Slow Burn by K. Bromberg
The woman makes me feel in ways I never expected. It should be me who wants to bolt, but for some reason it makes me want her even more. Everything about her draws me in, hooks me, mesmerizes me.
Goddamn it to hell. She’s my voodoo.
And it’s not like that fact scares me. Fuckin’ A, it should when I’m content meandering through the dating field for a while longer, but shit, there’s just something about Haddie that’s indescribable.
The sip of Macallan that ruins you for all others.
So I figuratively grab my balls with both hands and jump in feetfirst, hoping she’ll be the one to help me float because I sure as hell know she’s worthy enough to drown for.
She backs out of the refrigerator, and I make sure to crowd her space. Her body rubs against mine as she stands up. And the feeling of those hard nipples against my bare chest urges every single part of me to hold her against me and claim that mouth of hers. Kiss her senseless so her lips are swollen and pink when I’m done with them.
Startled, she looks up at me with my name falling off her lips in a rush of air from her mouth. We stand like this for a split second, bodies demanding and minds warring before she hurriedly pushes away from me. She seems flustered, and I can see her trying to remember what exactly she was doing before I interrupted her. I know when she remembers because she turns back to the refrigerator and grabs the platter of Jell-O shots I’d distracted her from.
She pulls the tray out, muttering, “Excuse me.” She keeps her eyes averted from mine, and it takes me a minute to steady myself, the mixture of beer and Haddie enough to make a man drunk off his ass.
I shut the door, watching her move the tray to the counter on the other side of the kitchen and start fiddling with the shots, her back toward me. I close the distance, but the words on my lips falter.
“Jell-O shots, huh?” I ask, trying to act as casual as possible, not caring whatsoever because the Macallan in front of me looks a thousand times more tempting than the childish flavors in her colored cups. “What kind?”
“Mm-hmm. Tequila sunrise, I think.”
I know she knows I’m behind her. Can see her hands stop fiddling aimlessly. Her body stills, and her breath hitches. I step into her—itching to touch her in so many ways, and when I see the little cups of orange Jell-O she’s focusing on, I know exactly how to go about it.
Plan of attack figured out.
My front is against her back, trapping her between me and the counter, my hands placed on either side of her hips. The heat of her body, the softness of her curves, and the scent of sun on her skin are enough to make a sane man crazy. I draw it all in—everything about her—as I feel her breath release in a shuddered exhale. It’s the same goddamn sound she makes when I enter her, and hell if that doesn’t make my balls tighten and my dick ache to hear it again.
Preferably on frequent repeat.
I lean my face forward so that my chin scrapes over her bare shoulder and across to the back of her neck. I press an openmouthed kiss there, just below her exposed hairline from her hair being pulled up. I hear the soft sigh begin before she catches it when she feels the warmth of my lips and lick of my tongue. A small thrill shoots through me, knowing I can affect her even after she ran.
Never underestimate the power of a kiss on the neck.
Our bodies are against each other’s, my lips pressed to her nape, and I just remain still so that the heat of my breath can hit her neck. So that she can think and wonder what my next move is going to be.
We stand here in that suspended state of anticipation before I move my mouth ever so slowly to her ear. And I’m not sure if it’s from my breath or just our general nearness, but my resolve to tease and taunt rather than taste and take is strengthened when I see the goose bumps dance across her skin in reaction to me.
“What is it they say you’re supposed to do with tequila?” I breathe into her ear as one of my hands reaches forward to take a little cup, my elbow purposely brushing against her bare torso, and my body pressing harder into hers.
She doesn’t answer, but her body vibrates from our connection. “Something like Lick it …” I let my voice trail off as I run my tongue from the edge of her shoulder up to the curve of her neck. I hear an incoherent moan from her that turns me on in all kinds of ways and feel her body sag some against mine as I taste the salt on her skin.
I hold the shot up in front of us, my languorous trail of kisses stopping right below her earlobe. “Slam it.” I raise the shot up, angling the heel of my hand softly against her breast before bringing it to my lips, her sudden intake of air pushing it farther into me. I toss the Jell-O back, its chill sliding down my throat. I set the empty cup back onto the counter, my dick hardening as it rubs against her lower back. Her inability to speak from her stubborn desire urges me on.
My mouth is back at her ear, an ache so goddamn strong to have her, I’m testing my own fucking restraint here. “I believe the last one is Suck it.” I feel her body stiffen at the words as she anticipates exactly what my next move will be. I pause on purpose, leaving her in that suspended state of desire, wanting her to wonder just that.
After a moment I lower my lips to take the lobe of her ear in my mouth and suck on it before scraping my teeth against it as I release it. This time she doesn’t try to disguise her sound of desire as it falls from her mouth. I grip my hands on the edge of the counter to prevent myself from doing any more because I really just want to slide my hands in the front of her black bikini bottoms and make her come undone.
And not a second after the thought enters my head, my hands are on the move, lust driving their actions. One hand palms her bare midriff, the diamond stud I noticed adorning her belly button just adding fuel to my raging fire of lust, as if I needed any help. At the same time, my other hand slips beneath the soft band of her bottoms and stops just above the top of her clit.
“Becks …” My name is on her lips again, the only one I want to be there. She takes her hands from the counter and wraps them around my forearms. At first I think she’s going to try to stop me, but when she just grips them tightly, I know she’s urging me on. Asking me to take her, drive her to find ecstasy, and fuck me, there is nothing more attractive than a woman who knows what the hell she wants.
I don’t speak, and I’d like to think I made the conscious decision that words are not needed right now, but fuck, my mind is so focused on the slick lips I’ll find beneath my fingertips that I can’t even think clearly. Haddie’s fingernails dig into the skin on my arm as I kick her feet farther apart with my own to gain better access to her heat. I lower my hand, my fingers parting her. I slide them back up to find her clit at the top of her seam and rub my fingers over it ever so slowly and then back.
Her legs weaken beneath her, and I press my hand against her stomach harder so that she can use my body for support. I work the pads of my fingers over her gently at first and then with more fervor as her breath starts to catch and she grinds her pelvis forward and into my hand, her voice silent but her body begging for exactly what she wants. I ease up and lower my fingers to recoat them with her arousal to find her dripping wet.
And as much as my own body is reacting to the knowledge that sweet Haddie is on the verge of coming, that she wants me to bring her there, I know I have her right where I want her. Needing, wanting, desperate for more.
I find her clit again, add in the friction that’s causing her to writhe and buck against me. I hear her breath hitching, feel her muscles start to tense up, and as much as it pains me, as much as causing a woman to reach orgasm is a powerful high for me that I love—it makes me hard as a fucking rock—I stop my fingers.
I hold them still, pressing on either side of her clit but do not move them. I hear her gasp of shock at the pause in sensation, the sudden loss of her orgasm, and the labor of her breathing as she wars desire against dignity to ask for what I’m going to deny her.
“It’s you that I want, Haddie,” I say against her ear. “Only you.?
I let the thought settle within her, my fingers astride her pleasure, my body taut with the pain of restraint as we stand there motionless, chests heaving. “I’m not letting you walk away from me again. I don’t care what your fears are, what your doubts are, who else you’re seeing….” I press a soft kiss on that addictive curve of her neck again, and it earns me a shuddered breath that is sexy and then some. “This orgasm is mine. You will not give it to anyone else, even your own hand. I want you strung so goddamn tight, you beg me to fuck you, beg me to own you.”
She gasps out again, but this time it’s because I withdraw my hands from her. She sags against the counter in respite, effectively breaking every connection our bodies have with each other.
I lean forward, my mouth a whisper from her ear, my breath the only part of me touching her. “And I will own you, but on my terms next time.”
When I take a step back, a soft “Fuck you” falls from her mouth in an unsteady tone as I notice her knuckles turning white from gripping the counter on both sides of her.
I’m curious if she’s holding on to keep herself from grabbing me and forcing me to finish her off or because she wants to slap me. Either one would be hot as hell because at least I’d know I’d gotten a reaction. And that she’s pissed enough to want more.
But her hands remain clenched.
I chuckle, low and taunting, her obstinacy turning me on so much, I have to leave now before I cave under the weight of desire and my ache to take her. “I believe that’s the point.”
I look at her one more time before I turn to go and watch her head fall forward as she tries to rein in everything—emotionally and physically—that I just brought out in her. Good. I got to her.
I walk toward the patio doors and can’t resist bringing my fingers to my lips. I slide them in my mouth momentarily to get a taste of her, of exactly what I’m craving, and have to fight the urge to stalk back and just say screw the plan and instead just take her right here, right now.
Goddamn Macallan.
So fucking addictive I’m going to need AA meetings if this shit keeps up.
Chapter 19
I lace up my shoes, desperate to get out of the house and away from waiting for the phone to ring, Dr. Blakely calling with blood test and biopsy results that I’ve been informed most likely will take another few days. Regardless, I stare at my phone each time I pass it.
When it does ring, it’s usually Rylee checking up on me, asking why I seem out of sorts, to which I reply I’m just stressed about this Scandalous deal and the impending BRCA1 test results. That answer usually quiets her down, and she comes through with the moral support that I desperately need but for something possibly much more devastating than a gene test result.
Or it’s Cal, checking in with me looking to see what rabbit I’m going to pull out of my hat to make the last event bigger and better than the first two. And despite the fact they went off without a hitch and had a larger draw than he’d ever hoped for in our initial discussions, I’m calling in all kinds of favors. Because I need this rabbit to be huge to make up for the disappearing act I pulled at the last show.
Or rather the one Becks pulled when he hauled me off like Neanderthal man. I’d told the client I’d fallen ill. I didn’t feel guilty because I really didn’t miss much of the event. We were nearing last call for the night, and the clients and A-listers had been taken care of flawlessly, but it did not go unnoticed by Cal that I wasn’t there at closing time. At least I’m not lying since I did find the lump that night, but I don’t think he buys it … so now I’m left to produce magic from a wand that’s lost its power.
I shrug the thought off, knowing I need this run to help me do just that. I grab my phone and, out of habit, glance at the screen.
Out of habit. More like out of a sick obsession to see if the man I keep pushing away is pushing back or if he’s called and I missed it. Or texted. Or smoke-signaled, for Christ’s sake. God, I’m emotionally fucked-up. I push him away, leave him after incredible sex without another word, and have a fight over it? And his comeback is to work me up into a goddamn frenzy over Jell-O shots and his masterful fingertips with a crowd of friends outside. Then he leaves me one rub short of detonation with promises to keep me awake from that ache he created last night but with a dominant threat to prevent me from sating it.
Slow and steady, my ass. The man’s got a side to him that I never knew existed, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. And that pisses me the fuck off because I don’t want to be thinking about him, can’t be thinking about him.
Run.
Like I’m not used to doing that.
I need the exercise to get my head clear, to push my body beyond feeling so that I can focus on getting the final details for the Scandalous event next week taken care of. Focus on that; obsess over that.
I grab my phone and, of course, glance at the screen for the umpteenth time today before opening the front door. I swing it open and cry out in surprise when I see Becks standing there. I immediately move my hand up to my chest to try to still my raging heart.
I should really be covering my crotch though because it feels like all the blood my heart is pumping has gone straight there. I swear the bowling ball of aching need I’ve felt during the last few days sitting atop the apex of my thighs just got heavier at the sight of him and his half-cocked smirk.
“Becks! What are you doing here?” I try not to sound like a breathy, needy woman, but damn if I don’t sound like a bad porno when the words come out.
“Had? You okay?” Before Becks can even answer, I hear Dante’s voice and the sound of his footsteps in the hall behind me.
I’m looking at Becks’s eyes when Dante speaks, so there’s no way I can miss the flicker of irritation that flashes through them. Hm. Things might get a tad interesting here.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say over my shoulder, hoping he’ll leave it at that and go back to whatever he was doing. But I know I’ve got no such luck when I hear him clear his throat behind me and notice Becks’s eyes stare over my shoulder and turn to ice.
I turn so that I can see both of them, and when I see Dante, I understand why Becks is visibly bristling with disdain. Dante stands in the hallway with a white towel wrapped around his naked, dripping-wet, ripped body while he haphazardly scrubs another towel over his head. His eyes whip to mine, and I see a vague irritation and a whole lot of possessive machismo reflected there, his shoulders squared, body vibrating with testosterone.
“Oh.” I quickly avert my eyes back to Becks. “Becks, this is Dante, my house guest for a short while.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain. Possibly because the bowling ball he’s created needs to have its holes filled with some fingers soon so that the pressure can be released, but I also find it interesting that I don’t explain to Dante what exactly my relationship with Becks is.
Maybe it’s because I’m still figuring that out.
Becks doesn’t say anything, nor does he look away from the visual pissing match that the guys are waging in front of me. He just nods his head in acknowledgment of Dante, and I’m too busy staring at Becks and holding my breath to look to see what Dante does. Whatever it is, though, he’s not moving because after a beat Becks raises both eyebrows in a silent Do you mind? The silence lingers for a few more seconds—the claim being staked—before I hear Dante pad off without another word.
Becks’s gaze remains trained over my shoulder for a few more moments, his jaw clenched and muscles tight. I give us both a few seconds and then step outside and shut the front door behind me so that he has no other option than to return his focus on me.
“Hey,” I say, a cautious smile on my lips.
He clenches his jaw one more time so that the muscle there pulses in that sexy-as-hell way before his eyes find mine again. I watch the tension fade as his muscles relax. I can see the questions on his lips, know he wants to ask what the fuck Dante is doing here or what he was to me, but I give the man mad props because
“I have somewhere I need to be, and you’re coming with me.” His voice is steady when he speaks, the timbre of it pulling at every part of me. It’s the first time I’ve heard it since the party, since he was telling me he wanted to own me, lick me, slam me, suck me.
Fuck. I’m already a desperate ball of need, and the man hasn’t said more than a sentence to me. And the fact that I almost immediately agree to go with him, no questions asked, is even more desperate and embarrassing.
What in the hell did he do to me? No one orders me around unless his hand is fisted in my hair and he’s fucking me from behind. But this … this reaction he’s caused in me is unsettling. It has to be everything else that’s going on that’s making me react this way. It has to be the unknown and the waiting that makes me want to jump at the chance to go wherever he’s taking me just so I can push all of that away for a bit.
“What?” I’m finally able to speak as I shove the desire away and as guilty as I feel about how I’ve treated him, I refuse to comply with his demand in some warped form of apology. I take a deep breath as I regain the rights Gloria Steinem fought for and cross my arms across my chest and lean against the door behind me. “We are not going anywhere.” I snort at him like he’s crazy, but hell if my eyes aren’t dragging up over his khaki shorts and Under Armor shirt, which offers just enough of a hint at the muscles bunching beneath it.
He steps forward and places one arm on the door beside my head and braces himself there, his head angled to look at me, a lascivious smirk ghosting that irresistible mouth of his. He laughs low and taunting. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, City. We are most definitely taking a drive.”
I start to protest when he cuts me off by placing his free hand on the curve of my neck and holding it there. I swear my body ignites with bursts of energy whenever our skin touches, the tiny explosions trailing straight to my core so that the ache intensifies and my need swelters.