Page 126 of At First Spark
Before I allow myself to let go, I watch as her eyes glaze over, and she lets her release claim her. Fuck, she’s beautiful like this, like the first sunrise after a hurricane. It was something to be treasured.
I allow myself to let go once I know she’s taken everything from me, and I cradle her body against mine.
“That was…unexpected,” she whispers, her voice slightly hoarse.
Moving up onto my elbow so I can gaze down at her, we lock eyes. “Really? Unexpected?”
She giggles, and it’s melodic, like the bird she’s named after. “I just meant how good it was.”
Leaning forward, I press my lips against hers again, smirking as I whisper, “It shouldn’t bethatsurprising, sweetheart. This has been building for a while.”
I press my lips to hers again, then slip free, immediately hating the loss of her body. In the bathroom, I remove the condom and chuck it in the trash, then grab a washcloth and run it under warm water.
“For you,” I say as she eyes me wearily as I kneel in front of her body, still half draped on the bed.
“You don’t have to…” she begins as I wipe gently between her legs, only to earn a scowl.
“Of course I do,” I say, quieter than the argument deserves, finishing before she can push the point further.
She huffs something under her breath, but she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop me. That matters more than anything she could say.
I toss the cloth into the hamper in the corner, giving her a second before I cross to the dresser. The wood creaks when Ipull it open, the normal sound grounding in a way the rest of the night hasn’t been.
I drag on a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with anything else, then turn back toward her. She’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers braced against the mattress, like she hasn’t decided whether to stay there or bolt.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing the blanket from the end of the bed and tossing it toward her.
Her brows pull together slightly, and I jerk my chin toward the hallway. She watches me for a second, like she’s trying to read what I’m not saying, then she pushes to her feet.
I don’t touch her right away. Just walk ahead, giving her space to follow if she wants to. And she does.
The hallway is dim, the storm still humming outside, rain tapping against the windows in uneven bursts. The house feels smaller like this. Quieter. Closer.
By the time we make it to the living room, I’ve already pulled one of the throw blankets off the back of the couch and dropped down onto the floor, leaning back against the cushions.
She lingers near the hallway for a second, then crosses the room and lowers herself beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushes mine.
I don’t comment on it, just shift the blanket so it falls over both of us. Lark sits with her shoulder pressed against mine on the floor in front of the couch, the blanket pulled over both of us. Rook is stretched across our feet, dead asleep, like he’s decided the night’s finally safe enough to let go.
The lamp in the corner throws a low, steady light across the room, leaving the rest of the house in shadow. Outside, the storm has eased into something quieter—rain tapping against the windows, distant thunder rolling instead of cracking.
It should feel calm.
It doesn’t.
Not completely.
She’s quiet.
I know because I can feel it in the way she leans—just slightly less when her mind drifts somewhere I can’t follow. Not a single thought regarding the last hour or so in my bedroom.
“What?” I ask.
Her fingers tighten once in the blanket.
“If this gets worse…”
It isn’t a full sentence. It doesn’t need to be. The fires. Kenzie. Nolan. Her mother. My job. Her inn. The thousand practical ways life can ruin things before they ever get a chance to become steady.
