I reach up, placing my hands on both sides of his face. “Show me,” I whisper.
He offers no verbal response, only actions. His lips, his hands travel every inch, conquering and devouring my body…my heart…my soul.
I hastily strip off his clothes like a child with a present on Christmas morning, rushed and frenzied. He complies with my feverish demands, but once he’s undressed he grasps my wrists and places them above my head.
“Shh,” he says, burying his face into my neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” He licks and kisses down my neck while his hands move slowly under my shirt. After sliding it over my head, he begins making his way to my panties. Landing soft kisses along the waistband, his hands slowly slip the thin fabric down my legs, provoking a wave of chills across my body.
I’ve never made love. The slow, tender, passionate act is not something I’ve had and I look to Casen for direction. Rough, fast, and lacking all emotion other than lust is what I’m used to. I typically dominate and take what I want. To submit to Casen, to open my Pandora’s Box of emotions is frightening.
I try to calm my nerves as he kisses his way up my body, but when his mouth crashes down once again on mine any leftover fears dwindle. I wrap my legs around his strong body and allow him to melt into me. As the passion of the moment reaches a fevered pitch, my feelings for Casen overwhelm me. His arms feel like my safe haven; I’ve not only discovered my own heart, but I’ve found a home within his.
The sun has started to peek through the small camper windows, and the cool morning air is beginning to filter into the room. Now under the covers, our limbs completely tangled together, we’ve been shifting in and out of sleep for the last few hours. Snuggling and spooning are new to me, but in Casen’s arms, I could lay in this camper forever. I’m sure food can be delivered to us; of course the girls would understand my new life of hibernation.
“Hey you,” Casen says as he kisses my temple.
I simply reply with a smile and cord my fingers with his.
“You know I’m not going to be able to let you go, right? I’m in this for the long haul. Me and you, sparkplug, remember?” His voice is almost pleading, a fear of rejection similar to mine laced in his tone.
“Just me and you,” I reassure him. We lie in a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other’s arms until I rise up on my elbow and ask him the question I’ve wanted the answer to since he first called me the most annoying nickname ever given.
“I have to ask. Why in the hell do you call me sparkplug?” I inquire, lightly scratching my nails along his chest.
“Sometimes I shorten it to sparky,” he replies nonchalantly.
“Exactly. Instead of something sweet like baby or kitten, nope, I get Clark Griswold’s pet name. Other than that usage, every other Jack Russell Terrier in the United States is named Sparky, so I’m not exactly seeing it as a term of endearment.”
“I honestly never thought about that,” he chuckles, wobbling my elbow, which is resting on his chest.
“Well, those are things you have to consider,” I add sarcastically.
Casen rolls onto his side, forcing me to slide off him. A mischievous smile lights up his face. “All right, can I explain?”
I nod, signaling him to continue.
“Jen, you have to understand, you are the feistiest, most stubborn, headstrong woman I’ve ever met. You don’t take shit from anyone, especially me, and yet you are one of the most loyal people I’ve ever come across. I adore you for all those qualities.”
“What does that have to do with—” I begin to ask, but he covers my mouth with two of his fingers, cutting me off.
“Do you know what a sparkplug is?” he asks.
“I know it belongs in a car, but other than that, no.” He gives me a look of disappointment. “Don’t give me that look, Casen Thompson. I’m not the type of girl who rebuilds engines; I have a triple A card for a reason.”
“Never once did you strike me as the type to wield a wrench,” he mocks.
“Ha ha. This better be one hell of an explanation,” I warn teasingly.
“Wait a minute, what’s wrong with the Griswolds?” he teases. I playfully push his shoulder, causing him to laugh.
“You’re such an asshole,” I tell him as I try to hide my own smile.
“I certainly am, but it’s what you like about me. Now hush and let me finish.”
I settle back against the pillows and wait for whatever imaginative creation Casen has concocted for my terrible nickname. I always thought he was poking fun at me when he used it.
“I enjoy cars, not the new pieces of shit made of plastic, but the classics, cars with soul. You know I treat Nelly like my own child. That pickup was nothing more than a rusted out shell of a vehicle when I bought it, and it took years to restore. There is something really cool about finding something which has been abandoned, something which was thrown away and making it shine again.”
I nod in agreement. I may know jack shit about cars, but I feel the same way about my photography. I love capturing those small moments when people don’t think you’re watching. That’s where the real beauty lies, not in anything I could ever pose.
“When I met you, you reminded me so much of Nelly.”
“I reminded you of your truck? Casen, my suggestion would be to offer chocolate and back away slowly. I don’t see this going anywhere complimentary, when the introduction includes you remind me of my once rusty truck I found in a junkyard. Not exactly words which will convince a girl to let you under her hood.”
“You’re killing me, devil woman. Let me finish,” he whines before briefly burying his head in a pillow.
I quietly giggle and then nudge him up. “Sorry, I’m sure this has a fabulous ending.” Yeah, that probably didn’t help contradict the devil woman label. I swear I try to channel my best Mother Theresa, but all that ever comes through is something, which rivals Linda Blair. “Really, keep going. Please. I want to know where the name comes from.”
Casen rolls his eyes, clearly no longer amused with my interruptions and added commentary. “Like I was saying, I kept thinking of Nelly when I was around you. It wasn’t that you reminded me of the actual truck, it was something specific about the truck. I rebuilt everything, my truck was perfect, but I couldn’t get the damn thing to start. I checked and double checked.”
“What was wrong with it?” I ask.
His eyes slide to mine and he grins triumphantly. “The sparkplug,” he announces smoothly. “It’s the tiniest of parts, but if something is wrong with the sparkplug, a vehicle won’t work. When I met you I realized if I let you close enough, you would be my own personal sparkplug.” He grabs my hip and pulls me down to my back and hovers over me. “You’re a massive personality inside this tiny little package. If I didn’t have you or if something were to upset you, my own world wouldn’t work the way it should. I knew you would be that important to me. Am I making better sense?”
I nod and kiss him. Just like that, I don’t mind the nickname anymore. In fact, I now want to hear it more than ever. I’ve never been important to anyone, so for him to see something more than anyone else makes me feel both uncomfortable and special.
Before I can say anything, Casen rips the blanket off me and I yelp from the immediate chill I’m met with. “What the hell?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question. One last one before we have to pack up and return to the real world.” He rubs his hands down my freezing body until he reaches the tattoo on my lower hip. People say tattoos are addictive, but I only have the one and I don’t see that ever changing.
“Tell me the story of this tattoo. I’ve seen a million and a half of those dandelion tattoos with the fuzz floating off into the breeze. This, though, is the yellow dandelion flower. I could understand a rose, or a daisy, even one of those popular lilies, but a dandelion? Most people consider it a weed, not a flower. So, I want the story,” he explains while his fingers trace the outline of my small tattoo. His touch leaves a trail of warmth on my skin, and I silently beg him to continue.