Page 43 of The First Spark

Last night, I was eager and willing to drown just to make the moment last.

Here’s the thing: I’ve had a lot of great sex. Copious amounts of between the sheets action. Gorgeous women of all ages and appearances. Utilized more positions and toys than a porn flick or sex store.

And I enjoy the hell out of sex. Sure, I’ve had some low points, but all together, it’s been one crazy enjoyable ride.

Then there are my hours with Oriana.

When I was with her, nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.

But there’s no way, despite her pussy being the pinnacle of perfection, that it’s affected methismuch.

I’m working it up in my brain, making it bigger than it is.

Creating this narrative that fucking her was next level, voodoo shit that has turned me upside down.

Fucking. Love the term, hate it regarding Ori.

That’s it. I have to lay eyes on her. Maybe then, in the light of morning, I’ll see her for what she really is: a beautiful, smart woman who has given me the go-ahead on my speakeasy dream.

A friend who will celebrate the speakeasy’s opening with a gratis cocktail.

Someone I can wave to and smile at when we pass on our way to separate lives.

Nothing more.

Then, I’ll be able to stop fixating on last night.

Simple.

Scrubbing my face with my hands, I toss down my pencil and walk toward the front door.

All I need is some caffeine, a shower, and possibly a lobotomy.

“I’m getting some coffee next door. You want some, Zane?”

Yes, I make it a point to direct my question to him. It serves as my unofficial apology for being a dick earlier.

Zane shakes his head, his gaze intense as he dials in his tattoo machine, meticulously preparing for his next client. “I’m good.”

That’s a lie, if his short, clipped tone is anything to go by, and it’s my fault for his bad mood this morning.

With a hard exhale, I close the distance between us. “Hey man, I’m sorry I lost it on you earlier. I just …”

But I don’t finish my statement because, truthfully, I have no idea what to say. Myriads of emotions flood my mind, and I have zero idea what to do with any of them.

“It’s cool, man.” Zane looks up, a reassuring smile crossing his face. “We’re good.”

Just like that, our beef is forgotten.

If only the memory of Oriana Thorne’s curves were that easy to erase.

Before I head to Ori’s store, I duck downstairs and take a quick shower in the basement bathroom. It’s in serious need of an upgrade, but at least it’s this side of clean and the water pressure is good.

Besides, Zane mentioned I reek of sex, and I have a full day of clients. Despite my reputation, I prefer not to lead with that.

I pause for a moment outside the shower, the bar of soap and a shop towel in my hand. I still smell Ori on my skin, the faint hint of her moisturizer and heat.

Even hours later, she lingers there.

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