Page 15 of The Spark

A plea.

A need.

My body rocked against his mouth, slow at first, then more desperate. He anchored me with both hands on my thighs, fingers pressing firm, keeping me open, holding me steady as his mouth drove me higher.

He didn’t rush it. Hesavoredit.

Every flick of his tongue. Every swirl. Every pull of his mouth around my clit. He took his time—eating me like he wanted to make sure I’d remember exactly how he made me feel.

And I would.

Forever.

When my orgasm hit, it wasn’t a scream—it was a slow, drawn-out exhale, my entire body shaking, my thighs clenching around his head as my hips bucked and my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t pull away until I was whimpering from the sensitivity, still trembling, still raw.

Only then did he lift his head, mouth wet, lips swollen, eyes heavy with something that made my breath catch all over again.

He rested his cheek against the softness of my belly, one hand still holding my thigh. His other arm wrapped around my waist like he was trying to keep me close a little longer.

He kissed my stomach—once. Then again. Slower this time.

His fingers brushed the underside of my breast through the hoodie, and his hand lingered there.

Then he sat up—moved forward—his mouth now on the front of my hoodie, then the hem, dragging it up inch by inch.

He didn’t ask this time.

Just lifted it until my breasts were bare, his mouth moving over one nipple, then the other, tongue swirling, lips sucking gently as I gasped and arched beneath him.

“God,” I breathed, my fingers pulling his head close.

He moaned against my skin, pulled one nipple into his mouth again, and I felt the throb return low in my belly.

I looked down and saw the way he moved—head tilted, shoulders tense, one hand on my breast, the other sliding along my hip.

I could feel the weight of him between my legs. The push of his body leaning forward. The way he kissed and touched me like he wantedallof me.

And for a second—I wanted to give it. But then… reality crashed in.

The weight of it.

The world waiting just outside this moment.

Amir wasn’t mine. Not really. He was my friend. Someone else’s boyfriend—or at least, he had been. Maybe still was. I didn’t know. Andnot knowingmade everything inside me twist.

What if I couldn’t come back from this? What if it got messy? What if I ruined the only person who’d ever made me feel safe?

I pressed my hand to his chest.

He looked up, lips kiss-swollen, eyes half-lidded, confused. Still breathing hard.

“Amaya,” he whispered, reaching for me again.

I shook my head slowly. Even though it pained me and my pussy, I had to stop this before I lost myself.

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