I can barely look at the tub without blushing.
I’ve always been a . . . compliant sexual partner. I never realized just how much I like the push and pull of being told what to do and wanting to defy it. It scares me as much as it thrills me. I don’t want Spark to control me, and yet I want it more than anything else in the world.
I don’t know what that makes me. A contrary submissive? Oh my God. He’s right. I’m a brat.
I’ve relived that bathtub orgasm at least twenty times. My bones shook with the intensity of it. Same with the one I gave myself after he hung up last night.
After a quick shower, I towel dry my hair, and apply some product as best I can with the brace on. I leave my hair to do its own thing. By the time I’ve had breakfast and read for an hour, my hair’s close to dry.
It’s a little after one when a heavy fist hammers on my door. My stomach flips because I know it’s Spark and because this is exactly what Cillian wants. I wonder if it’s what I want too.
If Cillian asks me what I’ve found out, the answer is nothing. For half a second, I consider if there are innocuous details I can find out or information I can pass on too late to be of use. But I know there is no middle ground in this.
“Can see you sitting in there, little chick. Open the fucking door.”
I do as he asks. “You lack manners,” I say. His cheeks are pink. The air is cool. Fall is on its way. “Why do I have to say please, and you don’t?”
Spark tugs me close and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is soft and tender. “Way it is.” He looks down at what I’m wearing, leggings and a fluffy but warm pink sweater, then offers me the bag in his hand. “Put these on.”
Inside the bag are a leather jacket and leather pants.
“Didn’t know your shoe size, or I would have gotten you some proper biker boots,” he continues. “Put a pair of thick boots on if you have some. Hiking boots or something.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going out.”
“Where?”
“Jesus, are you always this full of questions?”
I nod. “It’s self-preservation.”
“I’m taking you on a date. An overnight date. Dress warm. Pack a small bag. Nothing fancy.”
Okay, so my first thought is totally that he’s taking me on a date he planned. Guys I dated recently always led with the old chestnut, what do you want to do? None of them stepped up, figured out the details, and showed up at my door. “What if I hadn’t been available?”
He grips the back of my neck. “Then we wouldn’t have gone on the date.”
“Where are you taking me? Because you warned me about guys like you, taking me places where they could take advantage of me. Are you asking me to break the rules you set for me?”
Spark narrows his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. I got a small fishing cottage. Thought you might want to go up there with me. Hike and shit. Get some rest. You need a fucking itinerary, or are you going to go pack that bag?”
“Itineraries are extremely helpful so I can grab appropriate attire and prepare myself beforehand.” I put my hand on my hip and pop it.
"Fuck. You serious?”
I shake my head and laugh. “No. Give me five minutes.” I turn to run up the stairs, and he smacks my butt.
He doesn’t even pretend to look embarrassed. “What? You were being bratty, and it’s a fine ass, Iris.”
Some combination of the shock of the slap, his compliment, and his smile sends tingles to all my good bits. I bite my lip as I hurry upstairs, wondering if tonight is the night we’ll sleep together. Had I known, I would have shaved my legs. Maybe I can at his cabin. If not, he’ll have to deal with a bit of stubble.
I throw stuff together. Minimal toiletries, a change of outfit, some pajamas. “Okay, I’m ready,” I shout as I run down the stairs and hand Spark my small bag. “Shit. Wait.”
“What did you forget?” he asked.
“I need my bag back for a minute.”
He holds the strap away from me. “Why?”
I sigh. “You’re going to make me tell you everything, aren’t you?”
Spark huffs a laugh. “Or die trying.”
I’m feeling bolder. More confident. He’s here because he wants to be. “Fine. As I ran back down the stairs, I realized I should have packed sexy underwear instead of comfortable cotton, and a slip instead of pj’s.”
His smile turns into a grin. “Think you’re going to get lucky tonight, little chick?”
Folding my hands over my chest is tricky with the brace but I try. “I don’t know. Am I?”
“Cotton panties and pj’s will be just as sexy as anything lace or silk, because you’ll be wearing it.” He tips his head in the direction of the leathers. “Now put those on.”
I bend and try to pull the leathers up my legs but struggle. Spark gently moves my hands out of the way and shimmies the leathers up over my butt. “You think I’m sexy?” I glance over my shoulder as I fasten them.
“Always, little chick.”
He zips my jacket and laces up my hiking boots. Then he kisses me before he puts a helmet on my head.
Five minutes later, we’re off. And this time, unlike the day he brought me home after the date with Jason, he lets loose. At least, to me, this is what loose feels like. We fly down the shore, and I finally stop paying attention to where we’re going. Instead, I lean into the road like Spark does.
We stay off the highway. And as I squeal and laugh, Spark steps on the gas. During a momentary lapse in judgement, I try to put the arm with the brace in the air but nearly get blown off the back of the bike. I feel the rumble of Spark’s laughter through his body.
Cabins and cottages surround a large lake when we pass a small sign welcoming us to Hopatcong. Then we pull up outside a rather tired-looking building. The pale blue walls and uneven roof need some tender loving care. But it’s steps from the lake and has the cutest white door. Grass surrounds it, and Spark wheels his bike onto the patchy turf.
Happy to climb off the bike after an hour and a half, I wobble a little when my feet hit the ground. “That was fun. I really enjoyed it.”
Spark laughs and takes his helmet off before removing mine. “I could tell. Think I lost an eardrum.”
I slap his arm playfully. “I’m surprised you wear a helmet. I thought badass bikers would think it beneath them.”
“Some do. But I’ve been thrown to the ground before. I know what it feels like to wonder if you got a concussion or brain injury.”
Something flickers across his face for a moment. I don’t know him well enough to fully understand what it was, but it looked a whole heap like regret.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Not your fault.” Spark gets off the bike, grabs the backpack off my shoulders, and walks us to the door. When I step inside, I can see it’s a work in progress that has the potential to be beautiful. To the left, there’s an open-plan kitchen-dining-living space. The kitchen is new; the furniture in the living room is old but serviceable. To the right, I can see an open bedroom door, the bed stripped of linens.
But there are pictures on the wall, and the first one I notice is Spark with a buzz cut and a military uniform. “This is your place? When you said you had a place, I thought you meant one you’d borrowed or booked one.”