K. Bromberg - Slow Burn

“Let go.” I snap the words out, liking the predicament less and less by the moment. I try to shrug out of his grasp and find myself pushed against the wall with some force.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts from the motion, his face closing in on mine again until his mouth is at my ear and his body is flanking mine. “Since you seem to be handing it out like it’s free, I might as well get my piece of your pie.”

Warning bells sound louder now, and I’m trying hard to keep the panic from reaching my eyes. But I’ve got my wits about me enough to know that I’m alone in my house with a man who can clearly overpower me, so as much as I want to make my move right now, I need to make sure I time it perfectly. The unease I feel tickling at the base of my neck tells me I might only get one shot at this.

“Have another beer and keep dreaming and it might happen in like … hmm … never .” I laugh at the words, trying to portray confidence that I don’t really have. I ignore his last comment, not wanting to get into any discussion about what he wants from me with our bodies pressed against each other’s.

“Oh, sweet Haddie,” he murmurs, causing my breath to hitch at Becks’s pet name for me. “What? It’s okay for him to call you that but not me?” He reaches up to trail a finger down my cheek. I fight the shiver of revulsion that courses through me from his unwanted and intrinsically intimate touch. “C’mon … let’s quit dancing around this—you leading me on, turning me on, kissing me, then pushing me away. I mean, shit, I’ve always appreciated a chick that’s hard to get, but it’s not like I haven’t had you before, right? So why the game, babe? Because I’m done playing it and ready to take what I came here for.”

His comment confuses me, until the myriad feelings inside me collide with one another, until they vaguely start to make sense to me. Startled, I drop my head back and meet his eyes for the first time when the realization hits me. Am I that fucking dumb? Have I been so preoccupied with Becks and then the test and the biopsy results that I didn’t see it all along? And then add to that that the few times Dante and I kissed I was unknowingly fanning the flames of his reason for coming back here: to get back together with me.

If he had shown up like this months ago, I probably would have brushed his mistakes under the rug and given him a second chance. But now—now there’s Becks. And whatever it is we are, I know it feels like it has the potential to be a hell of a lot stronger than what Dante and I were.

The sound of Dante sucking in his breath pulls me back to the present, where the expectant look on his face tells me he’s dead serious.

There will be no taking of anything from me unless it’s my fist in his face.

“Dante, I think it’s time for you to leave.” My pulse begins to pound in my ears now as he stares at me, jaw clenched, eyes boring into mine, and the muscles of his shoulders and neck rigid with tension. I watch indecision flicker through them as I try to keep my breath even and body language nondefensive.

“Just like that, huh?” The derision lacing his voice is almost tangible. “I think it’s only fair that I get a fighting chance. You’ve fucked him. Now, you’ll fuck me, and then you can make an educated decision as to who makes you come harder. Simple as that.”

I struggle with the right words to tell him he’s high as a kite if he thinks I’m having sex with him. Even if I’d wanted to, the oh so romantic way he just informed me I was going to fuck him would have had me locking down my crotch like a bank vault.

“You’ve got another think coming if you think that fancy line’s going to work on me, Teller.” I try to keep my warning light, joking, but I let him know I’m not game with his plan.

He laughs low and soft again, and there’s just enough edge to it that my throat constricts as I try to swallow. “I think you misunderstand me. I’m not asking you to fuck me. I’m telling you you’re going to. No one turns me down, least of all you….” His voice trails off as he digs his fingers a bit tighter on my arms and leans in so his lips brush over my ear. My nerves are invigorated by his words, my eyes flickering over the room, looking at the dish on the table a few feet from me where my cell sits, beside a vase and my keys. “I’ve been more than patient as you’ve led me on, teased me, taunted me, all the while getting off with him. Well, now it’s my turn to have my say.”

“Well, if this is your way of having your say , you’re going about it all wrong, Dante. Thanks, but no, thanks.”

My well of emotions has run empty, and so I meet him stare for stare, refuse to back down because fuck if I’m going to let him push me around. He can take the first flight to hell before I’d willingly hop into bed with him.

His hand on my arm flexes as he attempts to deal with the rejection. He goes to speak and then stops, does it again, and then before I can react, his mouth is on mine.

I don’t even let the shock register before I’m shoving against him, my knee coming up and making contact. He grunts when I connect, his lips off mine as he doubles over in pain, the sound of his misery filling the house. I think I hear son of a bitch or maybe him calling me a bitch. I don’t know, and I don’t care because that pull of Dante Teller that’s always been irrefutable to me is no more.

All I see now is a manipulative prick who didn’t have the balls just to come out and tell me he wanted me back. And then went about trying to prove his point in completely the wrong way. Force? Is he fucking kidding me? Who is this man?

Being a badass is one thing. Being an asshole is another.

I rush to the table and grab the phone, my fingers dialing without thought. “Please leave Dante or I’m pushing SEND right now on nine-one-one.”

He looks up at me, face red, teeth clenched, but disbelief still in his bloodshot eyes. I know he’s had run-ins with the law before, and this is the last thing he’d want. I step forward and pick his keys up from the hall table and take my house key off the ring before throwing them at him. They hit his shoulder and fall to the ground as he keeps groaning.

“Get out!” I scream at him as the adrenaline starts to fire now that I’m away from him and can physically react to the threats he threw at me.

He grabs his keys with one hand, his other still on his crotch. It takes a minute, but he hobbles to the front door and fumbles with the handle for a moment before opening it up.

“I’ll have your shit on the porch later tonight for you to collect.”

As he walks out, I hear my name as a murmur on his lips, and his tone sounds almost apologetic. A little too fucking late for that. I know he cares about me, know we had something once, but anything there could have been, he just killed by trying to force himself on me, and I think he knows it.

His lack of a fight tells me.

He tries to straighten up, his eyes meeting mine, and I see the apology there, but I don’t say another word as I slam the door shut and flip the dead bolt. The minute it’s closed, I sag with my back against the door, my body shaking so badly, I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor.

I sit there for some time, so many emotions ebbing and flowing that by the time I bring myself to get up, I’m spent emotionally and physically. I drop the phone from my hand and realize that my other is unknowingly and out of habit examining the breast opposite it.

It always comes back to this. No matter how perfect or how imperfect the person or the situation in my life, at the end of the day, the fate I’m waiting to be dealt is still there, hanging over my head.

Chapter 25