Slow Burn

by K. Bromberg

  “And correct me if I’m wrong here, but you’ve made it clear that there is no we, so that leaves me to make the decisions.” He darts out his tongue to wet his lips, his eyes holding me captive from getting out the words I want to say. “Oh, sweet Haddie, you may have said no strings, but sure as hell I’m taking over the reins here.”

  “Bullshit.” The word is off my tongue, but it is such a contradiction to the hardening of my nipples and the tingling between my thighs in reaction to his comment.

  “Don’t tempt me.” He warns, but then that smirk is back. “Then again, please do because I’d give anything to throw you back over my shoulder to prove a point.”

  Our eyes hold, a silent exchange of wills seeing how far we’re going to take this game, and I’m all for it. Bring it on, Daniels, because let’s face it: I have a vagina; therefore I win. My temper streaks through me, displacing the desire with anger, sarcasm leading the way. “SoCo, you couldn’t handle me even if you tried.” I raise my chin and glare at him, anything to try to gain some of my own footing back.

  He works his tongue in his mouth and I swear I can’t help that it conjures up the memory of where else it’s worked me. “SoCo, huh?”

  “Yeah. You’re like drinking Southern Comfort … trying to act all smooth and steady, but then you sneak up on me and try to make your presence known.” I say the words with a bit of a bite to them, so I’m confused when he blinks at me like he can’t believe what I’m saying before throwing his head back and laughing deeply. Whatever he finds amusing in what I’ve said is lost on me.

  “Goddamn woman,” he draws out with a shake of his head before looking back at me. “I’m all for whiskey, but I prefer something a little smoother, more refined … like a Macallan.” The smirk plays over his lips like an inside joke that I’m missing, even though I feel like I’m a part of it.

  My brows furrow. “Being country and all …” My words fade off as he steps into me, our bodies so close that our chests just barely brush against each other’s when we drag in a breath.

  “Well, Had, being country and all, I was raised around and got used to wild animals.” He leans in closer so that his lips are a breath from mine, and I can’t help myself from lifting my chin in anticipation of his kiss, which never comes. I flash my eyes back open to find his so close to mine, I can see flecks of darker blue speckled in the aqua. “I learned that you have to learn a lot of patience to tame them.”

  I know I should be offended, know I should be pissed he’s drawing a comparison between me and an untamed animal, but hell if I can think of a comeback other than: “Tame them?” My words mingle with the warmth of his breath, and as we stand here on my front porch, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

  “Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, and just lets the comment hang in the air between us. “But I learned a long time ago that no man should tame what is wild.”

  “Really?”

  His fingertip trails down my bare arm, slowly, taunting, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me. “Yep,” he whispers so that his lips just barely brush mine. I want to groan out in frustration but grasp firmly to my dignity that’s slipping oh so slowly from my clutches. “Wild keeps a man on his toes … causes him to always pay attention, not take a single thing for granted. When a man gets complacent, he can lose sight of what matters most.”

  My breath is shaky, his soft spoken words hitting deep within me. Making me want and need and hope for things I don’t think I deserve, things I’ve told myself are not fair to ask for.

  “Becks …” I swallow over what I tell myself is the lust lodged in my throat, but I know it’s so much more than just lust between us.

  He moves his head so that his lips are near my ear, causing me to remember what they said the last time they were so close. “Did you come yet, Haddie?” The change of subject shouldn’t surprise me. I should have known he was going to bring us back to this, but fuck me if that question doesn’t leave me weak in the knees.

  “Yes. Thank you for last night. It may have been my hand, but my thoughts were on you … and it was mind-blowing.” I lie. It’s all I have at this point because if we continue this little power play charade, I’m going to be in a puddle at his feet in mere minutes. And hell no, I didn’t get myself off, didn’t want to ease that ache he’d ordered me not to assuage because there is something so goddamn hot about doing what you’re told when it comes to sex.

  I hear his breath catch in surprise, his fingers pressing into my arm where they trail along my skin, and his face pulls back so he can look in my eyes. It’s my turn to give him that smug look, that “Who has the upper hand now?” challenge in the raise of my eyebrows. His eyes search mine, and I know before long he’ll know I’m lying, so I reiterate my thoughts from moments ago. My lips curl up, and my head angles to the side. “I have a pussy. I win,” I taunt him. And I think a small part of me wants him to call my bluff, right here, right now, and drag him upstairs to prove otherwise.

  But he doesn’t. He just meets me stare for stare, smirk for smirk, challenge for challenge. “While you may have a point, I think you’re wrong. You may have the pussy, Haddie, but I’m most definitely the one who will win it.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” And hell if the confidence isn’t sexy on him.

  “Hm. You may have said no strings, but you most definitely didn’t say anything about rope.”

  Damn. “You want to tie me up, then? I never took you for that type, Becks.” I try to deflect him with my comment, but hell if the words don’t have me wanting him even more.

  He laughs low and suggestive. “I might be. I might not be. What type I am doesn’t matter because what does is the fact that ropes or no ropes, I plan on making you weak, making you hoarse, leaving you breathless. Baby, I can dominate with the best of them. The question here is, how bad do you want it?”

  Desperately.

  And the volley of power resumes. The dark promise of his words leaves me wanting to relinquish the upper hand because it’s no fun being at the top if there’s no one underneath you.

  He leans in and uses his mouth to silence my thoughts. Our mouths meet in a soft whisper of a kiss before his tongue touches the seam of my lips, asking for access. I deny him, fists clenched in restraint, libido protesting my resistance, but I know if I let him kiss me, let him own my every reaction like he so mind-blowingly can, I’ll come undone here on the porch in a matter of seconds, my desire so tangible, I feel like it’s rolling off me in waves.

  I think he’s going to be angry at my refusal. I can feel his fingers tense when I hold steadfast. That strained laugh of his surprises me yet again when he leans back, his eyes dancing with victory. “I call your bluff, Haddie Montgomery. You didn’t come, and I’m going to have so much fun proving it.”

  And hell if he didn’t just gain the upper hand, but thank God, he did because I don’t mind being the low man on his totem pole, either.

  Chapter 20

  The sun is strong above, the ground uneven beneath my feet, and I steal a glance at Becks wandering slowly beside me. I’m still trying to process how I ended up here and how Becks showed up at my house, told me I was going with him, and then dared to call my bluff.

  And of course being the stubborn, pigheaded, “don’t you dare tell me what to do” woman that I am … I caved.

  Fucking caved like a whipped woman, but the funny thing was that in the whole exchange with Becks on my doorstep, not once did I think of the biopsy or the pending results. Not one single time because I was so busy trying not to get lost in him.

  So when he told me to go inside, change my outfit, and grab an extra pair of clothes, I didn’t ask any questions. I turned and grabbed my things, and hopped into his truck to find a pile of fur and thumping tail that I couldn’t help but smile at.

  Yep. I wasn’t fooling myself, either. When I climbed into his car, I hoped like hell that wherever the Beckstination we were going to, there would be a requirement of a lot few
er clothes and a lot more of Becks. Naked. On me. In me.

  I pull myself back to the present. To the expanse of land that holds Becks’s parents’ old but absolutely gorgeous farmhouse. To the barn with its horses and the brace of ducks driving his dog, Rex, crazy when they walk near him and then fly up onto a loft area, where he can’t reach. I take in the field of long grass we are walking through, but mostly it’s the simplicity of it all—clean air, bad cell reception, the sparkling water of the pond ahead in the distance—that I savor.

  This is what I expected of Beckett Daniels the night I was at his condo and thought he didn’t fit: laid back, simplistic in needs and in what impresses him. I glance over at him and question his nonchalance. The silence between us may be comfortable, but the sexual tension is so goddamn charged, I fear that if someone lit a match, the space between us would catch fire.

  And then I wonder what his point is in bringing me here today, besides calling my bluff. I know that there’s more to it, that he must have an ulterior motive in taking a drive to clear his head, as he so kindly explained. The small talk we made on the way here after I decided not to be angry at him anymore has been less than informative about his state of mind … so I’m just trying to figure out what gives here.

  Because the thing that needs to give more than anything right now is the zipper of his damn shorts.

  Rex comes bounding up and distracts me as Becks takes his ball and throws it ahead of us, where it gets lost in the grass. I sigh with a shake of my head, finally deciding to break the silence of our walk. “Oh, Becks, what is this between us, huh? You are so not my type.” I don’t mean the comment as an insult but rather just an observation, and I realize what it sounds like the minute it’s out of my mouth.

  I see him nod his head in acknowledgment of my comment. “Is that another one of those rules of yours?” he asks, amusement woven in his tone. I laugh aloud at the reminder of my bumbling rules, which I couldn’t even think of the last time he called me on the spot.

  We walk a bit more, my head trying to recollect my rules because sure as fuck I know I’m breaking about five of them right now being here with him.

  “Seriously, Haddie,” he says, and reaches out and takes my hand in his, our first physical connection since we left my house and my body hums anew with his touch. “What’s your type? Dante?”

  And the way he says Dante’s name—like an insignificant and yet irritating blip on the radar—has me fighting the smirk on my lips. I keep my head down, watching my Converse move over the dusty earth beneath me, when he squeezes my hand to inform me he’s waiting for an answer. A part of me wants to change the subject, make this conversation easier since it seems I just keep hurting him, but at the same time, I find I want to tell him. Maybe if I do, he’ll realize he’s not my type and then will back off and stop pushing for things I want with him but can’t give.

  “Yes. No,” I tell him, and then my feet falter as I begin to explain. I stop for a moment and just look out at the vast field and trees beyond us, not sure where exactly I should go with this answer. “Shit, I usually go for the rebel. The one who has the least stability and does everything unexpected. Everything opposite of you.”

  He snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Well, then you sure don’t know me very well, now, do you?” I slide a glance over at him, trying to figure out if he’s being serious or joking, but he cuts off the moment when he continues. “Besides, Colton is off the market.”

  “Well, Colton only has eyes for Rylee, so I would have never even attempted that route,” I respond immediately, a little irritated at his assumption I would have made a play for Colton. “Besides, there are plenty more out there.” And it feels weird to be having this conversation with him when I’m holding his hand.

  “So you like getting your heart broken, then?” He tugs my hand so that I’m forced to face him. There is amusement in his smile but something a tad more intense in his eyes, and I can’t seem to get a read on it.

  “That just comes with the territory.” I lift my eyebrows to reinforce my answer.

  “Well, maybe you need to relocate and claim some new space, then.” His eyes dare me now, taunt me to ask what space that might be. And damn I know where I want it to be, but I just tug my hand from his and start to wander away from him, grabbing a wildflower here and there and silently playing “He loves me. He loves me not” as I pick the petals off.

  He loves me.

  I hear his footsteps behind me, but I keep walking, wandering over to the shade of a tree where there is a small clearing. I sit down and prop my hands behind me. Becks steps in front of me, and I’m forced to look up at him. And of course when I do, I’m treated to the sight of his bare abs and chest—he must have taken his shirt off as he followed me—and I’d be lying to myself if I denied the fact that my mouth falls a bit lax.

  I recover quickly, mad at myself for my ridiculous reaction, and avert my attention elsewhere. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen him naked before so why does just the sight of his sweat-misted bare chest make my stomach feel like it’s flip-flopping?

  Becks tosses his shirt down beside me and stands there for a beat while I look anywhere but at him before he sits down beside me with a loud exhale of breath. Warning bells go off in my head, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s going to make me talk, or if he’s going to make me want him more and then deny me, or if he’s going to give me what I want and I’m not going to be able to walk away again and save the both of us.

  He loves me not.

  I refuse to glance over at him as he makes himself comfortable. He stretches his long legs out in front of us and reclines back on his elbows as I focus on everything around us but don’t really see anything. Besides the whispering of the wind through the grass and the squawk of a bird, a comfortable silence ensconces us. And I’m more than okay with that because right now he’s too damn close, and I’m strung so goddamn tight that I’d give anything to push away the words I know he’s going to speak. All I want to do is take him right here in this field. Climb on top of his body and lose myself in him so that he can help me clear everything momentarily from my head.

  He loves me.

  “We can sit here all day, you know,” he says while I remain silent, trying to figure where he’s headed with this.

  “Mm-hmm. It’s nice. Is this why you brought me out here, to sit in an empty field and do nothing but relax?”

  I keep my eyes focused ahead, but I know he’s smiling because I can hear it in his voice when he speaks next. “We could be doing a whole lot more than relaxing, but that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

  He loves me not.

  I fight the urge to whip my head his way to figure out what he’s talking about. Hoping that fucking me into next week is what he’s talking about. “How’s that?” I ask with a whole lot of uninterest, which I really don’t feel.

  I hear him shift, and he moves to sit cross-legged in front of me so that I have no option but to look at him. I can’t avoid him really, and hell if his proximity doesn’t have my nerve endings standing on end, begging for him to touch me.

  He loves me.

  “Let’s be completely clear on something,” he says, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he pauses to make sure that I am one hundred percent paying attention right now. And I most definitely am. “I’d really like to lay you down and take you every way possible right now.” I begin to talk, to tell him I’m game, but the warning look in his eyes stops me. “Fuck you so good and hard you feel it in your dreams so that even if you try to run afterward, you can’t forget me …”

  I swear my body shudders at the challenge he issues, the wanton woman in me silently begging him to do just that.

  “… and I will.” He chuckles, the sound strained with need. I watch with nonchalance as he reaches out between my legs, my eyes locked on the progress of his hands until they’re hidden by the hem of my skirt. Even though I know it’s coming, I still suck in a sharp breath when I f
eel his fingers rub ever so gently against my seam. The barrier of my panties makes the muted feeling almost more intense because it’s the hint of what he can do to me that has the ache unfurling and coiling so tight, my body tenses, my back arching, my mouth dropping open.

  He loves me not.

  “Sweet Haddie, did you get yourself off? Did you slide your fingers right here, part yourself, and think of me?” His voice is deep and mesmerizing, a seductive sound against the whisper of nature around us. My body hums from his words, desire swelling against the stroke of his finger.

  His chuckle hits my ears, but I’m lost in thought because he withdraws his fingers now that my panties are damp with my arousal. “Ah, baby, you’re so ready, so desperate. I know you listened. I know you didn’t make yourself come. And I want to relieve that ache for you so damn bad”—his voice trails off as he inhales a steadying breath—“but not until you talk and tell me what’s going on here between us. I need answers, Haddie.”

  He loves me.

  And of course, the riot of desire coursing through me gets doused by those words. I break my gaze from his, looking down at a ladybug that has ventured onto the hem of my skirt. It’s so much easier to look there than it is to tell him I just can’t do this. “Becks …” His name is a familiar sigh on my lips, and I try again to find the words I need. “It’s complicated, and I just don’t have an answer for you right now.”

  “Don’t or can’t?”

  I clench my jaw at his words, cursing myself for walking into that one. I keep my eyes trained on the ladybug, uncomfortable and yet comforted by his presence all at the same time.

  And I realize I have no more petals left.

  Damn.

  I need to pick another one to get the answer I want.

  “Can’t, then,” he muses. “Okay, so what is it you want from me, Haddie?”

  My eyes flash to his instantly, my nipples tighten, and my libido begins to hum with the silent temptation at my fingertips. “I want you to fuck me so hard, I have no choice but to remember who I am. Break me down so that I can find me again.” I’ve never spoken more honest words before, nor had I intended to reveal so much. I know they sound just about as crass as his comment moments before, but frankly, I’m not looking for romance right now. I’m looking for exactly what I said, but now that I’ve spoken, an uneasiness filters in with his silence.