Page 20 of The Spark

Two. My muscles locked.

Three. My head fell back.

Four. My cum spilled hot and thick over my fist.

I choked back a roar, my teeth grinding, the vision of her gripping my arms, moaning my name, wrecking me completely.

And I knew—I wasn’t getting rid of this feeling anytime soon.

I wokeup tense as hell.

The kind of tension that sits under your skin, hot and humming, like the memory of a dream you shouldn’t have had. Except it wasn’t a dream. It was her voice moaning through the wall. Her soft cries buried beneath the sound of Minnie Riperton’s falsetto. Her breathless release—because of me, because of something we hadn’t done yet but kept dancing around like the inevitable.

The second I walked into the kitchen, she was already there—at the counter, clutching her coffee mug like it might save her from everything we weren’t saying. She didn’t look up. Didn’t speak.

But I felt her.

The tension pulsed between us, stretching taut like a thread about to snap.

I ran a hand over my beard, exhaling slowly, trying not to let the image of her beneath me invade my thoughts. But it was already there—pressing against my skull, against my dick, against my fucking self-control.

If she wanted to pretend last night hadn’t happened, I could let her.

For now.

“You working from home today?” I asked, my voice still heavy from sleep.

She nodded, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah. Commission review is later.”

Her fingers tapped the side of her mug. A tell. She was unraveling inside. Just like me.

“Cool,” I muttered, leaning against the fridge, watching her too closely.

The air between us was thick. Unspoken things floating just above our heads, waiting to be plucked and shattered.

I knew the risk. Knew the line we were standing on had already blurred.

But if we crossed it—if we really crossed it—there’d be no turning back. No more pretending we were just friends who used to fool around when we were bored. It’d be different now. Deeper. Real.

And I didn’t know if either of us was ready for what came after that.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself.

“Let’s hit the record shop,” I said suddenly.

Her head whipped toward me. “What?”

“You could use some new music,” I said with a shrug. “So could I.”

She stared like she was trying to read between the lines. And maybe she was.

“Amir, you don’t even?—”

“Don’t what?” I cut in, already smirking. “Don’t make the best damn playlists? Don’t know my way around a vinyl?”

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the corner of her mouth twitching. A crack in the armor.

“I just?—”

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