Page 49 of The Spark

We wentto DeLuca’s anyway.

It was early enough that we didn’t need to wait. She slid into the booth across from me, my hoodie swallowing her frame. The sweatshirt hit just above her knees, but the way she moved—the soft sway of her hips when she walked, the ease in her laugh when she teased me about ordering the same thing every time—I could barely focus.

She ordered the seafood omelet. I got my usual Denver.

“Still basic,” she teased, stealing a bite of mine before her own came.

“You like basic,” I muttered, eyeing her mouth.

She smirked. “Sometimes.”

We ate slow. Talked. Didn’t rush anything.

After, while she thumbed through the menu like I had worked her into the type of appetite that she needed more, I checked Twitter out of habit.

That’s when I saw it.

Sinners. Ryan Coogler. Early buzz is insane. Emotional. Raw. Erotic. Beautiful.

“Wanna catch a movie?” I asked casually.

She lifted her brow. “You’re full of surprises today.”

We endedup at the theater in Robinson.

It was perfect because it wasn ot crowded. The energy low and cozy.

She curled up beside me in the leather seats, that sweatshirt still her only armor. Legs bare, her scent faint under her skin, thighs warm when they brushed mine. I reached over, slid my hand over her knee. She didn’t stop me.

Then the screen lit up, and everything else faded.

The dialogue. The pacing. The tension. The culture. Seeing Us.And the music made me feel alive. I couldn’t help how my fingers tapped beats against her thighs. She seemed to love it. Embrace it. Open her thighs to it.

When Annie pressed Elijah’s palm to his dick and said,“Your body still remembers me,”I felt Amaya stop breathing for a second.

I looked at her. She didn’t look at me.

But her thighs squeezed together.

When Sammie leaned into Pearline and whispered,“You’re beautiful. I want to taste it,”I couldn’t get the taste of Amaya off my mind. I leaned in, kissed her shoulder, my hand sliding higher beneath the hem of my sweatshirt. She didn’t stop me.

Didn’t even flinch.

She just shifted slightly—opened for me—and I dragged my fingers along her inner thigh, teasing her until I felt that wet heat again.

My breath caught.

“You’re soaked,” I whispered.

“You started it,” she murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen.

I slipped two fingers inside her.

She arched. Just a little. Just enough.

I worked her slow, careful, my thumb circling her clit while the sounds of the movie swelled around us. Her hips moved in subtle rhythm, her breath soft and tight, her hand gripping my forearm like she was barely holding it together.

When she came, she shuddered, thighs quaking, her mouth parting in a silent gasp.

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