Chapter Eight
Emma
Spike looks so good it should be illegal. A dark button-up that stretches across his broad chest in a way that… well, let’s just say it’s distracting. The boys are at Duke and Tilly’s house, and she’s already sent Spike an update with a picture of them, each with a huge bowl of ice cream.
“You clean up nice,” I manage, feeling heat creep up my neck. His cologne, something warm and woodsy, fills the air between us as he offers me his arm.
“You look beautiful, Emma,” he says, his voice low, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The drive to the restaurant is filled with small talk, but even that feels loaded. He tells me about practice, about Duke’s ridiculous prank on Simon that nearly resulted in a water fight in the locker room. I laugh genuinely, and then he glances at me sideways, his smile softening. “I like hearing you laugh. You should laugh all the time.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I fiddle with the hem of my dress instead. “I guess I’ll need Duke to pull more pranks, then.”
His laugh is low and warm, and when we stop at a red light, he reaches over and places his hand on mine, just for a moment. “I’ll find other ways to make you laugh.”
By the time we arrive at the restaurant, the tension between us feels like a live wire. He helps me out of the car, his hand resting on the small of my back as we walk inside. It’s such a small thing, but the heat of his touch seems to seep through the thin fabric of my dress, making it hard to think straight.
The restaurant is dimly lit, the kind of place that practically begs for whispered conversations and stolen glances.
Once we’re seated, the conversation starts easily: hockey, travel, the places he’s seen on the road. But soon, it shifts, and I’m learning things about him I never expected.
“I was terrible at hockey as a kid,” he admits, swirling his whiskey. “Kept tripping over my own feet. My coach told me I’d be better off trying figure skating, so I took lessons. The joke was on him, though. It made me a much better hockey player.”
I laugh, picturing a young Spike on the ice, awkward and gangly. “Please tell me there’s a photo somewhere of you in sequins.”
He smirks. “If there was, it’s been destroyed.”
The more we talk, the more layers he reveals, and I’m starting to see just how much depth there is beneath the rough exterior. He tells me about growing up in a small town, about his parents and the sacrifices they made so he could pursue his dream. He talks about Tyler, and for the first time, I see the pain he’s been carrying since his best friend and his wife, Kara, died.
“Tyler was my brother in every way that mattered. We met the first day of kindergarten and were best friends from that day on,” he says, his voice quieter now. “We were there for each other through everything. I just never thought he would be gone, losing him and Kara… it’s like this hole that never really goes away. But the boys, they’re my anchor. They keep me going.”
I reach across the table, my hand finding his. It just feels right. “They’re lucky to have you.”
He looks down at our hands for a moment, then back up at me. “I’m the lucky one.”
For a moment, the air between us is thick with something unspoken. Then he clears his throat and gives me that crooked smile again. “Your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“Like what?” I ask, suddenly shy.
“Anything. A secret talent. A weird habit. Your most embarrassing moment.”
I laugh, taking a sip of my wine to buy time. “Okay, here’s one. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride.”
His eyebrows lift. “The whole thing?”
“Word for word.”
“That’s impressive.” He leans in slightly, his tone teasing. “But now you’ve set the bar high. What’s your most embarrassing moment?”
“Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s classified.”
“Come on,” he coaxes.
I sigh dramatically, but I’m smiling. “Fine. I once walked into a glass door while trying to impress a guy I liked. I knocked myself out cold.”
Spike bursts out laughing, and the sound is so warm, so genuine, that I can’t even be upset at being laughed at. “Is there video?”
I laugh and shake my head.
The rest of the night flows effortlessly. The food is incredible, the conversation even better, and the vibes between us… they’re electric. Every accidental brush of his hand against mine, every look that lasts just a little too long—it all adds up to something I can’t ignore.
When we step outside into the crisp night air, the city lights twinkling around us. I’m not ready for the evening to end. Spike turns to me, his hands in his pockets, and for a moment, we just stand there, looking at each other.
“Emma,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I’ve tried.”
My breath catches. “Spike…”
He steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this.”
I shake my head, my heart pounding. “You’re not.”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and then his lips are on mine, warm and insistent. The kiss is everything—soft and urgent, tender and desperate. When we finally pull back, I’m breathless, my hands gripping his jacket to keep myself steady.
“Let’s go home,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine.
I should say no and have him drop me off at a friend’s house. I should think about the boys, about the lines we’re crossing, about everything that could go wrong. But all I can think about is how right this feels.
“Okay,” I breathe.
The ride back to his place is a blur, a whirlwind of stolen kisses and unspoken promises. By the time we’re inside, the tension between us has reached a breaking point.
His bedroom feels different tonight as if the very air knows something is about to shift. The soft, amber light of the bedside lamp casts long shadows on the walls, cocooning us in a world of our own. Spike stands in front of me, his broad frame towering, but his gaze is tender, searching.
“Are you sure?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, and I can see the restraint in his expression, the way he’s holding himself back, giving me the chance to change my mind.
I step closer, the warmth of his presence drawing me in. “I’ve never been more sure,” I say, my voice steady despite the rapid beat of my heart.
The words seem to release something in him. His shoulders relax and he reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is so simple, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through me, grounding me in this moment.
When he kisses me, it’s slow and unhurried, a gentle exploration that deepens with every passing second. His lips are soft but firm, moving against mine in a way that feels both tender and consuming. My hands find their way to his chest, the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt making my fingers tremble.
“Emma,” he murmurs against my lips, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes are dark, filled with something I can’t quite name but feel in every cell of my body. “You’re so much more than I ever expected.”
I can’t speak, so I let my actions say what my words can’t. I slide my hands up to his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he responds instantly, his arms wrapping around me, holding me as if he never wants to let go.
He guides me toward the bed, his touch reverent, his movements deliberate. My heart pounds as he unbuttons my dress, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. There’s no rush, no urgency, just a steady unraveling of our barriers, both physical and emotional.
When his shirt joins my dress on the floor, I take a moment to look at him, at the strength in his body, the muscles honed by years on the ice. My hands trace the lines of his chest, and he shivers beneath my touch, his breath hitching.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, surprising myself.
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that tells me he doesn’t take the words lightly. “You have no idea what you do to me, Emma.”
As we sink onto the bed, the world outside disappears. The feel of his skin against mine is electric, every touch igniting a spark that seems to light me from within. His hands explore my body. His mouth kisses my collarbone and works his way down. He pulls the cups of my bra down and slips my breast out the top.
“Damn, sugar,” he moans just before sucking one nipple into his mouth. He sucks hard, and I feel it through my whole body. He quickly switches to my other breast and runs his fingers around the wet, puckered nipple he just released.
I run my hands through his hair. I want to explore his body, but he’s not done. He places small kisses and runs his lips down my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my panties.
“I’m gonna take these off. I need to taste you,” he whispers against me.
I raise my hips to help him remove them and then spread my thighs for him. I’m never this bold in bed, but I’ve also never wanted a man this badly.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He runs a finger through the wetness gathered between my thighs and then brings it to his lips. He quickly moves his shoulders between my legs and runs his tongue through my slit, sucking my clit into his mouth.
“Spike, I’m gonna come,” I cry out to him.
“Yes, you fucking are,” he says and doubles his efforts with his mouth. I immediately orgasm with a strength I didn’t think I was capable of. Spike slowly kisses me as I come down and then moves back up my body. His lips meet mine, and I taste myself on him. It’s sexy as hell.
“I want you, Spike.”
“I’m yours, sugar.”
Spike pulls me up and removes my bra. Then he lays me back down on the bed before standing and removing the rest of his clothing. The man is truly a work of art. His cock is big and hard. He grabs a condom out of his drawer and slides it on.
Then he lines his cock up against my slit and slowly enters my body. It feels different than it ever has before. In and out he moves faster until I feel again like I’m reaching that magical moment.
“I’m so close,” I whisper.
“Me too,” he says reverently. “Come now, sugar.”
Spike’s lips find my neck and my shoulder, murmuring my name like a prayer. I lose myself in the sensation, in the way he makes me feel cherished, desired, and seen.
“Emma,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re everything.”
The words break something open in me, and I erupt.
When it’s over, we lie tangled together, our breaths mingling, our hearts still racing. His arm is draped over me, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my back. He pulls me closer, his lips pressing gently against mine, and as I drift off to sleep in his arms, I know that whatever challenges lie ahead, this moment will always be ours.