Drift and Demand

The road stretched out ahead, the city fading behind them.

Elena kept her hands tight on the wheel, knuckles white against the leather. The mustang's growl filled the space between them, low and rough like a second heartbeat.

He didn't say anything. Didn't tell her where to go. Just sat back in the passenger seat, one hand loose on his thigh, the other resting near the door, steady as gravity. He didn't have to speak to be loud.

She flicked a glance sideways at him—at the way he sat there, so damn steady—and her mouth moved before she could overthink it.

"You're real casual about who you let behind your wheel," she said, voice dry.

The corner of his mouth lifted—slow, almost amused.

"Only when i know they can handle it," he said.

The words slid between them like smoke. Just a quiet confidence that made something low and dangerous turn over in her stomach.

Elena looked back at the road. Gripping the wheel tighter.

Fighting the smile that wanted to curl at the edge of her mouth—and the heat crawling up the back of her neck. 

They drove. The city peeled away in layers—noise fading, lights thinning, the road stretching quieter ahead.

Elena didn't ask where he was taking her. Didn't want to give him the satisfaction. 

He sat silent beside her, one arm resting loose on the door, the other hand steady on his thigh—completely at ease, like he belonged there.

She took a left without thinking. The streets got darker, rougher. He shifted slightly—not tense, just... present.

"You always drive toward trouble this easy?"

he asked, voice low, a thread of something teasing under it.

Elena cut him a glance, dry and sharp.

"I'm not the one in trouble," she said.

His mouth curved—the slowest pull of a smile she almost didn't catch.

"No," he agreed. "Not yet."

She gripped the wheel tighter. Another block. Two.

Then—just when her frustration started to scrape up the back of her throat—he lifted a hand, casual as anything, and pointed.

"Turn here."

She obeyed before thinking about it. Another breath she couldn't quite catch.

The Mustang hummed under her, steady and low, and for a while she let herself just...move.

No noise between them but the low thrum of the engine and the soft brush of tires against asphalt.

He stayed silent. Watching the road.

Watching her—maybe. It was hard to tell without looking at him.

Then—movement.

He reached out, slow and easy.

For one electric second, Elena thought he was reaching for her hand on the gearshift—her breath caught—but his fingers brushed the radio instead, clicking it on.

Music filtered into the cabin—something low and dark and bass-heavy, matching the quiet pound of her pulse.

Elena huffed a breath, looking out the window, annoyed with herself for the way her body had reacted—like he could touch her and she wouldn't even fight it. 

The minutes slipped by. And slowly, too late to hide it, she realised where they were.

Her street. Her house. The tires crunched over familiar gravel as she pulled into the driveway—instinct more than thought. She killed the engine, the sudden silence falling heavy between them.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then Elena turned, brows pulling together.

"What about my car?" she asked, voice

rougher than she meant.

He leaned back in his seat, utterly calm, utterly unreadable.

"This is your car now." Simple. Final.

Elena frowned, shaking her head slightly.

"Why?" she pushed. "How?"

He didn't flinch.

Didn't even hesitate.

Just gave her the smallest, slowest pull of a smile.

"Just wanted to spend some time with you," he said.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like it explained everything.

Before she could untangle a single thought—

before she could build a wall high enough to block him out—

he was already stepping out, the door swinging shut with the soft, deliberate click.

Leaving her there.

Sitting in the hush of the car's engine cooling, with a key still warm in the ignition and a chest full of questions that didn't have answers.

She stared at the passenger seat—at the faint ghost of warmth he´d left behind—and hated how much she could still feel him.

Like gravity had shifted and no one had bothered to warn her.

She dragged in a breath that didn't help.

Dragged her fingers through her hair like that would clear the static rattling in her chest.

But it didn't.

Because the key was still there in the ignition.

Because his words were still hanging in the air.

"Just wanted to spend some time with you."

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

And somehow, it wrecked her more than any sweet lie or careful promise ever could.

Elena closed her eyes for a second, tight, forcing herself to breathe.

This was nothing.

Just a man.

Just a moment.

She could handle it. 

She always did.

And still—

her hands didn't move to open the door.

Her body didn't want to leave the space he had just left behind.

Not yet.

Maybe not for a while.