Page 85 of Spark

“Pressuring you to perform is literally the opposite of what I’ll do. There’s no pressure on you, in the least. Your only job is to relax and have fun, and I promise I’ll take care of the rest.”

A ripple of excitement flashes through me. “As long as you’re into it.”

“I am.”

“When you’re not, if you feel like you’re not getting enough out of it?—”

“That’s impossible. Ruby, I tasted your pussy on my fingers and came in my pants. I think I’ll get enough out of it.”

I can’t help bursting into laughter. “That’s a fair point.”

“Glad that’s settled.” He exhales slowly. “This is gonna be incredible.”

We’ve reached his house now; the rain is pouring down.

“Now, stay put, cutie,” Kendrick coos as he parks his car inhis driveway. “I’m gonna come around and carry you inside so your dress and shoes don’t get wet and dirty.”

24

RUBY

As Kendrick carries me out of the rain and into his dimly lit living room, I feel like a bride. A sexy one, thanks to my dress, but a bride, nonetheless.

He sets me down carefully onto my heels, and the scent of flowers envelops me. During my stay this past week, Kendrick replaced those first vases of tulips and added a third bouquet, a colorful spray of fragrant blooms that now sits on the nearby coffee table, making the already electrified air in Kendrick’s living room feel doubly supercharged: sexyandromantic.

We’re both slightly damp from the short trip from Kendrick’s car into the house. But the rare Southern California downpour is only adding to the magical, romantic quality of the moment.

With his Adam’s apple riding up and down, Kendrick looks deeply into my eyes and brushes a lock of rain-speckled hair off my face. With a slow exhale, he wordlessly slides his palm to my cheek and plants a tender kiss onto my lips.

His lips move with slow tenderness this time. Tentatively. In a way that’s worlds apart from the ravenous mauling he gave me after leaping off that stage at Reed’s party tonight.And even more removed from all the voracious, desperate kisses he gave me while fingering me to an orgasm so deliciously. No, this time, as we stand in the middle of Kendrick’s fragrant, dimly lit living room, the sounds of rain hitting his roof and windows all around us, we might as well be sixteen and standing underneath a porchlight after our first date.

I didn’t have a boyfriend in high school. Wasn’t interested in dating at all. All of Titus’s friends were bone-headed jocks who didn’t interest me, and those boys were the only ones who ever came around. Not that Titus would have let his friends date me, anyway. If any had tried, I’m pretty sure he would have ran them off. Besides all of them, my only male interactions at school were with my friends—guys I knew for a fact weren’t interested in me like that. So, my first kiss happened at Northwestern. With Ryder. At age nineteen. Only a few weeks after my mortifying attempt to surprise Kendrick at his new college.

But that first kiss with Ryder felt nothing like this one with Kendrick. I don’t know if that’s because I’m not scared of what comes next with Kendrick, only excited, or if it’s simply because the mind of an experienced adult processes these things differently than the mind of a virginal teenager. Or maybe it’s simply because I’m kissing Kendrick. All I know is I’ve never swooned like this in my life. Surely, that’s a good sign for what’s about to happen.Will sex with Kendrick feel sort of like a first time, too? God, I hope so, since my first time with Ryder wasn’t anything memorable. At least, it was nothing like I thought it’d be, based on what I witnessed of Kendrick going to town on Florence on his couch.

Kendrick breaks away from my lips and kisses my cheek. “Come with me, sweetheart,” he whispers, grabbing my hand. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

I pause, and Kendrick immediately stops.

“You’re having second thoughts? That’s okay. We can cuddle or?—”

“No, I want to do this. No second thoughts.” It’s the truth. An understatement, actually. But thinking about Ryder and the letdown of my first time, which has always been entangled in my mind with the disappointment and embarrassment I felt about my surprise trip to visit Kendrick, has planted the seed of a fantasy, just this fast. One I can’t resist requesting from Kendrick, even if it’s a little bit weird. Kendrick said this fling is all about me, after all. My desires and fantasies. And if I don’t speak up now, this one-of-a-kind moment will be gone forever. “W-would you be willing to do a role-play with me?” I ask, my heart thumping. “Just this once. For our first time?”

Kendrick’s eyebrows lift. “Anything, yes. Of course.” He presses his lips together, his body language communicating he’s on tenterhooks to hear my idea.

“It might be weird,” I warn him. “But, since you’re the guy who wrote a song called ‘Spank,’ I figure . . .” I trail off, feeling vulnerable. “You know what? Never mind.”

“No, tell me. Please. Whatever it is, my answer is yes.”

My cheeks feel hot. My heartbeat is crashing in my ears. “Could we maybe pretend I’m a virgin . . . and you’re . . . my first?”

Kendrick’s chest expands. “Yes,” he chokes out, like he’s barely able to get the word out.

“Nothing too complicated,” I add quickly. “I’m not asking you to lay rose petals down or pretend I’m a serf and you’re a lord.”

One side of Kendrick’s mouth hitches up. “I’m down to do all of that, if you want.”

“No. I mean, okay, maybe later.”

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