Page 61 of Spark
“How sore are you?” he asks, staring at me, like my body is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“I don’t know,” I admit. My sex is pulsing and burning, but kind of aching all at the same time.
“That’s okay, I have two more firsts to claim, I can give your cunt some time to recover.”
“What?” I say, feeling my eyes widen.
“I was hoping to claim all of you today, but I think I need to take my time. We have four days before I have to be back at work, and I plan to have taken every one of your firsts by the time I have to leave you again.”
My brain turns to staticky fuzz as I stupidly try to figure out which other firsts he’s talking about. It takes me longer than it should for me to work it out.
“You want to…” I let my sentence trail off.
“Fuck that sexy mouth and your perfect little ass,” he finishes for me. “Yeah, amore mio. I plan to take both of those firsts.”
“I…” My brain empties, because while I understand the one, the other has never even been on my radar. I’m not an idiot, I heard the women at the club talking about…that…but when you have zero interest in normal sex, the idea of letting anyone…there…isn’t something I’ve ever really thought about.
“Let’s get clean,” Warrick says, lifting me off my feet and lowering me into the tub of warm water. “I put some Epsom salts in, that should help with the soreness.”
His thoughtfulness is distracting. How has he gone from telling me he plans to fuck my ass to wanting to soothe my aches in a matter of moments? Climbing into the tub behind me, Warrick drags me back and into his lap, gently teasing my nipples while we soak in the warm water.
Without asking, he fills his hands with soap and lathers me from my neck to my toes. Then he washes my hair, caring for me without making it sexual, even though I can feel his hard dick pressing against my butt.
Lifting me out of the tub, he dries me with a towel, then dresses me in one of his shirts. Pulling on a pair of shorts that cling to the outline of his hard erection, he offers me his hand and then leads me downstairs.
“Go sit, I’ll make breakfast,” he says, gesturing for me to take a seat on the couch while he heads for the kitchen.
“I can—” I start to offer.
“You can sit and relax,” he says, arching an eyebrow at me, until I carefully lower myself onto the couch.
My thoughts silently spiral until he calls me to take a seat beside him at the small dining table. “You haven’t been eating enough,” he chides gently. “I’ll meal prep for you before I go back to work. That way everything will already be cooked, you’ll just have to warm it up in the oven.”
“I don’t need you to do that, I can take care of myself,” I protest, but I sound weak even to my own ears. Given the circumstances he found me in, it’s clear that I cannot in fact take care of myself, and he knows that.
Shame heats my cheeks, and I fork the fluffy eggs and bacon he made for us into my mouth without saying another word.
“I signed us up for a hockey channel subscription, so you can watch all the hockey you want. They stream the live games, but you can also watch everything on demand, in case you’re taking a nap or we’re busy.”
“Do you watch a lot of hockey?” I blurt.
“Not really, I’m more of a football fan.”
“Then why?” I start to ask, then clamp my lips shut, because I think I know the answer before he says it.
“You like hockey, and if you’re going to start supporting the Montana Mountain Marauders, then you need to be able to watch the games,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“You took out a TV subscription so I can watch hockey.” It’s not a question. He already told me the answer, but I still say it, so I can hear the words out loud.
“I looked into getting us some tickets for the games and maybe even season tickets if you wanted. Obviously, we’d only be able to go to the games that are on when I’m not on shift, but it could still be fun.”
“I don’t understand,” I croak, so touched and confused and overwhelmed.
“What’s to understand? You like hockey.”
“What would you do if I’d said I liked makeup tutorials or designer shoes?”
“I’d have bought you all the makeup you wanted or a dozen sexy pairs of shoes so I could fuck you while you wear them and nothing else,” he says easily, smirking like what he just said is normal, like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. It’s everything. It’s why I allowed this complete stranger to bring me to his home and then into his bed. It’s why I’ve struggled to accept that he trusts me enough to want me here.
