Page 82 of Slow Burn

It’s similar to Lucky’s, I’m sure every town in rural Alberta has a bar like this. It’s in an old, wooden building on the corner of the main strip, and the thumping country music and occasional whoops and hollers beckons people in as they walk by.

This one, though, offers something unique to Beck and I that Lucky’s can’t–the chance to be anonymous, to be outward about our affection for each other without spurring on town gossip. Butterflies flutter around in my gut as Beck opens the door, his large hand coming to the small of my back as he steers me inside.

It’s as crowded as Lucky’s would be after the town rodeo, but the dance floor is cleared for line dancing. More cheers ring out as the next song comes on, and people flood the space.

It’s a song I recognize from the radio, a newer country artist that’s been making headlines. Billie Something. The beat and the melody make it next to impossible not to dance along, so I slide my hand into Beck’s and tug him out onto the floor.

We fall into step next to each other, the steps coming back to me as if it were second nature. I follow Beck’s rhythm, heel, toe, heel toe. I scuff my boot on the floor, make a lasso motion with my hand and switch directions with the rest of the crowd.

I look up at Beck dancing next to me, and he’s already gazing back, smiling at me through the beams of coloured light and my heart is bursting with joy. This night couldn’t get any better.

The upbeat melody shifts into a slower ballad, and Beck reaches for my hand, pulling me in close. We sway to the music, my head tucked below his chin. I rest my cheek on his pec and close my eyes as I listen to lyrics, the artist crooning about taking her time, being okay with a slow burn.

I can’t help but think that’s what’s happened between Beck and me. A slow burn. That’s what he said, the night of the flood. You light me on fire, and I burn for you. I’ve burned for you since the day I met you.

Beck dips his head closer to mine and wraps his large palm around my lower back again. The solid, firm contact sends sparks zipping through my core, and I’m suddenly being pulled in two opposite directions–wishing that Beck and I could be alone, and never wanting this to end.

I want to bask in his steady, unwavering love for me, and I want to give it right back.

We dance through each song until the bar empties out. Even then, we don’t stop until we’re the last ones left on the dance floor, only a handful of stragglers sitting at the bar top as our audience. We don’t stop until the lights go up, the universal sign for bar’s closed.

Beck doesn’t make a move to leave. We stand across from each other, our skin shiny and sticky, breathing heavy. I’m the first to step closer, to close the space between us. I hold eye contact, his dark eyes sending heat through my core, leaving me molten.

I reach up to the brown suede hat that has sat firmly on his head the whole night, and when I go to lift it, he doesn’t stop me. His mouth quirks into a knowing smile as I take it and place it on my head, claiming him as mine.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs into the shell of my ear, his breath warming me and sending a shiver across my skin.

“I think they’re going to throw us out,” I say with a laugh.

Beck turns me toward the door, his hand landing on the curve of my ass as we leave.

The cool air is refreshing on my flushed skin as we step out into the night. Beck’s truck is the only one left in the parking lot. Neither of us even drank anything, not since the glass of wine at dinner. Although I feel drunk, I know it’s not from alcohol.

It’s from the feeling of Beck’s hands skating over the curves of my body as we danced, the magnetic pull of him as I pressed myself against him. And now, the weight of his ravenous gaze has me dizzy and lightheaded.

We climb into the truck, but Beck’s hands quickly find me again, his palm resting on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, sliding slightly up under my dress. His thumb brushes my leg, stroking back and forth, and heat pools in my core. The air between us is thick and heady as he navigates the empty country roads back to our bed and breakfast.

The road is dark, lit only by the silver light of the moon, and we both keep our gazes fixed on the expanse of asphalt ahead of us. But Beck’s hand slides higher up my thigh, his pinky brushing the silk gusset of my thong.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, palming the steering wheel and turning the truck off the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as we roll off the pavement. His hand leaves my leg as he throws the truck in park, but is back on me, quickly tugging me closer to him across the console.

He cups the side of my face, his fingers tunnelling through my hair. I let out a groan as his mouth finds mine, our kissing less tender and more desperate. There’s a charge in the air tonight, a silent understanding that out here where no one knows us, the boundary we tried so hard to maintain has all but disappeared.

A line in the sand, blown away by the wind.

We’re unbound, untethered, and free to explore each other the way we’ve been craving.

Beck lets out a low growl into my mouth. “Come here.”

He urges me closer. I kick my boots off and climb over the centre console, eager to be near him. The horn beeps as my ass presses against the steering wheel and we both let out a laugh. Beck slides his seat back, making more room for us as I bring my legs to either side of him.

My hands wander over his chest while he finds the hem off my dress and pulls it up, over my head. In the moonlight, his face is shadowed, but I can still feel his dark eyes tracing every square inch of my bare skin.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he groans. He trails his fingertips lightly up my torso, over each rib, sending goosebumps scattering across my chest and down my arms.

I grind down into him, feeling his hard length press into me through his jeans.

“I want you inside me, Beck,” I say with a breathy moan.