K. Bromberg: Slow Burn

“That’s funny, but, uh, you’re in no shape to drive.” His voice calls out to me, and the amusement in it pisses me off. “You’re not going anywhere, festivities or not.”

“Like hell I am.” I toss over my shoulder and keep walking toward the house. Just leave me alone, I yell in my head. Don’t go all alpha on me now when all I want from you is slow and steady because I’m way too drunk and way too needy to see in him what I’m attracted to.

“Try me.” The arrogance in his voice sets me off. Pushes me to be bitchy and defiant so that I don’t make a huge mistake I don’t want to make. Do want to make. Fuck if I can think clearly enough to know what I want, but I do know that Beckett’s one of those guys you settle down with … and no way in hell do I want to settle down.

Ever.

The hurt comes flooding back, the memories riding shotgun right alongside them. I stop to steady my legs and remind myself not to repeat the mistakes my sister made.

I can hear him behind me, know he’s waiting for me to respond. “Neither of us is in any state to drive tonight. Festivities are over.” I hear his shoes step on something that crunches just behind me, and I squeeze my eyes shut to fight off the whirlwind of shit in my head. “C’mon, Montgomery. It was a perfect day, but I’m taking you to bed.”

I snort a laugh because even though his comment is innocent in nature since we both told Rylee we’d stay the night to oversee all of the postreception cleanup, Becks just hit the nail on the head. To bed is exactly where I want him to take me right now, his in particular . Wait! No, I don’t want that. Goddamn alcohol is making me wishy-washy. I hate wishy-washy.

He says my name again, and something in the way he says it causes my feet to falter. We stand there, my back to him, in a silent standoff. I don’t move, don’t turn around to face him, because I just want to run. Rewind time and get me back again. The carefree, careless me who has been drowning in grief these past few months.

His hand closes over my biceps, and I don’t know why I’m so angry at him, but I am. I don’t want to be touched gently. I don’t want to be coddled. I just want to leave so I can escape the memories today dredged up from deep within me, reopening the wounds I don’t think will ever heal.

I turn around, trying to shrug out of his grasp, but the movement makes me wobble on my heels. “Whoa!” I hear him say as one of my ankles gives out and I fall into him. His back is pressed against the wall, and I land solidly against him.

It’s not as if I haven’t been in this position with him tonight already. We danced so many times earlier during the reception, so why is it that this time, when my breasts rub against the firmness of his chest, the fight leaves me? The need fills me? I don’t even want to think about it, but it’s all I can focus on when our bodies touch from chest to thigh. It’s all my mind can grasp, because when I look up at him from beneath my lashes, my eyes catch sight of that magnificent mouth of his.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the sentimental aftermath of watching two people who really belong together get married. Maybe it’s because I felt closer to Lexi today than I have in a long while. I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t give a fuck about mistakes or consequences. I just need to feel . Need to lose myself. And shit, it’s just Becks after all.

I don’t meet his eyes. Don’t want to know whether he wants this, because I do. I lean forward and press my lips to his, not giving him any time to react because damn if his lips aren’t the perfect combination of firm and soft. His body tenses as mine softens into him, and I slide my hands up his chest at the same time my tongue slips between his lips. I moan softly at the warmth of his mouth, the taste of the rum on his tongue, the feel of his breath catching. His strong palms slide slowly up my bare arms as we sink further into the kiss, when all of a sudden his fingers dig into my shoulders and he’s pushing me away. A shocked gasp falls from both of our mouths when our connection is broken.

“Haddie.” His voice is pained as he says my name, a contradictory plea and curse at the same time.

And my mind may be a little fuzzy and my body coiled so tight from his kiss, but that break in his voice tells me he more than enjoyed it. That he wants me just as badly as I want him.

I force myself to look up, meet the clouded shock in his eyes. “What? Don’t you want me, Becks?”

I feel his fingers tense on my shoulders, hear a strained chuckle deep in his throat. “Oh, there’s a whole lot of want here,” he says before closing his eyes momentarily. He works a swallow in his throat and then pushes me away. “I’m just trying to play it safe, Had.”

His rejection stings—the alcohol softening the blow—but I feel the hesitancy in his fingers before he removes them from my shoulders. And with desire coursing through me, lust fueling its fire, I use my need to forget as the match to light the flame.

I step into him, slide my hands up his crisp white shirt, and meet his eyes. “C’mon, how much safer can we be? I’m with you, aren’t I? You’re not going to hurt me … are you, Becks?” I may have drunk a lot tonight, but I know desire when I see it, and damn if it doesn’t look sexy on Becks.

His jaw clenches, head tilts ever so slightly to the side, and his body tenses as he stares at me through the moonlit night.

“Isn’t it normal for the best man and the maid of honor to hook up, anyway?”

“Haddie.” My name is a drawn-out sigh, and I can hear his frustration laced with desire. I can feel the heat of his breath hit my lips.

The way he says my name causes the fire within me to rage because now I know the answer to my question: how he sounds when he loses control. And if he thought he was going to push me away after hearing that, he’s got another think coming.

“No one wants to play it safe tonight…. Live a little,” I tell him, reaching out and running a fingernail up the hollow of his neck where his shirt is unbuttoned. I lean in closer and whisper, “Please, help me live a little.”

“Oh, I believe you live a whole lot.” He chuckles with a subtle shake of his head, but those blue eyes of his remain locked on mine, a war of unexpressed emotions between us. “That’s what I love about you.”

My need to have him escalates with his nonchalance. And fuck, this is frustrating . Can’t a girl just get laid here? I’m not used to having to convince guys to get what I want, so why in the hell is this so difficult?

“I didn’t say shit about love, Country.” I say the words playfully but taste his rejection on my lips. “I don’t need strings. I just need you to make me feel … help me lose myself for a bit.”

He leans his head forward so that we are eye to eye, his hands coming up to frame my face so that I can see the concern and unwanted desire dancing in them. “I didn’t know you wanted to be lost.”

“We all need to lose ourselves sometimes, don’t we?” My question hangs in the still of the night as his eyes search mine for answers I won’t give.

He shakes his head, and I can tell he’s trying to convince himself to step away. “I don’t want to complicate things,” he says with a clenched jaw as he lowers his hands slowly from my face and stands back. Physically distancing himself to emphasize his words, but they contradict the look in his eyes.

“No complications. I told you, Becks,” I say, trying to keep the desperation I suddenly feel from my voice, “no strings, just sex. A little release after this incredible day. C’mon, what guy would pass up that chance?”

He groans. “A guy who’s trying really hard to do the right thing here and play it safe.” He steps forward, and I think I’ve gotten to him. He places an arm around my shoulder and starts steering me into the house. “C’mon, festive Haddie , I’m gonna help you to your room.”