Slow Burn

by K. Bromberg

  Fuck me running.

  Becks’s head angles to the side again, and his eyes narrow. I can see him trying to process what he’s just concluded. He takes another step closer into my personal space, and even though I’m outdoors with nothing around me, my feet are glued to the ground, and I feel like my back is up against a goddamn wall.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  I can’t speak, so I simply stare at him as my eyes burn with tears I don’t want to shed. I work a swallow down my throat, and I see his eyes track me, struggling to get the words past my lips. His expression softens immediately. Within a second, his arms—the ones I don’t want around me, and yet I want them so desperately at the same—are there, drawing me into him.

  I tell myself to fight it, not to accept the comfort because I don’t deserve it, but my body’s innate reaction takes over. My hands grip in the shirt he slipped back on when he chased after me, and my face finds that spot just beneath his chin. His hand is on the back of my head holding me to him, our hearts thundering against each other’s.

  The world spins beneath our feet, and nature hums around us, but I feel like time stands still, and I just hold tight to Becks and to that comforting thought.

  “I don’t care how hard you push me, Montgomery. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs into the crown of my head, his hands pressing me farther into him. “You don’t have to do whatever this is alone.”

  My emotions spiral into a continual free fall with his admission. I want to tell him that this isn’t anything—him, me, us, a bad diagnosis—but I’m so sick of pushing people out that for once all I want is to pull him in. My hands fist tighter into the fabric as I try to gain some kind of control of my inner turmoil, but it’s useless. We stand there for a moment, both breathing each other in and trying to understand the other’s reactions.

  After a bit, when my fingers are relaxed on his shirt but his are still grasping me tight, I say in an even, unemotional voice that surprises even me, “Nothing has happened yet, Becks. Nothing.”

  He sighs, and I can feel his jaw clench. “You’re scared so shitless you’re running…. That’s something. That’s more than something.”

  I accept his words, know they are the truth, but I still need to warn him away. “I don’t know what it is yet, but I know that if it’s what I fear, asking anyone to stand beside me, suffer as I go through it, deal with the crap that comes with it … the side effects, the aftereffects, the scars inside and out … that’s something I can’t ask of anyone. Ever.”

  His fingers dig into my shoulders as he pushes me back so that I’m forced to look into his eyes. They search mine for the remainder of the truths he knows are there but that I won’t voice: life, death, losing my breasts, losing my hair, scars, infertility. I try to guard those fears, not even wanting to go there yet, not wanting to admit those to him.

  “And again, I call bullshit on that. You don’t get to choose the people that care about you. You don’t get to make choices for others, tell them how to feel or, better yet, block them out because of what you think they’ll go through.” Anger starts to weave through his voice, despite the soft brush of his thumb over my cheek, a gentle reassurance against the onslaught of chastising words I hear but struggle to accept. “It’s my choice, Ry’s choice how we choose to deal with it … not yours. I just …” His voice trails off as he shakes his head and leans forward so that his forehead rests against mine.

  “Becks, I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.”

  “What’s best?” He pulls back, irritation rising in him again. “God, you stubborn, fucking woman. Quit being a martyr. What’s best is you letting me make my own goddamn decisions and for you to stop lying to me so that I can.” He releases me and paces a few feet, energy so raw he needs to move. “What’s best is you pulling your head out of your ass long enough to realize I care about you, Ry cares about you—”

  “I don’t want her to know.” My voice is implacable as I think of the heartache Ry’s endured over the past few years and how I don’t want to add to it until there is a finite answer. I don’t want to add undue stress to her. “And I never lied to you….”

  He bites his bottom lip and grimaces. “Fuck!” he growls out to the trees above him, and then rolls his shoulders to dissipate some of the stress I see settling there. “Semantics aren’t an excuse. An omission is the same as lying, Haddie, but you’re missing the point entirely. It’s not whether it was a lie or not. It’s so damn far from that. It’s you using the sex we’ve had to numb yourself when it should do the exact opposite. It should light your body on fire and burrow so deep under your skin that all you think about is the next time you can have me … because fuck if that’s not what you’ve done to me. So I call your bluff. I’ll keep calling it every fucking day until you admit you want me, that being with me does that to you too … but you won’t, will you?” I just remain still, face impassive, body raging with emotion beneath the surface. “You’d rather stand there and tell me you prefer the numb, the void, the nothing, than admit you need me.”

  His eyes have their own language as we stare at each other, the power of his words bringing tears to my eyes and knocking the words from my lips. “I was just doing what I thought was best, protecting everyone from more hurt, more everything.” And I hate the numb, I scream silently. I hate it so fucking much that every time we touch you make me feel so alive, I realize how dead I’ve felt inside over the past year.

  I don’t know why I don’t tell him the rest. Like if I do, then I’m just sealing my fate by Murphy’s fucking Law so I keep quiet.

  “Really? That’s all you’ve got for me? Next time make sure your eyes and your lips match up, City, because you’re just adding insult to injury right now. Your refusal to answer is infuriating. Need me, Haddie. Use me as your goddamn emotional punching bag or your real one, for that matter, but fucking need me. I’m not some schmuck who’s going to bolt at the first rough patch, and the fact that you still don’t see that is a crock.” He blows out a loud breath, jaw clenched, anger palpable. “I’m so fucking pissed, but I’m also so fucking mesmerized by you right now, and I don’t know what the hell to do or say. All I know is that protecting someone from the truth is just another way of shutting them out.”

  My eyes snap to his, and I don’t know what to say to him. There are no words to take away the fact that I hurt him, but at the same time, his plea causes my chest to constrict so that I can’t help but feel the swelling of my heart. I try to justify, to apologize by explanation. “Maybe shutting someone out is my way of not forcing someone’s hand to react out of duty or stick it out when the shit starts rolling downhill. Pity by association is not needed, nor is it welcome.”

  “By association?” He pulls back. “A formal way to phrase that, don’t you think, considering we were associating in the field over there?”

  I try to bite back the smirk that starts to curl up the corners of my mouth at his comment. This conversation has been so damn serious that my nervous energy grabs onto his quip, and I fire one right back without thinking. “Associating? I thought we were clicking.”

  Becks’s grin spreads wide, lines around his eyes crinkling as it reaches them, and something about the way he angles his head to the side and looks at me with a combination of amusement and adoration warms parts of me that being physical with him doesn’t. “Oh City, we were most definitely clicking.” He laughs, full and loud, and the sound is so good to hear.

  I still have my doubts, my reservations, my fear that if results are not in my favor, I’m dragging him into a bad situation, but for right now, I just want to let the feelings wash over me when I’m with him. To allow myself these moments, the calm before the storm.

  And before I can finish rationalizing why I want this man, regardless of all unforeseen circumstances, Becks walks up to me and grabs me without preamble and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is teeming with such a potent combination of emotion that when our tongues meet, I can t
aste his anger and raw need. His mouth brands mine without apology as he takes and gives us an outlet to explain our feelings without speaking.

  Because when kisses like this are involved, speaking is way the fuck overrated.

  He eases away from the kiss and pulls me into his arms again, where I welcome the comfort of his body against mine. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, but irrational makes me crazy, and, baby, your line of thinking is nearing that spectrum.” He sighs and kisses the top of my head. “We’re not finished talking about this yet, but I think it’s ridiculous to dwell on something that might not even be an issue, now or in the future. And if there is more to talk about, you will not be hiding it from me.” His hands angle my head up and down so that I am forced to nod in agreement. I laugh at him, feeling lighter than I have in days. “We are, Haddie. You’d best get used to that.”

  Those two words hit my ears and ease the weight in my soul a bit, warming me. I mouth the words, “We are,” back to him and I catch the quick flash of a smile before his lips meet mine again.

  We sink into the kiss, and he pulls back ever so slightly to reach out and pull something from my hair. “You’ve got leaves in your hair,” he says with a smirk.

  “It’s the new style,” I quip.

  “Hm.” He glances down at the ground around us, littered generously with leaves. His eyes look back up at me with a wicked gleam in them. “Well, I plan on making you look a helluva lot more stylish, then.”

  Chapter 22

  BECKS

  Coffee.

  The aroma calls to me like the rev of the engines on race day, jolting me awake so quickly, I grab the pillow beside me to cover my eyes from the brightness in the room. There aren’t any curtains at the farmhouse¸ so hello, sunshine.

  Thanks for that, Mom.

  I grumble a curse, the morning and me not on a first-name basis today.

  Well, it’s probably because my eyes closed what feels like only hours ago. First there was the incredible sex with Haddie. Incredible? Who the fuck am I kidding? More like the bar was set to measure all other sex in my life.

  The goddamn Macallan.

  She’s ruining me. Like fucking destroying me for anybody else. Deena? Who?

  Then after I got drunk on her body, she curled up next to me and fell asleep. But I couldn’t. I lay there for well over an hour, reliving the day: bringing her out here, sex in the field, finding her stitches, the fight that ensued, getting a helluva lot more leaves in her hair as we made up, dinner, and talking by the fire followed by foreplay there, which led to the bar being set.

  Despite how incredible the day was, my mind kept drifting back to those test results she hadn’t gotten back yet. To the feelings she’s stirred up inside me and how the possibilities of what those results could hold might affect her when she’s already running scared as it is.

  Her body was so warm, so damn tempting, I let it soothe the concern burdening me, and finally fell asleep as dawn bled into the night.

  Coffee.

  The scent and soft humming I hear pull me from my thoughts. Ones I don’t want to have, but damn if Haddie hasn’t burrowed under my skin, made me want more than I should. Made me think thoughts that would make my mom jump for joy.

  Thoughts veer toward wondering if Colton’s newfound one-pussy-is-good-enough-to-commit-to-for-life theory holds any relevance for me.

  And that’s saying a hell of a lot.

  My morning wood is flying full staff, and with the scent of coffee leading my nose and my libido literally pointing the way to the one person who can satisfy both my needs, I push up out of bed and shuffle toward the kitchen.

  As I make my way down the hall, I come up with the perfect idea of where to take her on the way home. She needs a day where she doesn’t have to worry, preoccupied enough that she doesn’t have time to think about the unknown that I know rules her minute to minute.

  I’m feeling on top of the world when I round the corner to the kitchen. It’s when I see her, though, that I feel like the bottom drops out.

  Damn.

  Just damn.

  She’s sitting on the window seat, back against the wall, knees against her chest, and a cup of coffee in her hands on top of them. Her face is angled toward the vast view of the farm spread before her. The sun streams in the window and lights up the gold of her hair in a halo-type effect. She has on my T-shirt and I’m unsure what else since it drapes down and covers her hips, blocking the view I really want to see. She has a soft smile on her face as she watches Rex outside snap his jaws fruitlessly at the flies buzzing overheard and just out of reach.

  There is something about her right now that looks so pure, so fragile, when she is usually anything but, that pulls at me. I blame it on the sunlight at first, convince myself it’s the combination of her relaxed and wearing my T-shirt that makes my dick ache. Makes the thought She looks like an angel flicker through my groggy mind.

  But hell if I’m not staggered by the sight.

  I desperately want her to look at me, want to see what her eyes would say, but can’t find it in me to break the moment. For her or for me. Because I’m too busy trying to figure out why I feel so fucked-up all of a sudden.

  I was a man looking for coffee and maybe some morning dessert of sweet Haddie, and now I’m speechless, and I know there’s no turning back for me.

  As soon as she shifts in her seat, she sees me, but she’s not startled like I’d expect. A slow smile spreads across those perfect lips when her eyes meet mine. From a distance, they look like they’re glistening with tears, and for the first time in for-fucking-ever, I can’t move. I just stand there and stare at her, speaking only through our visual connection. As much as I need to look away so she can’t read what’s in my eyes, I can’t because I realize it’s not the bottom dropping out at all.

  Nope. Not in the least.

  It’s my heart bottoming out as it tumbles and falls.

  Well … fuck.

  Shouldn’t I be freaked that the woman in front of me just stole my breath and made me feel different from any way I’ve ever felt before? Rational thought says we’ve been seeing each other such a short time that the grapple hook I just felt dig into my heart can’t be for real. Besides, the Cupid-and-arrow routine is bullshit.

  But the click? Now the click is sure as fuck real. And hell if it wasn’t just as deafening as a clap of thunder.

  I already feel like she’s struck me with lightning, so the sound of thunder is par for the course.

  “Good morning.” Her voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Coffee’s ready.”

  Coffee.

  Yes.

  That will help clear my head and hopefully loosen my tongue, which is suddenly tied because I fear that this self-revelation will change everything.

  “Are you positive?”

  She asks me the question with a look of curious caution in her eyes. I can tell that she wants the opportunity I’ve just laid out before her but fears it all at the same time. And I get the range of emotions, but I also know that giving her the chance to be in control of something will help her, ground her, make her feel less like everything in her life is spiraling out of control.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She laughs low and rich with a suggestive smirk and a sparkle in her eye. “After what I just let you do to me, you’re going to ask me if I trust you?”

  Goddamn.

  It’s only been a few hours, but her comment has visuals of our prebreakfast sexcapade coming back in full HD color. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat another Thanksgiving dinner on that kitchen table without thinking of eating sweet Haddie out. Facedown, ass up, hands ordered to stay gripped on the edge or I’d stop the flick of my tongue on her clit. Her body writhing, her mouth moaning, and that sweeter-than-sin taste of hers hitting my tongue as she bucked beneath my grip on her hips as she came with a scream of my name.

  And then she said a single word, More.

  I meet her eyes as we exit the truck, and
I know she’s thinking the same thing right now. How I pulled her to the edge of the table, then slammed into that tight, pulsing pussy of hers as she was still riding out her orgasm. And holy fucking hell. Just incredible. The feel of her, skin on skin, is just something I don’t think I can ever contemplate doing without now.

  My dick hardens at the thought again, how taking my time never crossed my mind because I was only thinking about the endgame this time around, knowing she’d already got hers. The visual of pounding into her from behind hits me again, wetting my thumb and pushing it against her tight rim of resisting muscles. How she squirmed beneath my touch, her mouth crying out, “Yes. God, yes, Becks. Do it. I’ll come.” Her words the only consent I needed to push my thumb into her perfect fucking ass and mimic the movement of my dick in her pussy.

  I close my eyes behind my sunglasses for a second, reliving the sound of her scream as she came so hard, her legs gave out, her every muscle tightening around my thumb and cock until I couldn’t hold back any longer and lost myself to her as well.

  My God. Just when I thought she couldn’t top the night before, she went and raised the bar again.

  If it gets much higher, I’m going to wish I was a damn pole-vaulter.

  “Becks?”

  Her voice pulls me from the pistons trying to spark in my mind because hell if she’s not the only fuel I need to fire up my engine right now.

  “Hmm.” The hum deep in my throat makes clear to her just what I’m thinking about. “You bring up this morning, and I might just think I need to do it again.”