K. Bromberg - Slow Burn

He fights the smile on his lips and almost wins, but his eyes give away his burgeoning desire. “Yep. Wall sex is highly underrated,” he says matter-of-factly as he takes a step toward me. I move away only to realize my back is against said front door.

“Why’s that?” I breathe out, his proximity and the topic of conversation beginning to make my heart quicken.

He steps in again so that my body is pressed against his with nowhere to retreat. “Because,” he says, bringing his hands up to frame my face so that I have no option but to look at those mesmerizing eyes of his, “when you’re pushed against the door with your legs wrapped around my hips, your body weight makes it so that you take me as deep as you possibly can.” He makes a humming sound of appreciation in his throat that mimics how I feel right now, desperate for the feeling he just described. My lips part to beg him, but I keep my dignity—for how much longer, I’m not sure.

With his eyes fastened to mine, he runs his hands down my shoulders, along my rib cage and stops right at my hips so his fingers can grip me there. My breath hitches as I wait for him to lift me up and press me against the door, oblivious to the fact that we are outside and that’s not going to happen.

His fingers grip a bit tighter as he lowers his face oh so slowly to mine. That mouth of his, which I want to do so many things to me, brushes gently against my lips when he pins me to the door. And rather than the desperation I feel, Becks keeps the kiss so tender, so reverent that we sink into it so gently, I become lost in him.

He lifts me gently, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, but our lips never leave each other’s, and the eroticism of our connection is not lost on me. Our bodies fit together, his erection against the V of my thighs almost as perfect a fit as our lips.

Even as my desire swelters to unfathomable heights, the kiss remains slow, measured, meaningful, with our fingers tangling in each other’s hair. It softly ends, a pleading protest falling from my now swollen lips as he pulls back to look in my eyes.

“Good night kisses are my favorite,” he murmurs, and damn, I can see why he favors them, especially when they’re like that. Knock the breath from your lungs, turn your knees to jelly, and overwhelm your mind so thoroughly, you can’t think a straight thought. His hands are back on my hips as he holds me, lowering me to the ground, my mind so shaken that I momentarily forget about my suspended state.

He angles his head, his eyes swimming with so many things that I’m too scared to look too closely. “Good night, City.”

He takes a step back, and I want to cry in protest, but all I utter is “’Night.” He looks at me for a beat longer, with a ghost of a smile before he turns and starts to walk down the path.

“Hey,” I call to him, my scattered wits slowly returning now that there is distance between our bodies. He turns and narrows his brows at me. “Do you have a three-day rule too?”

“Three days? You’ll just have to wait and see now, won’t you?” A lopsided smirk curls up his lips. “I never give away my secrets.” He goes to turn to walk away but stops and faces me. “Hey, Montgomery? The question you should be asking me is if the three-day rule I have is for a phone call or for the wall sex.”

And with that, he grants me a lightning-quick grin before turning and walking away, his laugh floating over to where I stand, thighs clenched and head shaking as he leaves me once again, a woman already wanting more.

Damn you, Beckett Daniels.

I watch him pull out of the driveway, knowing the ache in my chest is only going to get worse as I fall farther and farther down the rabbit hole.

When his car is gone from sight, I open the front door, shut it, and then sag against it in a state of complete exhaustion that feels oh so good. And then I laugh to myself when I realize this very position is exactly where I hope Becks plans to meet me three days from now.

Wall sex.

Damn.

Chapter 24

I throw my purse on the counter and rest my hip against it, thoroughly exhausted. I’ve yet to recover the sleep I lost from my night spent with Becks out in Ojai or the late-night-into-early-morning phone calls we’ve had the past few days. More time spent getting to know each other. Not that I minded because not sleeping with Becks is such a damn good way to lose sleep. Besides, I’ve been busy humoring him and abiding by his ludicrous and completely back-assward rules. But as ridiculous as they are, they are actually kind of sweet too.

And since we’ve been talking every night, obviously the three-day rule did not apply to phone calls. I can only hope it means tonight I get the push-up-against-the-door wall sex he’d hinted at.

Like the sooner, the better.

Becks has built the anticipation so handily that waiting to get up to my bedroom is not an option.

I grab a drink and head out to the backyard per my usual end-of-day routine, the last rays of the sun calling to me before the night claims them for itself. I sit down in my favored chaise and bring my lemonade up to my lips. My thoughts drift to my time with Maddie this afternoon and how she was so cheerful and genuinely happy and how my heart felt so much better leaving her this time.

I know the grief will always be there for her, a constant, but at the same time, I’m starting to see pieces of the little girl she was a year ago before this nightmare we’re never going to wake from happened. And those glimpses tell me there’s the possibility of so many more just around the corner.

I process a couple random thoughts about work and the last Scandalous party coming up in the next few days. I’m more than satisfied with my job for them and know the message I received earlier this morning about how the higher-ups were raving about the job I’ve been doing boosted my confidence at the possibility of landing them as a client going into this last event.

And then of course my mind wanders to Becks. I don’t even try to fight the smile that graces my lips at the thought of him and everything he’s come to mean to me in such a short amount of time. I mean, if someone would have told me that I’d be falling in love with a man this quickly, I’d have told them they were crazy. But I rationalize and justify that we’ve been friends for more than a year so the transition to falling for each other is not as drastic as it seems.

And hell it feels so damn good. Butterflies in the stomach when my phone rings, staying up all hours of the night on the phone, talking about anything and nothing, just mesmerized by each other’s voices. It’s early yet, I know, and as good as it feels, I’m trying to pace myself, trying to take stock of everything because the fear is still there, still clawing at my psyche. Making its presence known with each thought, with every action so that I second-guess myself, but I’m trying desperately hard to ignore it. Push it down. Keep it at bay.

I close my eyes and lift my face to the sun, settling into the feeling when my phone rings beside me. I fumble for it, keeping my eyes closed, expecting it to be Becks since it’s getting close to his quitting time, and I’m quietly hoping I get to see him tonight. It’s been a few days and that just feels like forever right now when you’re in that getting-to-know-you stage.

“Hello?” The smile is on my face, my ears anticipating the timbre and cadence of his voice, which calls to me on so many levels.

“Ms. Montgomery, please.”

The disembodied monotone of the voice shocks me. “This is she,” I respond, half of me wanting to look at the screen and see who is calling and the other half that has my anxiety ratcheting tells me I’ll find out soon enough. But I already know.