Sparks and Sarcasm

Chapter 8: The Fire

Alec Madden was in deep, and he knew it. The past month with Ivy Bullet had started as a game—five grand to play his fake girlfriend—but somewhere between her sharp sarcasm and that beach under the stars, it had become real. As he roared through the city on his Harley, the late April chill biting at his knuckles, his mind was on her. Ivy, with her grey eyes that cut like glass, her brown bob that begged to be mussed, her tiny skirts that drove him wild—especially now that he knew she wore nothing underneath. Last night at the mall, handing her his black Mastercard, he’d seen the pride in her tight jaw, the way she’d only spent twenty bucks on a smoothie and pretzels. Stubborn, fierce, and his. He grinned into the wind, already planning how to spoil her rotten, whether she liked it or not.

He pulled into the lot of The Rusty Chain, the dive bar where this whole mess started. Tonight was low-key, just drinks with the Iron Wolves crew to wrap up their “deal,” though Alec had no intention of letting Ivy walk away. His leather jacket creaked as he dismounted, his black tee clinging to his chest, his jeans scuffed from a day at his bike shop. A gold chain glinted at his collar, and he ran a hand through his black hair, his brown eyes scanning the lot for her. She’d texted she’d meet him here, and he was early, itching to see her after a day apart.

The bar’s neon sign flickered, casting a red glow over the gravel. Alec leaned against his Harley, checking his phone. No new messages, but he pulled up their last exchange, her *Don’t get any ideas, labradoodle* making him chuckle. God, she was a brat, and he loved it. Loved her, if he was honest, though he hadn’t said it yet. Too soon, too heavy, and Ivy spooked easy. He’d seen it in her meltdowns, the way she fought to hold herself together. Last night at the rally, when Sarah’s venom had pushed her over the edge, Alec’s need to protect her had been primal. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

A flash of beige caught his eye, and there she was, striding across the lot like she owned it. Ivy’s halter top hugged her torso, the strings tied at her back, flashing side boob that made his pulse kick. Her taupe skirt was scandalously short, her bare legs pale in the chill, and her brown bob swayed as she moved, her grey eyes locking on him with that mix of defiance and heat. No coat—stubborn as hell, even after he’d tried to get her winter gear. His grin widened, his body already reacting to her.

“Feral cat,” he called, pushing off the bike. “You’re late. Thought I’d have to send a search party.”

Ivy rolled her eyes, stopping a foot away, her arms crossed. “I’m five minutes early, labradoodle. Your sense of time is as bad as your pickup lines.”

He laughed, closing the distance, his hands settling on her hips. “Keep talking smack, and I’ll have to shut you up.” He leaned in, kissing her, slow and hungry, her lips soft and yielding despite her sharp tongue. She melted into him, her hands fisting his jacket, and he groaned, the taste of her sparking memories of the beach—her gasps, her bare skin, the way she’d unraveled.

She pulled back, smirking, her cheeks flushed. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that, Madden.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said, his voice husky. He slung an arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the bar. “C’mon, brat. Crew’s waiting.”

Inside, The Rusty Chain was its usual mess—motor oil and whiskey in the air, a jukebox blaring some old rock tune, bikers sprawled at tables. The crew—Jake, Spike, Tommy—was at their usual corner booth, beers in hand. Jake waved them over, his beard twitching with a grin. “About time, lovebirds. Thought you two were off eloping.”

“Eloping?” Ivy snorted, sliding into the booth. “I’d rather marry a cactus. Less annoying.”

Alec slid in beside her, his thigh pressing against hers under the table. “Liar,” he murmured, his hand brushing her bare leg. “You’d miss my charm.”

She swatted his hand, but her lips twitched, her grey eyes glinting. “Charm? Is that what you call it?”

The crew laughed, and Alec ordered a beer, getting Ivy a soda—plain, no ice, the way she liked it. The banter flowed, Ivy’s sarcasm sharp as ever, but Alec noticed the way she leaned into him, her shoulder brushing his, her fingers fidgeting less when he was close. She was relaxed, or as close as she got, and it made his chest tight. He wanted her like this always—safe, sharp, his.

But the bar was loud, the jukebox switching to a screechy guitar riff, and Alec caught the way Ivy’s fingers tightened around her soda can, her jaw tensing. He slid his hand under the table, resting it on her knee, a silent *I’m here*. She didn’t pull away, her hand covering his briefly, and he felt like he’d won something.

Jake leaned forward, oblivious to her tension. “So, you two official now, or what? Deal’s done tomorrow, right?”

Alec felt Ivy stiffen, her eyes flicking to him. He grinned, casual but deliberate. “Deal’s done, but we’re not. Right, feral cat?”

She raised an eyebrow, her voice dry. “Don’t get cocky, labradoodle. I haven’t decided if you’re worth keeping.”

Spike cackled, raising her beer. “She’s got you on a leash, Alec. I like it.”

“Leash?” Alec clutched his chest, mock-wounded. “I’m a wolf, not a puppy.”

“Labradoodle,” Ivy corrected, smirking, and the table roared.

The night wore on, the crew swapping stories, but Alec’s focus was on Ivy. Her laugh, rare and bright, when Tommy told a dumb joke. The way her skirt rode up when she shifted, her bare thigh warm against his. The flicker of nerves in her eyes when the bar got too loud. He wanted to drag her out, take her somewhere quiet, but she was holding her own, and he was proud as hell.

When the jukebox hit a particularly grating song, Ivy’s hand dented her can, her breath hitching. Alec leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “Wanna step outside?”

She nodded, her voice low. “Yeah. Just… need a minute.”

He stood, tossing a few bills on the table. “We’re taking a breather. Don’t burn the place down.”

Jake waved them off, and Alec guided Ivy out, his hand on her lower back. The cool night air hit them, the bar’s noise fading to a hum. They walked to his Harley, parked under a flickering streetlight, and Ivy leaned against it, her arms crossed, her skirt fluttering in the breeze. Alec stood close, his hands in his pockets, giving her space but ready to close the gap.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, brushing her hair back. “Yeah. Just… loud in there. Thanks for the out.”

“Anytime,” he said, stepping closer. “You handled it like a pro, though. Crew loves you.”

She snorted, but her lips curved. “They love a circus. I’m just the main act.”

“You’re my main act,” he said, his voice dropping, and her eyes flicked to his, heat sparking. He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek, and she leaned into it, her guard down for once.

“You’re such a sap,” she muttered, but she stepped closer, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his jacket. “What am I gonna do with you, labradoodle?”

“Whatever you want,” he said, grinning, and kissed her, slow and deep. Her lips parted, her tongue teasing his, and he groaned, his hands settling on her hips, pulling her flush against him. The Harley creaked as she pressed closer, her skirt riding up, and he felt the bare skin of her thighs, the memory of her no-underwear secret making his blood roar.

They stumbled around the bike, out of the streetlight’s glow, into the shadows by the bar’s brick wall. Alec lifted her, setting her on a low crate, her legs parting to pull him between them. Her skirt hiked up, and he groaned, his hands sliding up her thighs, finding nothing but warm, bare skin. “f**k, Ivy,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She smirked, her nails digging into his shoulders, sharp enough to sting. “Good,” she said, her voice a low purr that sent a jolt straight to his core. “You deserve it.”

He laughed, kissing her hard, one hand tangling in her bob, the other teasing the edge of her skirt. “Purring already, feral cat? Thought you’d make me work for it.”

“Shut up,” she growled, but her nails raked down his back, urging him closer, and that purr vibrated in her throat again, raw and hungry. He loved it, loved her claws, her fire, the way she gave as good as she got.

His fingers slipped higher, brushing her bare core, and she gasped, her hips rocking into his touch. “Alec,” she whispered, her voice a mix of need and warning, her nails biting harder.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his lips against her neck, his touch slow, deliberate. “You’re in charge, brat.”

She purred again, her head tilting back, her thighs tightening around him. “More,” she said, her voice raw. “But if you gloat, I’ll kill you.”

He grinned, kissing her jaw. “No gloating. Just this.” His fingers moved, teasing, stroking, finding the rhythm that made her breath hitch, her purrs turning to soft moans. She was fire under his hands, her nails clawing his jacket, her body arching as he pushed her higher. He watched her, mesmerized—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her grey eyes fluttered shut. She was his, and he’d never wanted anything more.

When she shattered, it was with a sharp cry, her nails digging deep, her purr a broken sound that made him ache. He held her through it, his lips brushing her temple, his own body taut with want but content to wait. “God, Ivy,” he murmured, his voice thick. “You’re f*****g perfect.”

She laughed, breathless, her nails easing up, her eyes opening to meet his. “You’re still annoying,” she said, but her smirk was soft, her purr lingering as she kissed him, slow and lazy.

“Love those claws, feral cat,” he teased, nipping her lip. “Gonna keep making you purr, though.”

“Try it, labradoodle,” she shot back, but her hands stayed on him, her body relaxed in a way he’d never seen. He pulled her close, her legs still around him, and knew he’d spend the rest of his life chasing that sound, that fire, that her.