Sparks and Sarcasm

Chapter 9: The Flood

Alec Madden was a man on a mission, and that mission was Ivy Bullet. The night at The Rusty Chain had sealed it—her purrs, her claws, the way she’d unraveled in his arms by the bar’s brick wall. She was his, and he was hers, no question. But as he sat in his sleek office at Madden’s Motorworks, his bike shop’s ledger open on his desk, his mind wasn’t on custom Harleys or profit margins. It was on Ivy, shivering in her tiny skirts, too proud to use his black Mastercard for more than a $20 smoothie. He’d seen the flicker of shame in her grey eyes, the way she’d deflected questions about money. She was broke, and he’d be damned if he let her freeze through winter just to save face.

His leather jacket hung on the chair, his black tee stretched across his chest, and his gold chain caught the light as he leaned back, phone in hand. The memory of her bare thighs, her no-underwear secret, made him grin, but it was her strength—her sarcasm, her fight—that had him hooked. He wanted to spoil her rotten, not because she needed it, but because she deserved it. And if she wouldn’t take his card, he’d find another way.

He pulled up his banking app, his fingers moving with purpose. Ivy’s Venmo was still saved from their deal—$2,500 sent weeks ago, the first half of their fake-dating agreement. The final $2,500 was due tomorrow, but Alec had other plans. He typed in $10,000, hit send, and watched the confirmation pop up. A rush of satisfaction hit him, imagining her face when she saw it. He didn’t wait for her to notice. He dialed her number, leaning back in his chair, his grin pure mischief.

Ivy picked up on the second ring, her voice sharp with suspicion. “What’d you do, labradoodle? I’m trying to work here.”

Alec chuckled, picturing her in her apartment, probably hunched over her laptop, designing logos in that damn halter top. “Check your Venmo, feral cat.”

A pause, then a rustle as she grabbed her phone. He heard her breath catch, followed by a string of curses that would’ve made his crew blush. “Alec, what the *hell*? Ten thousand dollars? Are you insane?”

“Very,” he said, his voice warm. “You didn’t use my card at the mall, Ivy. Twenty bucks for a smoothie? Come on. You’re freezing in those skirts, and I’m not letting my girl turn into a popsicle.”

“Your girl?” she sputtered, but he could hear the flush in her voice, the mix of outrage and something softer. “I don’t need your charity, Madden. I told you I’d figure it out.”

“It’s not charity,” he said, his tone firm but teasing. “It’s me taking care of you. And since you’re too stubborn to use my card, I’m just gonna keep depositing money ‘til you get yourself some good winter clothes. Coats, sweaters, boots—whatever you want. Hell, get a new laptop, some art supplies, anything. Spoil yourself, brat, or I’ll do it for you.”

She groaned, the sound half-annoyed, half-amused. “You’re impossible. I’m sending it back.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, grinning. “Venmo’s a b***h to reverse. And I’ve got more where that came from. You gonna fight me on this, or you gonna go shopping?”

A long silence, then a huff. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

“And you love it,” he shot back, his voice dropping. “I’m serious, Ivy. Get what you need. I want you warm, happy, and ready to keep clawing me up. Deal?”

She laughed, the sound bright and reluctant. “Fine. But if you think this means I owe you, you’re dreaming.”

“Only thing you owe me is a purr,” he teased, and her groan made him laugh. “I’m coming by tonight. We’ll celebrate. Wear something distracting.”

“Shut up, labradoodle,” she said, but he heard her smile. She hung up, and Alec leaned back, his grin wide. Let the spoiling begin.

---

That evening, Alec roared up to Ivy’s apartment, the Harley’s rumble echoing in the quiet lot. He’d closed the shop early, too restless to focus, and changed into a fresh black tee, his leather jacket open, jeans hugging his thighs. His brown eyes glinted with anticipation as he climbed the stairs, knocking on her door. The $10,000 was just the start—he had plans, big ones, to make sure his feral cat never wanted for anything.

Ivy opened the door, and Alec’s breath caught. She wore a new outfit, clearly bought with his money—a soft grey sweater, loose but clinging just right, tucked into a black skirt that was still short enough to make his pulse kick. No halter top tonight, but the sweater’s neckline dipped low, hinting at her curves, and her brown bob was tousled, her grey eyes sharp but warm. A pair of fleece-lined leggings peeked from under the skirt, and she held a steaming mug of tea, the scent of chamomile filling the air.

“New threads?” he asked, stepping inside, his grin teasing. “Told you shopping was a good idea.”

She rolled her eyes, shutting the door. “Don’t gloat, labradoodle. I got a sweater and leggings. Bare minimum to shut you up.”

He laughed, pulling her close, his hands settling on her hips. “Bare minimum looks good on you. What else’d you get?”

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with her mug. “Just… some stuff. A coat, boots, a scarf. Nothing crazy.”

He raised an eyebrow, sensing the dodge. “How much?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “Like… $200. I went to a thrift store. Good fabrics, no tags. Happy?”

Alec’s heart did a weird flip. She’d spent a fraction of the $10,000, still guarding her pride, but she’d listened, gotten what she needed. He wanted to kiss her senseless. “Thrilled,” he said, his voice soft. “But you’re not done. That money’s yours, Ivy. Get the good stuff. You deserve it.”

She snorted, setting her mug down. “You’re relentless. I’m not your sugar baby, Madden.”

“Never said you were,” he said, pulling her closer, his lips brushing her ear. “You’re my girl, and I’m gonna spoil you rotten. Get used to it.”

She shivered, her hands sliding up his chest, nails grazing his tee. “You’re gonna regret this,” she muttered, but her voice was husky, her eyes glinting with heat.

“Try me,” he said, kissing her, slow and deep. Her lips parted, her tongue teasing his, and he groaned, the taste of her sparking fire in his veins. She pressed against him, her sweater soft under his hands, and he felt the curve of her hips, the bare skin above her leggings where her skirt had ridden szervezőup.

They stumbled to her couch, a thrift-store find with mismatched cushions, and Ivy pushed him down, straddling his lap. Her skirt hiked up, revealing the fleece leggings, and Alec’s hands slid up her thighs, finding the bare skin at her waist. He grinned, remembering her no-underwear rule, and his fingers teased the edge of her skirt, careful but hungry. “Still going commando, feral cat?” he murmured, his voice rough.

She smirked, her nails digging into his shoulders, sharp enough to sting. “Wouldn’t you like to know, labradoodle?” Her voice was a low purr, raw and teasing, and it sent a jolt straight to his core.

“f**k, I love that sound,” he said, kissing her neck, his hands slipping under her sweater, finding warm, bare skin. She arched into him, her purr vibrating in her throat, and her nails raked down his back, hard enough to leave marks through his tee. He groaned, loving her claws, her fire, the way she took control.

“Keep talking, and I’ll make you beg,” she said, her purr turning to a growl as she rocked against him, the friction of her leggings against his jeans making him ache. Her nails dug deeper, possessive, and he laughed, nipping her jaw.

“Begging’s your job, brat,” he teased, but his voice was thick, his hands gripping her hips. “Purr for me again, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, her purr low and deliberate. “Earn it,” she whispered, her nails trailing down his chest, teasing the edge of his jeans. He groaned, his restraint fraying, and flipped them, pinning her to the couch, her legs wrapping around him.

His hands slid under her skirt, finding her bare, and he froze, his eyes dark with want. “God, Ivy,” he said, his voice a growl. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” she purred, her nails clawing his back as she pulled him down, kissing him hard. Her hips rocked, guiding his touch, and he followed her lead, his fingers slow, teasing, finding the rhythm that made her gasp. Her purrs turned to moans, her claws relentless, and Alec watched her, mesmerized—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her grey eyes burned.

“Claws out, feral cat,” he murmured, kissing her throat, his touch deliberate, pushing her higher. “Love it when you fight back.”

“Shut up,” she gasped, but her purr was broken, her nails digging deeper as she arched, her body taut. When she shattered, it was with a sharp cry, her claws leaving marks he’d feel for days, her purr a sound he’d chase forever. He held her through it, his lips brushing her forehead, his own need secondary to the sight of her undone.

She laughed, breathless, her nails easing up, her eyes meeting his. “You’re still a pain,” she said, her purr lingering as she kissed him, soft and lazy.

“And you’re perfect,” he said, grinning, nipping her lip. “Gonna keep making you purr, brat. Every damn day.”

She smirked, her claws trailing lightly down his chest. “Better step up your game, labradoodle.”

He laughed, pulling her close, her warmth grounding him. The $10,000 was just the start—he’d flood her life with everything she deserved, and he’d love every second of her fighting him on it.