Slow Burn

by K. Bromberg

  “Goddamn it, Had. Suck me.” His voice breaks, and his hips urge up in a plea as I moan, my clit getting the perfect friction with his movement. “Fuck me with your mouth.”

  And his words urge me on to give him what he wants. To bring him the pleasure he deserves for always being such a generous lover with me. I place my head over him and slide him all the way into my mouth until I can feel him hit the back of my throat. And when I do, I remain still for a moment until I can’t take it anymore before I slide it slowly back out, hollowing my cheeks and adding suction with the withdrawal.

  I love the strangled groan my action causes and the thrill that shoots through my body at being able to give this to him, do this to him. I continue my movements, varying the pressure of my tongue, the degree of suction until his hand is urging me to go faster and faster. I give in to his demands and start working him with both my hand and my mouth, my own ache intensifying as he gets harder and larger from the increased flow of blood.

  And I think he’s just on the verge of coming—I’m so wrapped up in bringing him to the cusp that I don’t realize he’s sat up some—when he grabs at my shoulders and yanks my body up so that his lips can meet mine. The man kisses me with complete abandon and total ownership. He stakes a claim that I’ve already handed him, but it doesn’t stop him. His tongue continues to brand me, lips bruising and hands urging my hips up and over his all the while.

  One hand holds my face still so that I’m a willing victim to his barrage of mouth intercourse while his other hand lines his cock up at my wet and willing entrance. I can feel the width of his head there, ready to divide and conquer yet claim my heightened emotions with physicality as he deepens our kiss, pouring everything and then some into it. This feeling is twenty times more overwhelming than any sex I’ve ever had.

  Letting a man claim me with his cock is one thing, but letting Becks kiss me senseless and own my response is more moving, more intimate than anything I’ve ever given any man before.

  He’s opened me up, made me vulnerable, made me his.

  He leans back and stares at me, our breaths mingling just as our hearts are. “Can you feel that, Haddie? I know you can, know there’s not a chance in hell you can deny what’s between us anymore. Feel this, feel me…. Want this, want me.” Our eyes hold, and then he leans in and brushes his lips to mine in a soft and tender assault to my senses once again.

  And then the moment his hands urge my hips down and he pushes his pelvis up—the moment we join our bodies—I can feel my heart tumble endlessly out of control to that deep, dark corner I can’t reach, even if I stretch my muscles and fingertips as far as I can to try to grab it back. But I can’t. Don’t know if I could reach it if I’d want to reclaim it.

  Because I’ve just fallen in love with Beckett Daniels.

  The idea hits me as his cock bottoms out in my clenching sex, and my head falls back as I gasp.

  Becks’s mouth descends to my exposed neck as we both move in unison to give our bodies what we need to climb that peak that’s just within reach. My teeth find my bottom lip as I lose myself in the moment, accept the feelings and sensations, and drown in the chance he wants us to take.

  I moan with the movements, both the feelings they create and the touch of his hands urging me on. His mouth leaves my neck, and I find myself looking into his eyes as one of his hands moves from the side of my neck to my right breast, his thumb pulling the fabric down and grazing over my taut nipple to send shock waves through my body at the mind-numbing sensation. I cry out, urge him to continue, our eyes locked on each other’s so that we can see the pupils darken and widen as we chase our pleasure.

  And when it hits, when the desire skyrockets into an explosion of heat and sensation that pulls me under its addictive haze, I can’t focus on anything else but letting it take me for its incredible, serendipitous ride. My body trembles, and my walls pulse around Becks as he tries to still himself so that I can feel the full impact of my climax.

  “Haddie …” My name is a guttural groan on his lips as his hands dig tightly into my bare flesh and his hips rock into mine, emptying himself into me. His mouth finds my shoulder, his teeth pressing there as he comes, the slightly painful sensation causing my own muscles to tighten around him in an unexpected arousing response.

  We sit there for a few moments, our hands lazily stroking up and down each other’s backs as the sweat that mists our skin dissipates with the cool afternoon breeze sliding over us like a blanket in this outdoor haven.

  After a bit he pulls away and just stares at me, the intimacy of his look so profound that I know I can no longer deny either of us the chance at what could be, regardless of whatever the future holds. He angles his head to the side and whispers ever so softly, “You’re beautiful. You know that?”

  And I want to laugh, want to tell him that I’m sure I must look it right now, with grass in my hair and covered in sweat and my bra half off, but there’s something in the way he says the words, something in the expression on his face that stops me, moves me, undoes me … because I realize that he calls me beautiful as if it were my name.

  Even looking like this, I’m beautiful to him.

  My heart swells with so many things, I can’t compartmentalize for once, so I let them take over—all of them—and own the moment for me. I reach up and frame his face in my hands and lean forward and press my lips to his, the emotion so great within me that I don’t want him to see it in my eyes just yet. I’m too exposed, too vulnerable right now, so I use that to fuel my need for this innocent action with him.

  He accepts the soft sigh of a kiss I offer him, and we slip into it, prolonging the intimacy between us. I shift some, and he slips from within me as his mouth leaves mine and begins a trail of kisses down the line of my neck. My body, which was so satisfied moments ago, no longer is. Fuck, the man knows how to make me lose my focus and render me thoughtless with just the touch of his lips. It’s just freakishly wrong how much he affects me.

  “Damn, City,” he whispers to me between kisses. I can feel him beginning to harden slowly against my thigh and marvel at his recovery time but most definitely have no complaints with it.

  He laughs softly, the vibration rumbles against my skin as I score my fingers up his arms, the only thing I can do coherently. He pulls back, and his laugh is more earnest, and I tilt my head down to look at him.

  “Your ladybug friend has decided to beat me to the chase here,” he says with amusement in his tone.

  I’m unsure what he means, and so I look down just in time to see him reach a finger beneath the lace cup of the left side of my bra. He tugs it down so that the little ladybug, who’s obviously preferring to be a horny toad, can escape unscathed. I’m so scattered from the sex, my tumult of emotions, his mouth, and this little distraction that I react about five seconds too late to prevent it.

  And I’m such a dumb shit, angry at myself for being so lost in the damn moment that I try to cover the jagged edge of stitches sticking out beneath the steri strips before he can see it. But I’m way too late.

  “Haddie?” His voice is even, but the concern and confusion lacing through it is obvious to my ears.

  I shove back off him immediately—and I catch him off guard so that I’m able to escape the confines of his arms. I’m panicked and unsure what to do, so I do the only thing my mind can grasp. I grab my discarded panties and clean myself quickly before tugging my skirt down, picking up my tank top, and then striding off across the field with so many thoughts I can’t think straight.

  I can hear Becks behind me, swearing up a storm, as he pulls his shorts on, but I don’t care. All I can think of is the question that’s coming and how I’m going to answer it when he knows that scar and the stitches weren’t there two weeks ago. My head swims with uncertainty, and it’s prompting me to run once again, but the problem is, where in the hell am I running to? I’m in the middle of Bum-fuck Egypt, and I have no transportation.

  But I don’t even get a chance to co
ntemplate what comes next because Rex is barking and circling around me in excitement, and I’m shoving my tank top over my head, and it’s all tangled, and I’m flustered and frustrated.

  And scared.

  Scared because I just let him in, and now I’m probably going to have to shut him out. Fuck, damn, shit.

  “Goddamn it! Stop, Haddie. Stop!” I can hear the plea in his voice, and I try to ignore it so that it doesn’t faze me. I keep walking, keep moving to expel the frantic energy that has me doing anything but standing still. “Had! There’s nowhere to go.” His voice is firmer now, more resolute, and I know he’s right, but I just don’t want to do this right now.

  But my feet falter, and the mixture of the sun and my anxiety makes me feel like my skin is on fire. I know he’s closing the distance, can hear his feet crunch the ground along with his muttered curses, so I try to withdraw, prepare to disengage. Hope I can remain that way.

  My arms are crossed over my chest in a protective gesture in more ways than one, and I step into the shade of a huge oak tree, head down, thoughts racing. I shrug out of his grip as his hand lands on my shoulder. It’s stupid on my part, really. Like I’m actually going to escape him, but I trudge on, hoping avoidance will help in whatever context it might come.

  “You can’t run forever, Montgomery.” His words stop me. My steps falter, and my body deflates because I know he’s right, know that I’ve been running, but I’ve been doing it for so long, it seems that I don’t know how not to anymore.

  My back is to him. Rex sits in front of me with his tongue lolled out and his head angled up at me in anticipation, like I have a ball I’m going to throw for him. Becks’s harsh breathing fills the space between us, and my heartbeat rages in my ears.

  I close my eyes when I feel Becks’s hands on my shoulders, steel my body for the heat of his touch and the rush of words to come out of my mouth. But nothing comes. My thoughts are so jumbled and my mind is trying so hard to figure out what to say that my mouth falls open and then closes several times before shutting again.

  “Hey.” The tenderness in his tone as he pulls me back against the solidity of his chest causes everything in me to feel as if it weighs a thousand pounds. And it does because the effort it is going to take to navigate this minefield is going to be unforgiving. Becks wraps his arms across my chest, cautious of my stitches, and just holds me tight. He presses a kiss to the curve of my neck and then rests his chin on my shoulder. “I’m trying not to be pushy here. I’m trying to let you have a moment to explain to me what I just saw and why you got spooked and ran … but you’re scaring the hell out of me right now. Your silence, you running … all of it’s scaring me.”

  I bite my bottom lip to stifle the quivering of my chin and to allow me a moment to fortify my voice with the confidence I don’t have but need him to think I do. “The night at your place …,” I begin, my hands fisted and my body rigid, not wanting to accept any of his comfort right now. Needing to get through this, be strong, not break. “I woke up. Something felt pinched. I swore that I was imagining things. Spent like forever trying to prove otherwise, but I found a lump.” His arms flex ever so slightly in response, and I’m grateful that he stays silent. “I freaked out. Left and went to the doctor as soon as possible, had a biopsy where they removed whatever it was. That’s it.” I try to add a bit of insignificance in my voice, play it off, but when I hear his unsteady inhale, I know he doesn’t believe me.

  I begin to pull away from him, but his arms remain steadfast in their hold. “Uh-uh,” he murmurs against my shoulder, the heat of his breath hitting the fabric of my tank top and trapping it between his mouth and my skin. “Just give me a minute.”

  And so we stand there as he processes what he’s heard, and I try to figure out where to go from here because damn it to hell, I’ve let him in. He’s using all he has to be the can opener to peel back everything I’ve sealed so tight, and that scares me to death.

  “What did the biopsy show?” he finally says, and the question hangs in the air like an oppressive cloud.

  I swallow the truth I know deep down and aim for cautious optimism in my answer. “I don’t know yet. Any day now.”

  He makes an incoherent sound in response, his thumb beginning to rub up and down gently in reassurance. “I’m … I’m having a hard time processing this, Had—”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for anyone to know. I just …”

  He releases me and stalks past me a few feet, his shoulders tense, and his emotion transparent in his posture. He starts to talk and stops himself, his hand gripping the back of his neck as he stares at the pond before turning back to look at me. “You didn’t intend for anyone to know?” His anger surprises me. Pity, I expected, disbelief too … not anger. “You think that little of me? You think I’ll take you in my bed but don’t care about you as a person? What the fuck, Had?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes boring into mine. I see his hands clench and unclench, his chest rises and falls in anger as we stand in a silent standoff. “You don’t get it, do you?” The question hangs between us, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer it or not, and if I am, what the hell am I not getting? Which part of everything I’ve done to piss him off am I not understanding right now?

  He clenches his jaw and looks up to the sky momentarily as if he’s asking for the universe to grant him some patience. When he looks back down, I see hurt in his eyes, and as much as I want to look away, I force myself to hold his gaze, tell myself that this look is nothing compared to what could be there if we held tight to whatever this is between us.

  “I care about you, Haddie. I more than care about you.”

  “That’s not possible,” I tell him, immediately pushing the thought away. Uh-uh. Not possible. Caring leads to devastation, and I can’t have that on my shoulders. “No strings, remember?” I spit the words off my tongue like they’re acid. Defense mechanism and all that. I see the impact of my statement flicker in his eyes and chastise myself. Crap! How can I feel it’s okay for me to feel like I’m falling for him, and yet I don’t want him to have any feelings for me? But isn’t a woman allowed to be a tad hypocritical when dealing with the bullshit I’ve had to deal with over the past year?

  He walks toward me, his eyes narrowing and his mouth set in a firm line. “Fuck you and your goddamn strings. I may be too cynical to believe in love at first sight, Montgomery, but I believe in the click that happens between two people. And you can stand there all you want and lie through those sexy-as-hell lips of yours, tell me there’s nothing between us … but there was a click,” he shouts at me, jabbing his finger in his chest. “And I believe in that click.”

  His eyes glare, dare me to deny it, and I can’t bring myself to look away or to refute him. The honesty in his words and the tangibility of him before me readily admitting it are just too much.

  He steps closer, a ball of anger, concern, and confusion on continuous rotation. “Why …,” he begins, and then stops, regrouping his train of thought. “Why didn’t you wake me that night? Tell me? Pick up the phone when I called and explain what was going on so that I could have been there for you? I just don’t get it….”

  “It’s not your problem.” It’s the easiest answer I have. I’ve told him more than I wanted to, more than I’d planned on, and yet I still feel lost in my decision. I’m not a half-ass kind of person, and yet that’s exactly what I’m being to Becks right now. And a pitifully pathetic one at that.

  “There you go again, insulting me,” he says, cynicism dripping from each word. “It’s not my problem, huh? You leaving in the middle of the night, scared and alone? Yeah, you’re right….” He nods. “I wouldn’t care about that? About you? For fuck’s sake, Haddie, you’re not making any goddamn logical sense….” He blows out a loud breath of disbelief.

  “Becks …” Any excuses I have die a strangled death on my tongue when hurt flashes once again in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it as an insult….”

 
; He groans in frustrated exasperation. “Please tell me Ry thinks you’re being just as frustratingly stubborn about this as I do.”

  I’m not sure how exactly I give myself away, but the brief hesitancy in my movement or the hitch in my breath tells him everything. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “What? Un-fucking-believable! You haven’t told her?” His voice rises as he walks away from me and kicks a small log on the ground so that it flies and hits against a tree, dust particles floating into the air.

  I focus on those particles shining innocently against the sun’s backdrop. They look so free, so light, and I’d give anything to be one of those right now.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  The words flicker into my head—words as tried and true as time—but their significance right now is a bit much for me. I try to shake the images the thoughts evoke from my head and only succeed in becoming more panicked, more desperate.

  “There’s nothing to tell yet,” I shout at him, hoping that the escalation of my voice reinforces my statement.

  “Yeah, there’s nothing to tell, and yet you haven’t told the person you’re closest to in the whole goddamn world about it. I’m sure you have some oceanfront property in Arizona you want to sell me since you seem to think I’m that fucking gullible.”

  His words slap at me and, God, yes, I deserve them but the anger overrides the confusion and disheartened fear. “Fuck you.” My tone is low and even, a chill to it that he doesn’t deserve. How dare he judge me, mock me, come at me in regards to anything with Rylee?

  My friend, my business. And then I groan inwardly because he’s right about it on every level, and all of a sudden it hits me that not telling her is still lying, regardless of whatever intention was behind it.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Montgomery?” he challenges as he steps closer, his anger vibrating off him and crashing into me. “You’d prefer to be fucked so mindless that you can’t remember what lies you’re keeping from whom and how many people care about you that you keep treating like crap and pushing away. What kind of game are you playing here? Let’s see how alone I can be? Let’s prove how stubborn I am?” He runs his hands through his hair, exasperated. “It’s like you’re trying to make me second-guess my feelings for you….” His words come out in a burst of heat but then trail off, and I can see the moment it all clicks for him. When the scattered jigsaw pieces of my sporadic and confusing actions suddenly fall into place.