Chapter 2: The Procedure

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Ben guided Chloe through the station's back entrance, his hand steady on her elbow. The familiar smell of industrial disinfectant and stale coffee filled the air, but tonight it felt different—charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with the building's aging wiring.

Chloe's heels clicked against the linoleum floor as they walked down the narrow corridor lined with holding cells and processing rooms. She could feel Ben's presence behind her, the warmth of his body close enough that she caught hints of his cologne mixed with the crisp scent of his uniform. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but not from fear—from anticipation.

"Room three," Ben said quietly, more to himself than to her, as they stopped before a heavy door marked 'PROCESSING.' He reached around her to turn the handle, his arm brushing against hers for just a moment. The contact sent a jolt through her that was anything but accidental on her part.

The processing room was exactly as sterile as she'd imagined—white walls, a metal table, a single chair, and fluorescent lights that seemed designed to strip away any illusion of privacy or dignity. But what she hadn't expected was the woman waiting inside.

Officer Maria Santos stood with her arms crossed, her graying hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was in her fifties, with the no-nonsense demeanor of someone who'd processed hundreds of arrestees over the years. Her dark eyes swept over Chloe with practiced disinterest.

"Another one of Thorne's midnight arrests?" Santos asked, her tone making it clear what she thought of the sheriff's grandstanding.

"Possession," Ben replied, his voice professionally neutral. "Caught her smoking right in front of the station."

Santos raised an eyebrow. "Bold choice." She gestured for Chloe to sit in the metal chair. "Let's get this over with. I want to go home before the ball drops."

Ben moved toward the door. "I'll wait outside for the paperwork."

"Actually, Grant," Santos said, stopping him. "I'm going to need you to stay."

Ben's hand froze on the door handle. "Ma'am?"

"New protocol. Sheriff's orders as of this afternoon." Santos pulled out a clipboard and began filling out forms. "Any arrest involving controlled substances requires two officers present during processing. Something about maintaining chain of custody."

Chloe felt her pulse spike. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. In her fantasies, the search had always been conducted by a single officer—usually male, usually someone who'd struggle with maintaining professional distance. Having Ben witness the procedure hadn't been part of her carefully constructed scenario, but as she glanced at his reflection in the room's small mirror, she realized it might be even better.

"I understand," Ben said, though his voice carried a note of reluctance. He positioned himself near the door, clearly trying to maintain as much distance as possible while still complying with the order.

Santos began the standard questions—name, address, next of kin—while Chloe tried to focus on her answers instead of the way Ben's presence seemed to fill the small room. She could feel his eyes on her, though he was clearly making an effort to look anywhere else.

"All right, hon," Santos said, setting down her pen. "Time for the search. Standard procedure. I need you to remove your dress."

This was it. The moment Chloe had orchestrated, planned for, fantasized about countless times. But sitting in the harsh reality of the processing room, with its clinical smell and buzzing lights, the experience felt strangely hollow. Santos was efficient, professional, completely disinterested in anything beyond getting through her shift.

Chloe stood and reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. Her fingers fumbled slightly—whether from nerves or the handcuffs she'd worn just minutes before, she wasn't sure. The dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in just her black lace underwear.

"Arms up," Santos instructed, pulling on latex gloves with practiced movements.

The search was thorough but impersonal. Santos checked the seams of Chloe's bra, ran her hands along her sides, examined her hair for contraband. It was exactly what Chloe had expected from a professional standpoint, but emotionally it felt like a letdown. Where was the charge she'd been seeking? The vulnerability that made her feel truly alive?

She risked a glance toward Ben and felt her breath catch. He was staring at the floor, his jaw clenched tight, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had formed loose fists at his sides. When he finally looked up, their eyes met in the mirror's reflection, and Chloe saw something that made her heart race.

His professional mask had cracked. Just for a moment, she glimpsed the man beneath the uniform—the one who was struggling with what he was witnessing, who was fighting to maintain his composure while something deeper stirred beneath the surface.

"Turn around," Santos said, but Chloe barely heard her. She was lost in Ben's gaze, in the heat she saw there, in the way his breathing had become slightly labored.

The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension. This was what she'd been missing in her online life—this raw, immediate connection with another person. Not the distant approval of faceless strangers, but the visceral reaction of someone who was right there, who couldn't look away despite every professional instinct telling him he should.

"Ms. Vance." Santos's voice cut through the moment. "I need you to face the wall, hands against it."

Chloe complied, but she kept her eyes on Ben's reflection. He was watching now, no longer pretending to look elsewhere. His blue eyes had darkened, and she could see the internal battle playing out across his features—duty warring with desire, professionalism struggling against a more primal response.

Santos continued the search with mechanical precision, checking the waistband of Chloe's underwear, running her hands down her legs. But the clinical nature of the procedure faded into background noise. All of Chloe's attention was focused on Ben, on the way he was looking at her, on the electricity crackling between them despite the sterile setting.

When their eyes met again, something passed between them that had nothing to do with the arrest, the search, or the impending legalization. It was pure, undiluted attraction—dangerous and immediate and completely inappropriate given the circumstances.

Ben's lips parted slightly, as if he was about to speak, but no words came. Instead, he took a half-step forward before catching himself, his hand reaching out and then dropping back to his side. The movement was so subtle Santos didn't notice, but to Chloe it might as well have been a shout.

"All right, we're done," Santos announced, stepping back and disposing of her gloves. "Get dressed. We'll process your paperwork and get you into a cell until your court appearance."

But Chloe barely registered the words. The search was over, but the real discovery was just beginning. She'd come here seeking the thrill of vulnerability, the rush of being completely exposed. What she'd found instead was something far more dangerous—a connection with someone who saw her not as a criminal or a fantasy, but as a woman who'd just turned his world upside down.

As she pulled her dress back on, her hands steadier now despite her racing heart, she caught Ben's eye one more time. This time, he didn't look away. This time, the heat in his gaze was unmistakable.

Santos gathered her paperwork and headed for the door. "Grant, get her a jumpsuit and escort her to holding cell two. And try to remember you're a professional."

The comment was casual, almost offhand, but it hit its mark. Ben's face flushed slightly, and Chloe realized that their charged exchange hadn't been as subtle as she'd thought. Santos had noticed—and she wasn't pleased.

As the older officer left them alone in the processing room, the silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility and fraught with danger. Chloe was still technically under arrest, still technically in Ben's custody. But the dynamic had shifted in ways neither of them had anticipated.

"I'll get your jumpsuit," Ben said finally, his voice rougher than before.

Chloe nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her fantasy had come true, but not at all in the way she'd expected. She'd wanted to feel exposed, vulnerable, alive. Mission accomplished—but the man witnessing her exposure was supposed to remain a stranger, a faceless authority figure who existed only to facilitate her fantasy.

Ben Grant was anything but faceless now. And judging by the way he was looking at her, she had a feeling her real adventure was just beginning.