Page 16 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
I smirk at him, but my eyes fire off a warning to back off. And who the hell am I kidding? Issuing a warning to Dante is like throwing down the gauntlet. And fuck if I didn’t just hear him toss his on the tile floor in acceptance.
“Dream on.” I force out the comment, trying to hide the slight waver in my voice—my only tell that I’m affected by his proximity, by that magnetic draw of his that seems to always be a losing battle for me to fight.
Our eyes lock, with amu
sement dancing in his as he makes that slow lean into my body. My hands are immediately on his chest, pushing him away, trying to protect myself from everything I usually want. From the temptation I don’t need, but holy fuck, I could use to eradicate those little tentacles of need burrowing beneath the surface in regards to Becks. That need to snuggle into him this morning, make lazy love under the heat of the sun’s rays coming through the window, and the instant swarm of butterflies that fluttered in my stomach when I thought he had come back to the house.
Dante chuckles low and soft, the sound vibrating against my palms pressed against the firmness of his chest that I used to know and use handily like a road map. He knows what he does to me, knows that he’s pegged every number of mine from sixty-nine on down.
“Dante …” My voice trails off as he grabs my hands from his chest and presses them to the counter with his on top of them, holding me there. I glance down, warning bells going off, and when I look up, I don’t even have a chance to speak before his mouth captures mine.
My resistance is fleeting. I’m not sure if it’s the confusion, the need, the what-the-fuck-ever but within seconds his tongue has pressed between my lips. I don’t respond at first, don’t react, but when his tongue connects with mine, it rekindles everything to life. Parts Becks sparked to life last night.
No strings.
I push the thought away and move my body into him. And when I start to respond, Dante takes control. He groans deep in his throat and presses the hard length of his body into mine, hips pinning me to the counter. One hand fists in my hair, and the other presses against my lower back. I accept the domination of the kiss, the command of his touch, a part of me enjoying the current that zings through me. The one that knows just how wild of a ride Dante can be—good, bad, pleasurable, and painful.
And I want to welcome it. The taste of his kiss, the complete chaos he’ll unleash in my life because I’ll be so busy focusing on the scattered mess that I won’t even notice I’m wading through the broken parts of myself that Lexi’s death left behind.
That Becks began to help piece back together last night.
Becks.
Last night.
What in the hell am I doing? I struggle to pull myself from the drug of Dante and the ever-apparent need to lose myself. I press my hands on his shoulders, attempting to pull back from his mouth, but his hand holds firm on my neck. My body tells me it wants this: My heart and head tell me to get my shit together and have some damn dignity. That being festive is fine, but there’s no need to be a twenty-four-hour Mardis Gras.
“No,” I murmur against his lips, knowing that the longer I drink him in, the harder it is going to be to walk away. “No!” I say again with a defiant shove against his chest.
He steps back from me, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. His shoulders move with the force of his panted breaths. I can see anger stemming from my rejection vibrating just beneath the surface, and for a moment, I think it’s going to escape but he reins it in.
My lips tingle from his kiss, but I know this is no good. Would be no good. I push off the counter decisively. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“What the fuck, Had?” There’s an annoyed exasperation in his voice, but I couldn’t care less.
I keep walking out of the kitchen that now feels so small from his presence. “You want a place to stay? Don’t touch me again.”
His laugh—empty and hollow—follows me out of the kitchen. And there’s something about the sound of it that tugs at me, causes me to stop after I turn the corner to the hallway. I lean my shoulder against the wall momentarily when I realize why it bugs me so much.
It’s the emptiness and hollowness that resonate the loudest.
His laugh echoes what mine has sounded like for the past six months. A false pretense—sounding fine when I’m anything but. I stand there in indecision. The compassionate part of me feels like I need to go back and see what’s wrong, ask what has stolen the warmth from him. I should make sure he’s okay because I sure as fuck know that I’m not. And then the find-another-doorstep-to-cry-on part of me says I need to run like the fucking wind the other way, high heels and all.
Wouldn’t it be nice if the other way led to Becks?
What the fuck? Jesus, Haddie, get a grip.
I sigh and shake my head as I start moving down the hallway toward my bedroom. My head is all over the place, and the all too familiar burn of threatening tears is there.
Again.
I enter my room and flick on some music. Something, anything to concentrate on other than the quick flash of desire downstairs and the slow burn from the man whose telephone I accidentally grabbed.
The problem is that when you purposely want to forget someone, you remember them the most. Lexi. Dante. Becks. All three ride the wave of thoughts crashing around in my head.
It hurts too damn much to think about Lexi. I’ll have the whole goddamn day tomorrow to struggle with her memory, fight the tears, soak in the only part of her I have left, so I push her as best as I can from my head.
The door to the backyard slams shut, and my thoughts are drawn to Dante. Delectable Dante. Damn if there isn’t just a main line from that man’s mouth straight to my crotch. But alongside that is the wrecking ball on a direct path to my heart. So good but so damn bad.
