Page 27 of The Spark

Compliments didn’t usually do much for me. But that one hit different. Because Raj wasn’t just anybody. And because this track wasn’t just any beat.

This beat came from earlier today—right after that kiss. I’d left the record shop still feeling her lips on mine, the taste of her lip gloss on my tongue, the weight of her body pressed close. My brain wouldn’t let it go. So I sat down and pulled from what I knew, flipped a Maze record—"Golden Time of Day"—into something new. Something textured. The slow build, the deep bass, the delicate hum in the background—that was all her.

My hands knew what to do before I could even think. She was in every layer. The way her body moved, the softness in her voice, the storm in her eyes.

I turned a few dials, letting the music fill the room, letting myself sink into it. For a while, it worked. The work was always a good distraction.

Until a soft voice broke my focus.

“You always this focused, baby?”

A hand slid over my shoulder. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Tasha.

She had been circling me for months, making it clear she was waiting for her turn. And if it had been a year ago—hell, maybe even a few months ago—I probably would’ve let her have it.

She had all the things I used to chase. Thick thighs, full lips, a dangerous smirk that promised a good time and no complications.

Her fingers trailed lower, pressing against my thigh. “Need a break?” she murmured.

For a split second, I thought about it.

Not because I wanted her but because I had no business wanting Amaya. But then, I caught my reflection in the glass panel of the studio. And I didn’t like what I saw. Tasha wasn’t what I wanted.

I exhaled, gripping her wrist and pulling her hand off me.

“Not tonight, Tasha.”

She blinked, surprised. “You sure?”

“Go find somebody else to play with.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes before strutting away.

Across the booth, Raj pulled off his headphones, smirking. “Damn, bro. Ain’t like you to turn down a fine ass woman.”

I didn’t respond. Because I knew if I opened my mouth, Amaya’s name would come outas my reason for not caring who was looking my way.

The apartment wassilent when I walked in.

No music playing, no glare from the TV.

But I could still smell her.

I stopped outside her door, lifting my hand before I could stop myself.

I wanted to knock. Wanted to step inside, find her sitting at her desk, barefoot, glasses slipping down her nose as she got lost in her work.

Wanted to kiss her, pull her into me, press my lips against that soft skin until she admitted she wanted this as bad as I did.

Instead, I exhaled slow, forcing myself to step away.

In the shower, I let the hot water beat against my shoulders, but it didn’t do shit to clear my head. My body was tense, aching, my dick already half-hard just from the memory of her pressed against me.

I scrubbed a hand down my face, forcing myself not to touch.

It didn’t matter. I was too far gone.

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