Page 74 of The Games We Play
24
SPARK
Moments when you feel you are exactly where you are supposed to be in life are rare.
Fleeting, even.
They’re hard to pin. Like a vague memory.
But right now, with my house quiet around me and a sliver of the sunrise’s orange glow warming the bedroom wall, I know this is one of them.
My cut hangs on the post at the end of the bed, a reminder that things are straight with my club.
I’m not the slightest bit tired, a reminder that I slept for six straight hours without a nightmare.
Iris is lying next to me on my left. A reminder that I found someone so goddamn precious, someone who doesn’t lose her shit with me when I’m too overbearing. Like last night, when I kicked everyone out because she started to yawn and needed sleep.
I keep her on my left side so I’m closest to the door and my right hand is free to grab the gun in the bedside table to my right should I need it. She’s on her side facing away from me. I can see the curve of her hip where it disappears beneath the sheet. There’s no ink on her skin, and I wonder if I’ll ever see any. Her choice, but it would be cool to see something representing the two of us.
Which makes me think I should get something for her. There’s the obvious: an iris, or a little yellow chick, or both. But then there’s something else. Our initials entwined, her name over my heart, or perhaps Niro can do one of those ultrarealistic portraits of her, those eyes of hers so bright and vivid.
I glance over her head and out the window to watch the sky as it shifts from shades of red and dark orange to pink.
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.
Glad I was a marine. The thought makes me chuckle.
I reach over and drag my fingertips along her spine. She told me she liked it when we were at the cottage, and I find myself wanting to do more and more that she likes. And I want us to try more of the things I like. I think of the handcuffs and ties I have in the drawer next to my bed in the clubhouse.
For some reason, I’ve never brought anyone from the clubhouse or strip club back home.
Maybe there was a side of me that wanted to save it for the woman who mattered. I thought that was Samantha. Now I know it’s Iris.
I slide my arms around her and feel her flex and then melt into them, wiggling her butt against my dick. I sigh as I hold her, taking my strength from her.
Iris turns in my arms and tips her chin before pressing her lips to mine. Her eyes aren’t even open, and I know it’s because she’s still sleepy and trusts me. Lips that are as soft as hers are hard to find. Hearts as soft as hers are even harder.
Her arm snakes over my hip, and her hand slides over my ass. “Good morning,” she mumbles, barely taking her mouth from mine.
I kiss her again. “Morning, little chick.”
She smiles and finally opens those green eyes of hers. “You slept.”
It’s not a question. It’s a fact. “I did. I feel like you should sleep with me every night so I’m dream free.” She should also sleep with me every night because I’m falling in love with her, hate not knowing if she’s safe when she’s not with me, and love the idea I can wake up with her in my arms and make love to her or fuck her, depending on our mood.
“I feel like me being here only goes so far to help you sleep.”
I don’t want to think about that now. Or the letters from the VA waiting for a response downstairs that suggest the same thing, encouraging me to go talk to the therapists they recommend. Instead, I roll her onto her back and settle between her legs. She raises her knees on either side of my hips, holding me close. “Kiss me again, Tyler.” Her words are a whisper that tingles down my spine.
“With pleasure.”
I line my lips up with hers and wait a moment, just to smile at her first. I’m fucking gone for this woman. The kiss drags me under. There’s just me and her, here in my bed. There’s no club, no threats. Just the two of us. She stretches beneath me, pulling her frame even tighter as she raises her hands and grips the headboard with her unbraced hand.
I wrap my hands over hers, gentle with her braced one, turned on by the idea of her being unable to move. “Leave them there.”
Missing her warmth, I lean over and open my drawer. My fingers touch the cool chain of the leather cuffs I bought recently but never used. I smile at the idea we’ll use them one day. Instead, I reach for the black satin tie. Soft and smooth like she is.
Placing my knees outside her thighs, I secure one of her wrists to the headboard, making sure the tie is not too tight by sliding a finger beneath it.
