Page 24 of The Spark

I should’ve said no. Should’ve made a joke. Something.

But I stepped toward him instead.

His hands found my waist, slow and certain, curling around me like they already knew the shape of my body. Like they remembered what it meant to hold me.

My hands slid up his chest, resting on his shoulders. Solid. Strong. Still home.

His scent wrapped around me—spice, heat, and memory. I tried not to tremble under the weight of it.

We swayed.

Slow. Deep. The kind of rhythm that came from something older than us.

The music faded into the background.

All I could hear was the rhythm ofus.

The catch of my breath.

The soft rasp of his fingers slipping just beneath the hem of my shirt, brushing skin—hot, sensitive, exposed.

I sucked in a breath.

“I should’ve kissed you back then,” he murmured.

I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.

My heart thundered. “Amir…”

He leaned in. Eyes burning into mine.

And then—his lips found me.

Soft at first. A question.

Then deeper. A memory.

His tongue slipped past mine, coaxing me open with ease, with heat, witheverythingwe hadn’t said.

I melted. My knees buckled.

He caught me.

One strong arm banded around my waist, pulling me against the length of him—thick and pulsing and unmistakably hard.

I gasped into his mouth. He groaned into mine.

His hand slid lower. Gripping me. Holding me like he didn’t plan to let go.

Our foreheads touched, breath tangled.

I was dizzy. Drenched.

Ready.

My body screamedyes.

Even if my mind was still catching up.

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