Page 69 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
And the moment my mind started to wander, I’d push the gas pedal a little harder, go a little faster so that I had to concentrate on living and not on dying.
What a concept.
Becks walks me up the sidewalk to the front door, his hand in mine, and I realize I’m not ready to let him go just yet. I mean, this morning when he found me looking out the window, the tears in my eyes were from a potent mixture of the fear of tomorrows mixed with the comforting knowledge that I am trying to let him in … for today at least. I had one foot planted firmly and one foot out the door, waiting for the first sign it was time to bail.
And now? Now I feel like one foot is still firmly rooted while the other is in the air, suspended, as my heart urges me to plant it down permanently beside its partner.
And all in a span of forty-eight hours.
What is he doing to me?
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m cockstruck by him, but that’s just not possible. Hell yes, his bedroom prowess is fine as fuck, but there’s something more here—and as much as it scares me, it’s also really alluring. It holds promise for possibilities that just might be on the horizon.
But what the hell do I know? Tomorrow I could be hit by a Mack Truck, as Rylee so nicely suggested.
Or be diagnosed with cancer.
I shrug the thought away. It has no place in the here and now after the incredible past thirty-some-odd hours with Becks.
Oh my God. I actually know the hours, have figured them out subconsciously. I really am cockstruck. Fuck me. Hmm—yes, please, but I force myself to pull my mind from its comfortable place in the gutter and focus on how this just isn’t possible.
As much as I like my alphas, I always make sure that the sex is so stellar that even though they think they are in control, I can reduce them to whimpers if I hold out on sex to get what I want. And now look at me. Standing here next to Beckett Daniels—Mr. Slow and Steady—and I’m cockstruck, dick-whipped, legs-spread-wide-served-up-on-a-platter, whatever way you want to say it.
Did the fat lady sing?
And before I can scour the neighborhood to see where she’s hiding, Becks tugs on my hand and pulls me into him as we near the front door. I lean against the solidity of his chest as he wraps his arms around me. Then I close my eyes and absorb the comfort of his nearness because we are light-years away from where we were yesterday morning when we were in this exact same position bristling with sexual tension.
The funny thing is that we’ve all but devoured each other, and yet I feel that want and need ten times stronger now.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head as we hold each other tight. “Thanks for going with me to the farmhouse.” The timbre of his words vibrates from his lips on the crown of my head down through my chest pressed against his, leaving me to feel like he’s a part of me somehow.
“For going?” I tease. “I believe I wasn’t given an option since you were so intent on calling my bluff.”
“Hmm … but it was so much fun mounting that bluff and coming down off of it, now, wasn’t it?”
My body reacts viscerally to his words, a contented sigh on my lips. He can prove it to me right now—once again—if he wants to because hell if my body pressed up against his isn’t already spiraling into the oblivious free fall of desire that only he holds the parachute to.
“Wanna come in?”
He laughs, his hand running up and down the length of my spine. “As much as I’d love to, I can’t.”
Unexpectedly I feel rejected, as if I haven’t gotten my fill of him yet. “You have something better to do than me?” I pull back from him, my lips in full pout as I look up at him and bat my lashes.
“Not in the least.” He smiles softly and leans forward to press a soft sigh of a kiss against them. “You’re cute when you pout, but coming in would break my
rules, and you know how much I hate to do that.”
Him and his frickin’ rules. “Rules? Which rules would those be?” Tell me, Becks, so I can break them.
His mouth widens into a full blown megawatt grin as he shakes his head. “Well, it would break two of them … the pinkie-toe rule and the first-date rule.”
“Come again?”
“Oh, you can guarantee that,” he replies before I realize what I’ve said. I just roll my eyes at him.
“The pinkie-toe rule?” I reiterate.
“Yeah, if I come in, I’m going to want to bang you on every piece of furniture in your house just like you do your pinkie toe. It’s an inevitable thing that’s just going to happen.” He raises his eyebrows as I laugh at him. “I don’t want to do that because, one, by the looks of the bike in the driveway your way-too-present and way-too-male roommate is home. As much as I’d love him to hear you screaming my name, I don’t want to share a single part of you with him, and even if it’s by sound … it’s not going to happen. I don’t share. Anything.”
