like this before.

Not by Poe. Never by Poe.

Ben kissed like he needed to ruin her. Like she was his and always had been.

His thigh nudged between hers, and something deep in her fluttered—something low, aching, unfamiliar. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

She felt butterflies. But not the light, flirty kind.
The kind that swarmed, wild and electric, in her stomach—and lower.

She felt the heat of him even through their clothes, his body flush against her back, his hand roaming down her waist, over the swell of her hip.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.

She gasped, blinking up at him, dazed.

Ben stared at her, chest rising and falling, jaw tight. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. Unreadable.

“You…” she whispered, voice hoarse.

He reached out and touched her cheek, thumb brushing over her flushed skin like he was trying to memorize the feel of her.

“I should go,” he said lowly, but he didn’t move.

Rey could barely breathe. Her lips were tingling, her whole body still pressed against the door like she’d been pinned there by something bigger than him—by something invisible and electric and terrifying.

“Ben,” she said, almost breathless.

He leaned in and pressed one last kiss to her lips—softer this time. Lingering. Like he was sealing something.

Then he whispered in her ear:

“Lock your doors.”

Her blood ran cold. But not in fear. Not exactly.

By the time she turned to look at him, the door had already closed behind him.

She stood there, heart thundering, lips swollen, nerves buzzing.

That kiss…

She touched her mouth. Her fingers trembled.

What was that?

She should’ve been scared. Maybe.
But she wasn’t.

She just felt… wanted.
More than Poe had ever made her feel.

And maybe that was enough to silence the gut feeling in the back of her head.

For now.

Chapter Text

Rey Nima’s POV March 1987 – Manhattan 

The phone rang once.

Then again.

She was halfway through a Jane Eyre reread, curled on the chaise in her living room, still wearing her softest sweater and a pair of socks that didn’t match. The stereo hummed quietly in the corner—New Order this time.

She reached for the phone, heart fluttering.

“Rey.”

Her heart stuttered.

“Ben,” she breathed.

“I’m off shift. You eaten?”

“N-not yet,” she said, cheeks heating. “I was just—reading.”

“You like pizza?”

She smiled faintly. “Of course.”

“Good,” he said. “Put on your coat. I’ll be there in ten. Put something warm on.”

He said it. Simple, soft. But there was no room for argument in his tone. It was sweet—but commanding. Like he’d already decided, and she only had to fall in line.

She should’ve said no. It was late, she wasn’t dressed, and she’d already washed her hair.

But instead she said, “Okay.”

And she meant it.

—

She wore a cream wool coat over her jeans and turtleneck, her cheeks already pink from rushing and the cold.

Rey met Ben outside her hotel. His Jean jacket looked even better, and his dark hair was a mess in the wind.

“Hey,” she breathed.

Ben’s eyes raked over her. “You look warm.”

“You told me to dress that way.”

“I like when you listen.” He said to her wrapping his arm around her waist as they walked to the pizza place.

The place was a quiet little pizza joint tucked between two shuttered storefronts on 2nd Avenue. It was dim inside, the smell of pepperoni and garlic thick in the air, the walls plastered with faded pictures of Yankees players and local regulars from decades ago.

Ben held the door open for her.

He didn’t ask what she wanted—just ordered two slices, a Coke, and a grape soda.

“I like grape,” she mumbled, surprised when he handed it to her.

“I know,” he said simply.

She blinked. “But I never told you—”

“You mentioned it once. In the lobby. You thought I wasn’t listening.”

Rey couldn’t remember that at all.

But she didn’t say anything.

He just sat down beside her in the booth, close enough that his thigh brushed hers. His body took up half the bench, long legs stretched out, his jacket slung over the seat.

He kept his eyes on her as she ate, Rey was talking about classes and Ben just watched her with quiet intensity.

Not in a judging way.

In a learning way. Like he was memorizing her.

_________________________________

The sky was pale and washed out, the trees still bare from winter, branches clawing at the sky.

Rey tucked her gloved hands into her coat pockets and kept talking. Rey talked. About her classes, a new book she was reading, how her professor always smelled like pipe smoke and regret.

Ben didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

She turned her head to glance at him and didn’t notice the uneven curb.

“—and then I told him, ‘You can’t compare Frankenstein to Moby Dick, they’re not even—’”

Her heel caught. Her balance tipped.

She let out a yelp—but before she could hit the pavement, he caught her.

His hand tightened around her waist. “Careful,” he murmured, voice low.

Both arms wrapped around her middle, hauling her against his chest like she weighed nothing. Her feet were barely on the ground. Her breath caught as she looked up.

She stared up at him, breath caught.

The difference in height had never felt more real.

He was a giant—6’8, towering over her like a wall of warmth and muscle and stillness. Rey barely came up to his chest, her head tilted all the way back to meet his eyes.

Ben looked down at her.

He didn’t speak.

Just stared.

And then—his hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, tugging her in.

Her breath caught.

She felt it before it happened—the press of his body against hers, the cold wind between them disappearing. Then his mouth was on hers.

Soft at first. Barely there.

Then deeper. Hotter.

His mouth moved slowly but deeply, lips parting hers with purpose. His tongue slipped past her lips—slow, claiming, possessive. He kissed like he meant something by it. Like he needed her to feel it in her bones. She made a noise in the back of her throat, She gasped a little, and he took it—his tongue sliding between her lips, licking into her mouth like he’d been thinking about this all day. clinging to the front of his coat as his mouth worked over hers, tongue stroking hers with maddening precision.

Rey melted.

It wasn’t polite.

Her hands fisted in the front of his jacket. Her knees wobbled, her cheeks flushed.

She whimpered into the kiss, breathless and overwhelmed. It was too much. Not enough.

His tongue moved with slow precision, curling over hers, sliding deep before retreating, only to do it again. His teeth scraped her bottom lip, and her head spun.

His hands slid down her back, gripped her hips and ass, pulled her closer until her body was crushed to his, every inch of her dwarfed by him. Her toes barely touched the pavement. She felt dizzy—completely gone.

Someone passed by. She heard footsteps, a faint gasp. Ben didn’t stop.

He kissed her like there was no one else in the world. Like he didn’t care who saw. Like he wanted them to see.

When he finally pulled back, He licked his lips while looking at her hungrily as her lips were swollen. Her eyes glazed.

Rey was panting, her cheeks red, her fingers still clenched in his coat.

“I…” Her voice wobbled. “D-D-Do you want to come up to my place? We could—watch a movie or read a book. Or something.”

He was quiet.

Then he kissed her again—just once. Slow and firm.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not tonight.”

Rey’s stomach dropped. “Oh. I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said sharply. Then gentler: “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her eyes flicked up to his.

“I’ve got business tonight.”

“What kind of business?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The kind I won’t talk about in front of you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, cupping her chin. “And next time… don’t invite me over unless you mean it.”

“I—I did,” she whispered.

“I know.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “That’s why I’m saying no.”

“Why?”

“Because when I come over,” he said, voice dropping, “I’m not going to leave. And I’m really not the kind of man your mother wants in her daughter’s penthouse.”

Rey swallowed.

She was trembling again.

Ben leaned in, brushed one last kiss over her cheek. “Come on let’s get you home.”

Ben walks her to back to her hotel.

Rey goes Inside the lobby, seeing the doorman asleep in his chair, the TV humming with static behind the front desk. She crossed quickly to the row of brass mailboxes and twisted her key into hers.

Junk mail. Bills. More bills. One envelope with no return address.

Her heart gave a quick little stutter.

She hesitated.

It wasn’t the first one. There’d been another last week. She’d thrown them out, assuming they were some pathetic attempt from Poe to rattle her.

Still. Her fingers dug into the sealed edge and ripped it open.

Inside was a single sheet of cheap printer paper. No signature. Just blocky, typewritten words spaced unevenly across the middle of the page.

“You look better when you cry.
I bet your cunt’s even tighter when you’re scared. Keep walking home alone. I like watching your little hips move.”

Her breath caught.

The page fluttered from her fingers and landed on the floor. She stared at it like it might disappear if she blinked hard enough. Her skin crawled. Every part of her screamed to run.

But she didn’t.

She told herself it had to be Poe. Probably high. Probably bitter. Maybe trying to scare her into calling him back.

She picked up the note with the tips of her fingers, shoved it into her purse, and told herself again: it’s nothing.

Still, she deadbolted the door twice that night. And when she turned off the light, her hand lingered on the switch, as if she expected someone to be standing behind her.

Chapter Text

BEN SOLO POV: “PRETTY BOY POE”
1987 – New York City

The night stank of piss and neon. The alley reeked like every other artery of this diseased city, thick with rot and desperation, but Ben barely noticed. His back pressed into the crumbling brick wall as he watched the man unzip his fly, wobbling in place, too drunk or too stupid to care someone else was standing nearby.

“Just a quick piss,” the guy mumbled to himself, swaying. Rich, entitled. His suit cost more than Ben’s rent.

Ben stepped forward, silent. A gloved hand shot out, grabbed the guy by the back of the neck. A glint of silver in the dark, and then a slick whisper—metal meeting flesh. The man gasped, or tried to. Blood bubbled from his throat before he could finish.

Ben dumped the twitching body in a dumpster. Slammed the lid shut. He grabbed the man’s ID from his pocket and elite invite to the exclusive club.

“Thanks for the invite,” he muttered.

—

The nightclub was the kind of place with no name and no rules. Just velvet ropes, whispered passwords, and cocaine in every restroom. Inside, lights pulsed low and red, like a heartbeat from hell. The music was pure sex—sweaty, synthetic, loud. He blended in easy, tall and sharp in the dead guy’s suit, blood already drying under his nails.

Ben didn’t even want to be here. He should be inside Rey. But instead he was doing this. He needed to do this.

Ben spotted Poe Dameron almost immediately. At the bar, laughing with his little friends—Finn, Bazine. All of them dressed like spoiled cokeheads, teeth flashing under the strobes. Poe was nursing a whiskey, leaning over, grinning. Loud enough that Ben could hear him over the music.

“She was loaded,” Poe said, shaking his head. “Had that whole penthouse and not a single ounce of fun in her. Fucking prude. Wouldn’t give it up. All that money and no idea what to do with a dick.”

Bazine laughed too loud. “Some girls just like to play innocent, babe.”

“Frigid little bitch,” Poe slurred, shooting back his drink. “She dumped me for nothing. She’ll regret it when she realizes she blew it.”

Finn nodded. “Probably still a virgin.”

Ben’s jaw clenched. He didn’t blink. Just stood in the shadows and waited, calculating.

—

When Poe went dancing with Bazine, Ben moved. Calm, like clockwork. A little vial from his pocket. The bartender didn’t notice—the guy was too busy flirting with Finn.

A swirl of white in amber. Ben stirred it with Poe’s own straw.

—

Minutes passed. Poe returned, sweat on his brow, hair damp. He grabbed the glass, laughing at something Finn shouted across the bar. Drank deep. All of it.

The change hit fast. Ten minutes later, Poe was wobbling, blinking like the floor had started breathing.

“Where the fuck…” he muttered, spinning around. “Bazine?”

Ben was beside him before he could fall.

“Hey, Poe,” he said, voice calm. “Your father sent me. Said it’s time to go.”

Poe blinked at him. “What? That fucker found me?” He shook his head. “No—no, I’m not leaving. He can go fuck himself.”

Ben smiled, guiding him toward the exit. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s talk about it in the car.”

—

Poe was out cold before they even left Manhattan. Slumped in the seat like a discarded doll, mouth open, drooling.

Ben drove through the dark, past empty buildings and broken glass, out toward the edge of nowhere.

—

When Poe woke up, the warehouse stank like rust and cold. Chains clinked in the distance. His arms were bound to the chair, thick rope biting into his skin. His legs too. He struggled, screamed—

“HELLO? WHAT THE FUCK?!”

A click. A flame.

Ben lit a cigarette in the corner. The ember glowed like a devil’s eye.

“Who the fuck are you?” Poe cried. “Why am I tied up? Where the fuck am I?”

Ben exhaled slow, smoke curling around his lips. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Don’t you rich kids ever shut the fuck up?”

Poe thrashed. “Why are you doing this?”

Ben chuckled darkly. “I’m here for the frigid bitch who just wouldn’t give out.”

Poe squinted. Confused. “Rey?”

Ben nodded once. “Yeah. And, by the way… that prude’s pussy? Tightest cunt I’ve ever been in. It’s a shame she didn’t give it to a piece of shit like you.”

Poe’s face twisted in rage. “You motherfucker!” He fought against the ropes, skin starting to tear.

Ben stood slowly. His boots echoed against the concrete. “I don’t want this to take long. I’ve got Rey’s pussy to be inside soon and you’re taking up time.”

He picked up the axe. Heavy. Beautiful.

Poe’s eyes widened in horror. “Wait—wait, let’s talk about this! Why are you doing this?! I didn’t do anything to you!”

Ben swung the axe casually like a golf club. “Simple, man. You hurt my girl. You made her sad. And I should be the only man on Earth who ever makes her scared or sad.”

Poe trembled. His voice cracked. “Please… man, I—I don’t wanna die.”

Ben’s lips curled into a smile. He shrugged. “Too bad. ’Cause you are.”

THUNK.

The axe came down fast. Poe screamed as his arm flew off, blood fountaining across the floor.

Ben licked a crimson streak from his lips. “Mmm. Sweet.”

SWING. Both legs. Gone. Bone splintered. Tendons snapped. Poe’s screams were guttural now, inhuman.

Then—silence. One more swing.

CRACK. Poe’s head hit the ground, rolled to Ben’s boots.

Ben bent, picked it up by the hair. Looked into the dead, glassy eyes. “Pretty Boy Poe,” he said, tapping the nose. “Guess I’ll see you in hell.”

He placed the head on the chair. Snapped a photo with a Polaroid. The flash lit up the blood-slick walls for one bright second.

Then he pulled out his pocket phone. Dialed.

“It’s done,” he said. “Come get the body. And burn the place.”

He lit another cigarette. Watched the blood pool around his boots. Smiled.

Chapter Text

Four Seasons Hotel, March 1987 – New York City

The elevator creaked its way down to the basement.

Ben stepped off into the dim, concrete corridor of the hotel’s underbelly. The fluorescent light above flickered as he walked past exposed pipes and old storage crates, the weight of the night settling heavy on his shoulders. His boots left faint prints in the damp dust. The smell of mold, rust, and industrial soap clung to the air—sharp and metallic. A single bulb lit the door to his room.

It was technically a utility space.
But he lived there.

A small bed in the corner. A metal rack of clothing. A dented mini-fridge.
A desk littered with wires, switches, and his laptop.

And a small bathroom with a single showerhead and stained tile walls.

He stepped into the bathroom, peeled off his jacket—then his shirt, soaked with sweat and something darker.

Poe’s blood had already started to dry.

It smeared across his chest like paint when he turned on the water and stepped under the freezing spray. His jaw clenched. The water sluiced over the ridges of his muscles, streaking pink down the drain. He scrubbed hard. Silent. Efficient.

There was no guilt in his movements.
Just purpose.

He ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back, and let the cold bite into him until his skin burned.

By the time he stepped out and toweled off, his body steamed. He stood in front of the cracked mirror, bare-chested, droplets tracing down the hard line of his abdomen.

Back in his room, he tugged on a clean pair of dark jeans and a fitted black tee. His hair was still wet, clinging to the nape of his neck, but he didn’t care. He sat down at his desk and tapped his laptop awake.

The surveillance feeds loaded.

One by one, he scanned the black-and-white footage— of Rey’s penthouse.

And then…There she was.
_______________________

Curled on her couch in a knit sweater, blanket thrown haphazardly over her legs, a bowl of popcorn tucked into her lap. Her glasses were perched on her nose, hair messy from where she’d been playing with it while watching the movie.

She was watching something—dark. Gruesome. He could tell by the flicker of the screen and the way her eyes widened at jump scares.

Ben’s lips curved faintly. She was so soft. So oblivious. So… his.

He stood.

Slipped on his boots. Ran a hand through his hair. And left the basement.

—

The knock on her door came loud and sudden.

Rey jumped. The movie had been a bad choice—some horror flick set in a remote house, full of creaking floors and faceless killers. Her heart was already racing.

She set her bowl aside, tiptoed to the door, and peeked through the peephole.

Ben.

Her heart did a strange flip.

He looked… different. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the edges, and he wore a tight black shirt that clung to his chest and arms like a second skin. He smelled good even before she opened the door—clean soap, something woodsy, and unmistakably him.

She blinked up at him. “Ben,” she said softly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “You—uh—I didn’t think you were coming tonight at all.”

He stepped inside before she could second-guess the invitation. His height filled the space, his presence so large it pushed the air right out of the room.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he said, eyes scanning her penthouse, “but… business ended a little early.”

She nodded, closing the door behind him.

“You want something? Water? Coffee? Tea?”

Ben sank into the couch without answering. His jeans stretched taut over thick thighs, and his arms rested along the back of the couch like he owned it. His shirt hugged his torso in a way that made her throat dry.

He shook his head. “I’m good.”

She fidgeted near the edge of the coffee table, chewing her bottom lip.
His gaze tracked the movement.
Then he patted the spot beside him.

“Come sit down.”

She hesitated. Then sighed. And obeyed.

Rey sat, keeping a small sliver of distance between them. But she could still feel the heat radiating from him.
He looked at the screen—seemed invested for all of three seconds.

Then he picked up the remote and hit pause.

Silence. Rey blinked, turning toward him.

“Ben?”

He shifted closer. Leaned in until his scent and his breath surrounded her.

Then he kissed her. Rough. No warning. No hesitation. His lips crashed onto hers with raw hunger, hands already cupping her face as he tilted her chin up to take more.

Her breath hitched. He muttered against her lips, “I missed you.”

Rey whimpered, hands flying to his chest. “You just saw me—”

“I always miss you, Rey.” His voice was a growl.

He kissed her again—deeper this time.
His tongue slid into her mouth like he owned it, and she gasped into him, hands fisting in his shirt. Her back hit the cushions. He leaned over her, one arm braced behind her head, the other gripping her waist.

The kiss was rough and consuming. His teeth grazed her lip, tugged it between his, and she moaned before she could stop herself.

“I—Ben—” He didn’t answer. Just stood. And pulled her with him.

Rey blinked, dazed, as he scooped her up like she weighed nothing. Her arms looped instinctively around his neck.

“Ben—what are you—”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak.

He just walked toward her bedroom with purpose. He lays her down on the bed and looks down at her shy innocent face and body. He already ruined her but this time she will know and be awake to witness it.

His jaw was tight. His eyes dark.

Rey trembled.And she didn’t fight it.

She couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

Because something about the way he held her… Something about the way he kissed her like he needed her…

Told her that whatever had ended early—Whatever business he’d taken care of.

Wasn’t over yet. Not really. Not for him.

And certainly not for her.

Rey's pajama pants are the first to go, her legs exposed to the cool air of the room. She blushes, trying to act innocent and shy. "Ben…M-Maybe we should slow down," she suggests, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ben's response is a low, dark chuckle. "Now Why would I do that?" he asks, his hands moving to hook his fingers into the waistband of her panties. "I want you now, Rey. And I'm going to have you."

Pressing a hand to her pussy, Ben feels how wet and ready Rey was for him. Wrapping his fingers in the fabric, he slowly took her panties off slowly, his eyes feasting on her shaved pussy. Not at any point did she stop him.

She was fucking stupid. So fucking innocent. So fucking His. He owned every part of her. Her mind, body, soul and her pussy.

Here she was in her bed with him and she was going to let him fuck her, let him lick her sweet cunt til she unravels. She had no idea who he really was or what he did. He had just killed her stupid useless ex boyfriend, dismembered his body just 3 hours ago.

He has raped and drugged Rey so many times while she has been asleep and honestly she should be pregnant by now.

Ben stood at the edge of the bed, just looking at her for a moment—completely spread open for him, glistening and flushed. His breath hitched, eyes devouring every inch of her bare, trembling body.

“Fucking hell, Rey,” he murmured.

Then he dropped to his knees, leaning in slow. His tongue traced a deliberate, wet path up her inner thigh, stopping just before her pussy. She whimpered, hips twitching, already aching for his mouth.

He finally touched her—sliding one thick finger between her soaked folds, feeling how slick and ready she was. His cock throbbed in response.

“You’re dripping,” he growled, gaze locked on her heat. “You want this so bad, don’t you?”

Rey moaned helplessly, her hips rising off the bed, inviting more—begging without a single word. Her pussy was slick, flushed, glistening with her arousal.

Ben used both hands to spread her open, groaning at the sight of her swollen clit. He dove in without mercy, licking a broad, slow stripe up her pussy, savoring the first taste of her.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, his voice thick and ruined. “You taste fucking perfect.”

He worked her over with his tongue, licking between her folds, teasing her entrance, then focusing on her clit. His tongue circled it, flicked it, sucked on it until she was moaning uncontrollably.

Rey arched up, crying out his name—again and again, breathless and desperate.

“Ben—Ben—Ben—”

He smirked against her pussy, eating her like a man obsessed. “Keep saying my name, baby,” he rasped. “Let everyone in this fucking building know who’s making you fall apart.”

He sealed his lips around her clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking over it as she bucked beneath him. Her thighs trembled, her voice hitched. She was so close.

At the same time, he began loosening his slacks with one hand, desperate to relieve the painful ache in his cock. When he finally pulled it free, he hissed through his teeth—it was so hard it throbbed in his fist.

One more whimper from her and he was ready to lose it.

“You’re gonna make me fucking come just from this pussy,” he muttered, stroking his cock slow as he went back to her clit. “So soft. So sweet. And it’s all fucking mine.”

Rey was moaning now—loud, shameless, her fists tangled in the sheets as her hips rolled helplessly against Ben’s mouth. His tongue was relentless, slick and skilled, working her over with filthy precision.

“Mmm, fuck, you taste so fucking sweet,” Ben growled against her, tongue flattening over her clit before dipping low again. “This pussy’s soaked, baby. You were made for this.”

Each word sent shivers down her spine, her legs trembling around his shoulders. He latched onto her clit and sucked, slow and deep, before moving back down to thrust his tongue inside her—fucking her with it, groaning like a man starved.

Her breath hitched, coming in ragged, high-pitched gasps.

“That’s it,” he muttered, voice rough and thick with lust. “Ride my face, Rey. Fuck, I want you to come all over my tongue.”

Then his fingers slid in—two of them, thick and slow, curling just right as he stretched her open, preparing her for what was coming.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he demanded, tongue circling her clit again, fingers pumping deep. “Let me feel that tight little pussy clench around my tongue.”

That did it.

Her whole body locked up as the orgasm tore through her—sharp, sudden, overwhelming. She cried out, high and broken, thighs clamping around his head as she shattered apart.

Ben groaned low in satisfaction, licking her through it, slow and filthy, not wasting a single drop of her slick. When he finally pulled away, his lips and chin were wet, his eyes dark with hunger and pure male pride.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, standing up slowly. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

He reached for his belt, undoing it with one hand, eyes locked on her wrecked body—her chest heaving, her skin flushed, her thighs glistening. He pushed his jeans and boxers down, his cock springing free—thick, flushed, impossibly hard.

Rey’s eyes widened. She swallowed, nervous and aching. “Ben… I don’t think that’s going to fit.”

He chuckled darkly, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking it slow, deliberate. “Oh, sweetheart… it’s going to fit.”

He leaned over her, catching her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, licking into her like he owned her. Then he broke the kiss and dragged his lips down her neck, his breath hot on her skin. When he reached her pulse, he nipped—hard enough to make her gasp.

The sting faded into heat, into something filthy and dizzying.

Rey moaned softly, her body already arching for him.

“Of course it’ll fit, baby,” he growled, voice rough against her skin. “I’m gonna stretch this pussy wide open. You’re gonna take every fucking inch.”

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock dragging through her slick folds, teasing her entrance. She was soaked—absolutely drenched—and it made him groan low in his throat.

“Fuck, Rey,” he breathed, voice ragged with need. “You’re dripping for me. This pussy’s starving, isn’t it? Just begging to get filled.”

Rey’s breath hitched, her thighs trembling as she felt him nudge right against her opening.

“Ben… you should put on a condom,” she whispered, her voice soft, uncertain. “Please…”

He stilled—but only for a second. His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. Then his voice dropped, smooth and firm.

“I don’t need one, baby. I had a vasectomy. I’m clean. You’re safe with me.” The lie slipped off his tongue like silk.

Rey bit her lip, still unsure, but her body betrayed her—tense, breathless, already letting him in.

“O-okay,” she whispered. “Just… please be gentle. I’ve never—”

Ben froze, his cock twitching at her words. His eyes flashed with something primal—surprise, possession, hunger.

“You’re a virgin?” he murmured acting shocked, He leaned in close, kissing her deeply, tongue claiming her mouth as his hand gripped her jaw.

“Goddamn,” he growled against her lips. “Rey fucking Nima. Sweet, shy little thing… giving her virginity to the doorman. You know how filthy that is?”

She whimpered, and he grinned—slow, wicked.

“You’ve been saving yourself, and for who? Me?” he pushed forward just enough for her to feel the pressure of him starting to stretch her open. “You want me to be the first cock this pussy ever takes? You sure about that, baby? Because once I’m inside, I’m not pulling out.”

“You don’t know how hard you’re going to regret this.” He mutters lowly.

“I’m going to ruin you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Stretch this tight little virgin pussy open and fill you up until you don’t even remember what it’s like to be untouched.

Rey’s eyebrow furrow but before she can say anything. He slides into her, roughly. Rey screams and he begins to push into her sweet tight pussy, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust to the sensation. Rey's nails dig into his shoulders, her breath coming in short gasps as she feels him fill her completely.

Ben begins to thrust into Rey, his groans filling the room. His movements start slow, but quickly gain momentum, becoming harder and rougher. Rey moans, a mix of pain and pleasure echoing in her voice. She scratches at his back, her nails leaving red marks on his skin.

He pulled out halfway, then thrust back in—harder this time. She gasped, body jolting.

“Yeah,” he groaned. “That’s it. Take it. You’re mine now. No one else gets to touch this. No one else gets to fuck you.”

His thrusts got rougher, deeper, his voice more unhinged.

“I’m gonna fill you up, Rey. Gonna make sure you feel me leaking out of you all night. No condom. No pulling out. Just me, bare, inside you.”

"I thought you were going to be gentle," she gasps, her voice strained.

Ben's response is a dark chuckle, his voice hoarse with lust. "Yeah, baby, I changed my mind," he growls, his hips slamming against hers with increased force. He's deep inside her, but he wants more. He wants to claim every inch of her, to make her scream his name.

Without warning, Ben pulls out, and the sudden emptiness rips a gasp from Rey’s throat. Her slick cunt clenches around nothing, desperate for him again. She barely has time to whimper before he grabs her and flips her onto her stomach, rough hands manhandling her like she weighs nothing.

“Get the fuck up,” he snarls, shoving a pillow beneath her hips and forcing her ass in the air. Rey’s breath stutters as her cheek hits the mattress, her body trembling with anticipation, need dripping down her thighs.

Ben positions himself behind her, one hand spreading her ass while the other guides his cock right back to her soaked cunt. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t wait—just slams back in, burying himself balls-deep in one ruthless stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, grinding his hips against her ass as her pussy grips him tight.

Rey cries out, the sound muffled in the pillow. Her back arches, fingers clawing at the sheets as Ben starts fucking her—hard, relentless, like he owns her. His cock slams in and out of her slick heat, thick and heavy, stretching her so wide she sees stars.

His pace is brutal, balls slapping against her soaked cunt with every thrust. He leans over her, one hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head up so she hears him loud and filthy in her ear.

“Listen to how fucking wet you are,” he growls, voice low and feral. “This messy little pussy’s swallowing my cock. You were made to get fucked like this, weren’t you? Like a filthy little whore.”

Rey moans, broken and needy, her body shaking as the bed rocks beneath them. Her ass bounces with every brutal thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Ben’s nails dig into her hips, gripping her so tight she knows she’ll be bruised tomorrow, marked by him—and the thought turns her on even more.

His breath is ragged, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his body and onto her back. He pounds into her like he can’t get deep enough, like he wants to fuck her through the mattress. Her walls flutter around him, stretched to the limit, so slick and soaked he glides in effortlessly.

“Fucking hell, Rey,” he grits out, hips slamming harder, faster. “You feel so fucking good. So tight. I’m gonna ruin this pussy.”

And he does. Over and over again. Until she’s sobbing into the pillow, her body trembling, her clit throbbing from the friction and pressure.

He grabs a fistful of her ass and spreads her open wider, groaning at the sight of his cock disappearing into her. “Look at that—taking every inch like a good little fucktoy.”

Rey lets out a desperate cry, her body on the edge again, ready to explode.

He reaches around her waist, fingers zeroing in on her clit, rubbing it in tight, relentless circles that sync perfectly with his hard, brutal thrusts. Rey lets out a ragged moan, her back arching, ass pressing back to meet every deep stroke.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ben growls, breath hot against her neck. “You fucking love this, don’t you? Love getting your pussy wrecked while I rub your needy little clit like this?”

Rey can’t even form words, just chokes out a moan that turns into a whimper. Her body’s trembling, heat coiling in her belly, teetering on the edge of something filthy and mind-shattering. His words are crude, soaked in lust, but they make her clench around him, desperate for more.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he grunts. “So fucking wet. Dripping all over my cock. You were made for this—made to take me this deep.”

He leans forward, pinning her beneath him, his chest flush to her back, his teeth biting down hard on the curve of her shoulder. She gasps, the sting only adding fuel to the fire raging in her blood.

“I’m gonna fill this tight pussy up,” he snarls. “Gonna pump you full of cum. Knock you up so you can’t go anywhere. You’ll be dripping with me for days, baby. My fucking mess. My girl.”

Rey lets out a strangled cry, her face buried in the pillows, the only thing keeping her from screaming his name over and over.

“Ben,” she sobs, body quaking, voice broken and pleading.

He laughs, dark and feral. “Take it, baby.” One hand fists in her hair while the other shoves her face deeper into the pillow. “Fucking take it like the filthy little slut you are for me.”

His pace turns savage, each thrust rough and merciless, slamming into her so hard the bed shakes. His cock hits her just right, thick and deep, his fingers on her clit ruthless and slick with her arousal.

She’s unraveling—every nerve raw, her pussy clenching wildly. He’s pounding into her, moaning curses into her skin, and she’s so close she can’t breathe.

“Fucking come,” he orders, voice hoarse. “Come all over my cock, Rey. Squirt for me.”

And she does—her orgasm hitting like a violent wave, her body seizing up as she screams into the pillows. A gush of fluid soaks the sheets beneath them, her entire body convulsing from the force of it.

Ben groans like an animal, hips jerking as he slams in one last time and spills inside her, cock throbbing as he floods her pussy with thick, hot cum.

“Fuck,” he grits out, voice shaking. “That’s it. Take every drop.”

They’re both trembling, breathless and soaked, her cunt still pulsing around him as he stays buried deep, refusing to let a single drop escape.

She moans softly, her body still so sensitive, her pussy still pulsing around his cock. He pulls out very slowly, waiting for his dick to soften. He is already so addicted to watching his cum drip out of her used hole, It makes a squelch sound as he pulls out and Rey whimpers into the pillows. There’s a little blood, mixing with her own juices on the expensive white sheets. Rey lies there, her body spent, her mind racing.

Rey lays boneless on the bed, limbs spread and trembling, her breath coming in soft little gasps. Her skin was flushed, sticky with sweat, her pulse fluttering high in her throat. She couldn’t even think straight. Her brain had short-circuited somewhere between the second orgasm and Ben growling her name in her ear.

He was still beside her, propped up on one elbow, watching her with that smug, satisfied look that made her want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

Her lips were parted, swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run for her life. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore.

Ben watched her with dark eyes, sweat still clinging to his chest, his breathing steady—too steady. Like what he’d just done to her didn’t leave him equally unhinged.

He leaned over her, his hand trailing lazily down her waist, thumb brushing along the curve of her hip. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick and slow, like honey dripping over a knife. “Can’t even move.”

Rey tried to speak, but all she could manage was a breathless, broken sound.

He smirked. “I love you like this. All fucked out and quiet.”

His fingers grazed between her thighs again, just enough to make her jerk and moan.

Then he leaned in close, lips at her ear. “Go make me a sandwich, baby.”

Her breath hitched.

“Now,” he added, his voice low and smooth, with just a hint of a command underneath. “Wearing my shirt. Nothing else. I wanna watch your legs shake while you try.”

Rey blinked up at him, half-offended, half-aroused, completely helpless.

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

Ben kissed her collarbone. “Mm. And you’re still wet.”

She whimpered, shoving at his chest—but still, when he tossed her his shirt and gave her that look, she sat up, legs trembling beneath her.

“Good girl,” he said with a grin, watching as she stood on unsteady feet and started toward the kitchen.

“Make it with extra mayo,” he called lazily after her. “And maybe don’t take too long…”

His voice dropped again, dark and teasing.

“…‘Cause the second you’re done, I’m bending you over the counter.”

Chapter Text

Rey Nima, Four Seasons Hotel, New York City,

Rey leaned against the counter, trying to catch her breath. Each step was a struggle—her legs wobbled, thighs still quivering from how hard he’d taken her—but she made it to the counter, hands bracing herself as she tried to catch her breath.

Her thighs still trembled, her core still ached, and her brain felt foggy—like her body and ass hadn’t fully recovered from what Ben had just done to it in the bedroom. She clutched the edge of the counter with one hand while the other shakily spread mayo across the bread.

The light in the kitchen was soft and golden, spilling in from the open windows, catching on the sheen of sweat still clinging to Rey’s skin. Ben’s shirt hung off her frame, swallowing her completely, the hem brushing just below her ass. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The sandwich was coming together… slowly.

She could feel him watching her.

She could barely think. Her legs were jelly, her skin still flushed and glowing from orgasm, and she wasn’t even halfway through making the damn thing.

“Rey.”

His voice came from behind her—low, dark, and laced with warning.

She froze, the knife pausing mid-swipe.

Ben leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest, sweatpants slung low on his hips. He watched her with lazy intensity, his eyes dragging slowly up her legs, lingering on the curve of her ass just barely visible beneath the hem of his shirt.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Making me lunch with those pretty legs still shaking.”

Then he pushed off the frame and stepped into the kitchen, his tone shifting into something darker, hungrier. “What’s taking so long, baby?”

Rey didn’t look at him. Her hands trembled slightly as she spread the mayo, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry… My legs—my whole body’s still—”

He didn’t let her finish.

In an instant, he was behind her. One arm wrapped tight around her waist, yanking her back against the heat of his chest, while his other hand reached forward to take the knife from her fingers and set it on the counter with a soft clink.

The sandwich was forgotten.

“You took too long,” he breathed against her ear, his voice thick with heat. “Now I want something else.”

Rey gasped as he bent her forward over the counter, the cool marble biting into her bare thighs. His shirt rode up her body, exposing everything. She squirmed, but he held her there—firm, unyielding.

“You thought I’d just wait patiently in bed while you walked around my apartment in nothing but my shirt?” he growled, dragging his hand up her inner thigh. “You think I wouldn’t come in here and fuck you the second I saw your ass like this?”

“Ben—”

He didn’t let her finish. His fingers slid through her folds—still wet, still pulsing—and he hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck. Still soaked for me. Look at you.” He shoved her legs apart, kicking her ankles gently to spread her wider.

Chapter Text

Rey’s POV – March 1987, New York City

The marble was cold against her bare stomach, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body behind her. Rey gripped the edge of the counter, her breath catching as Ben pushed the shirt higher up her back, exposing her completely.

She was still sore, still trembling—and yet, her body responded instantly, instinctively, like it needed him again.

Ben leaned over her, his chest brushing her back as his lips grazed her neck. “You look so fucking good like this,” he whispered, one hand sliding between her thighs, spreading her open. “Bent over the counter, dripping for me.”

Rey whimpered, arching toward his touch.

“Couldn’t even make it through a sandwich,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “So desperate for it, huh?”

“Ben…” she gasped, but he just chuckled darkly.

“Yeah, say my name like that,” he muttered, rubbing the head of his cock against her. “So soft. So sweet. Like you weren’t just on your back an hour ago with my tongue in your pussy .”

He pushed his cock into her slowly—inch by inch—until he bottomed out with a deep, guttural moan. Rey cried out, her nails dragging against the expensive marble.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, still buried to the hilt. “You take me so fucking good. So tight. So wet. Like you were made for me.”

He didn’t move at first—just stayed there, filling her completely, letting her feel the full weight of him inside her. Then, without warning, he snapped his hips forward, hard and deep. Rey jolted forward, crying out.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You love this. You love when I bend you over and fuck you like you’re mine.”

“I—I am,” she gasped.

Ben stilled. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Ben—fuck—I’m yours.”

His grip tightened, one hand on her hip, the other sliding up her spine and fisting in her hair, pulling her head back so he could kiss her neck.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised, voice ragged. “So perfect for me. Look at you—cooking me a sandwich with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

Rey moaned, shaking beneath him.

“You make me crazy,” he whispered. “This perfect little body. This mouth. This pussy—fuck, baby, this pussy’s mine.”

He started thrusting again—rougher this time, more desperate—slamming into her over and over, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Rey’s legs buckled, but he held her up, one arm around her waist as he fucked her deep on the counter, praising her between every breathless curse.

“Taking me so well. Always so good for me. You love being full, don’t you? Love when I use you like this.”

“Yes—yes, Ben, please—don’t stop—”

“I’m not fucking stopping ‘til I feel you come again on my cock,” he growled, sliding a hand between her legs, rubbing tight circles on her clit. “I want you to scream for me. I want the neighbors to know who’s fucking you.”

Her climax hit her like a storm—sharp and overwhelming—her body locking up, her mouth falling open in a loud scream. Her voice was sore but Ben didn’t stop. He held her through it, still moving, still praising her.

“That’s it. Fucking beautiful. You’re so good, baby. So perfect.”

He came seconds later, deep inside her with a low, broken moan, his hips grinding into hers like he wanted to leave part of himself there.

They both stilled—panting, sweaty, tangled in silence.

Ben bent over her, kissing her shoulder, his hand stroking slowly down her stomach.

“You did so good,” he murmured, softer now. “So fucking good for me.”

“Still want that sandwich,” he murmured.

Rey let out a breathless laugh, forehead against the counter.

“You’re insufferable Ben.”

“You love it.”

And she did.

God help her, deep down in the far back in her mind told her she shouldn’t but she did. She really did.