Page 41 of The Spark

He stepped forward, closing the distance like he had all the time in the world.

“You know exactly what it means.”

My thighs clenched. My breath hitched. And still, I held my ground.

He didn’t stop moving until he was right behind me, his chest grazing my back, his hands sliding slow around my waist. His touch—familiar and electric—burned through the thin fabric of my shorts. I gasped, my body arching instinctively into him.

“You already know who you belong to, A,” he murmured. His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Now be a good girl… and let me have my appetizer.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

The breath left my body in a sharp, shaking exhale.

His hands slid up the backs of my thighs, fingers spreading over my skin like he owned me. I braced myself on the counter, the smell of herbs and heat twisting with the sound of my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

His fingers reached my folds. He stilled.

“No panties?” he rasped. His voice wrecked. “You walked around here wet for me?”

His fingers traced over my slit, spreading the mess he found there. I couldn’t answer. Not with the way his touch made my knees weak. His fingers parted me gently, deliberately, and then?—

“Oh my God?—”

His mouth was on me. Hot, slow, and devastating.

He licked me like I was his whole damn meal. Tongue flicking my clit, sucking, curling into me with maddening precision. The sounds—filthy, wet, obscene—filled the kitchen, competing with my breathless cries and the sizzle of forgotten salmon.

The spatula hit the floor.

I nearly followed.

His grip on my thighs tightened. His beard scratched my skin in the best way. And then he sucked my clit deep into his mouth.

I shattered.

My orgasm tore through me—violent, electric, breath-snatching. My thighs clenched around his head, my hand scrambled for purchase, one landing on top of his hair as he groaned against my pussy like he was addicted.

He didn’t stop until I was trembling. Until my vision blurred. Until I couldn’t form a thought that didn’t start and end with his name.

Only then did he pull away, his beard glistening, his lips curling.

He grabbed a plate, dished himself some food, and casually said?—

"Dinner smells good."

I blinked. "You are so full of shit."

His smirk deepened. "And you love it."

17

Istood like I hadn’t just been on my knees devouring her, like her taste wasn’t still on my tongue, still thick in my throat. I grabbed a plate, dished up some salmon, and said, “Dinner smells good.”

She blinked at me like I’d lost my damn mind. Still breathless. Still wrecked.

“You are so full of shit,” she muttered.

I shrugged and smirked. “And you love it.” She didn’t deny it.

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