Page 61 of Slow Burn

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak, Beck,” I whisper into the space between us.

Beck chuckles, low and rumbling. The sound travels through my chest, down my core, and I squeeze my thighs together at the pressure building between them. Beck is giving me more of him, but I want it all.

“That’s the longest you’ve ever stopped talking long enough for me to get more than two words in,” he teases before capturing me in another kiss. Even though we’re in the middle of a crisis, everything between us finally feels right.

We manage to keep our hands and mouths off each other for long enough to finish digging out the trench, and place sandbags at both ends of the barn for good measure. But we find each other again the second I unlock the front door to the guest house, and shut it behind us.

Beck pushes me up against the door, one hand on my hip firmly pressing me in place, the other cupping the back of my neck, fingers tangled in my wet hair.

Our kisses turn desperate and needy, a clash of lips and teeth and tongues, our breathing ragged and wild. His stubble scratches at me deliciously, and I hiss at the contrast in sensations–coarse, rough moustache and warm, soft mouth.

My hands fumble with the zipper of his rain coat and I peel it off of him, letting it land in a pile on the floor. Beck removes mine as well, the rain having soaked through to my clothes beneath it. My old flannel button down clings to me, my nipples pebbled and visible through the thin, wet fabric.

Beck runs his hands from my waist, up my ribs, and finds my breast. I let out a whimper when the pad of his thumb connects with my nipple, rubbing back and forth across it.

His mouth meets mine again, and he presses his hips into me. I can feel his cock straining against his jeans. Pressure throbs between my legs, and I’m suddenly desperate for him. But I’m still wet from the rain and now I’m struggling not to shiver.

“We should get cleaned up first. I’m filthy,” I murmur against his lips, and his mouth twitches up into a smile.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and then he scoops his hands down around the curve of my ass and lifts my feet off the ground. He throws me over one shoulder, and starts toward the bedroom ensuite.

“Beck!” I shriek, as he carries me into the bathroom.

He sets me down on the floor and when I peer up at him, he’s still wearing a cheeky smile.

“What? You didn’t think I was going to let you get cleaned up by yourself?”

Chapter 25

Beck

My hands fumble with the mother of pearl buttons on her flannel shirt. The fabric sticks to her body, revealing every curve, every part of Lyla I’ve been doing my best not to think about.

I brush my hand along the delicate line of her collarbone, pushing her top off her shoulder. Her skin is cold, and I let my breath warm her skin as I kiss her.

Goosebumps scatter down her arm, across her chest, and I follow the path of them, trailing a line of kisses up her neck. She lets her top fall away from her body, revealing her pert breasts, nipples pebbled from the cold.

I’ve imagined Lyla like this so many times. I looked forward to watching her do her yoga in those skimpy little workout sets on my lawn. It was thrilling, and with the weather the last few days, I’d started feeling deprived.

“God, I hate the rain,” I say, letting my eyes roam over her body.

Lyla’s brows pinch together as she tilts her head in question. “Because of the flooding?”

I shake my head, pressing myself to her because she’s shivering. I wrap my arms around the small of her waist. “Because I missed the beautiful view of you every morning on my lawn.”

Her plush lips slide into a smile, understanding washing over her face. I never really wanted her to stop, it just always felt like I’m stepping out of bounds by even glancing in her direction. The sight of her bare tits now feels downright forbidden, and my cock presses uncomfortably into the fly of my jeans.

“Yes, but then if it wasn’t for the rain you wouldn’t get to see me naked,” she says, bending down to push her leggings off her hips and to the floor. She takes her panties with them, baring herself to me.

I shake my head, taking in a sharp inhale as I reach up to rub the back of my neck.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “I love the rain.”

Lyla flashes me a cheeky smile, spinning on her heel and turning toward the walk-in shower. I swear she makes a show of swaying her hips and bending over a little as she turns on the water, and I relish the sight of the full expanse of her skin.

She flashes me a sultry glance over her shoulder

“Are you going to get in with me, or what?” Her dark eyes glimmer with something mischievous, teasing, taunting…inviting.