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Casper jumps off his seat, taking a couple extra steps to gain his footing in the gravel pebbles. He spins around, watching me like this was the whole point of his scheme. Clever bastard.

He gets behind me, pushing me even higher.

“How high before it breaks?” I ask.

“Let’s find out.”

“No!” A laugh bubbles out of me and I slacken, dragging my feet and letting the momentum slow. My shoes kick up a small spray of pebbles before I finally come to a stop, a lazy smile still on my face.

He rounds me, holding on to the chains above my hands, and gazing down at me, similar to the way he looked at me when I was on my knees in that church graveyard—like he’s committing the moment to memory. I take advantage of the opportunity to do just that.

“Why are we here?” I ask, my voice soft.

“Because this place is quieter than those VIP rooms. More privacy.”

I chuckle, glancing around the very public park.

“Well, you should know I don’t do extras,” I joke.

“Good. Because I don’t pay for them. If you decide to get down on your knees and wrap your pretty lips around my cock, it better be of your own volition.”

I halt my gentle swaying, eating up the heat in his stare.

“And if I say no?”

He shrugs. “Then I will sit next to you and only think respectful thoughts . . . mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I mean, will I go home and violently masturbate to you while thinking about those little sparkly shorts you had on? Absolutely.”

I playfully narrow my eyes at him. “What is it you want from me, Casper?”

“Your secrets.”

I blow out a slow breath—that’s the last thing I want him to have.

“And your consent . . .” he adds. “Consent is hot.”

It’s like he can sense when I need to lighten the conversation. “I like you, Casper.”

“Good, then we’re in agreement.”

I huff a laugh. This motherfucker.

“Now, why don’t we switch positions and I’ll sit on the swing while we chat. Also . . . technically . . . I did pay for a private dance, so if you feel like rolling those sexy little hips while we talk, I’ll tip extra.” He winks.

“Aw, shucks.” I sarcastically snap my fingers. “If only there were music here.”

Casper places his hand over his heart and begins singing the national anthem at a volume that can only be described as a threat to public safety. “O say can you see, by the dawn’s early⁠—”

I jump to my feet, shooting my hand up to clap over his mouth, but not before we’ve attracted the attention of everyone within earshot. A car alarm echoes from the other side of the lake, and I’m fairly certain his booming voice triggered it.

He licks the inside of my palm and I yank my hand away with a squeal, laughing at how incredibly unserious this man is.

“Oh, did I not tell you about my patriotism fetish?” he asks, tugging me into him.

“I’ve got a flag back at my place,” I say coyly.