Page 6 of The Spark

I could’ve stayed somewhere else. But I didn’t. Because I wanted this. And that should’ve been my first warning.

I pushed up from the bed, shaking that thought loose. I had to keep my head straight. I had for this long, hadn’t I?

A knock on the door pulled me out of my head. "Food’s here," Amaya called from the other side.

I took a slow breath, adjusting my sweats because just the sound of her voice had my dick twitching. This was muscle memory at this point.

How many nights had I woken up like this? Stomach tight, body aching, skin too hot from the dreams that never stopped coming?

Dreams of her. Of her body beneath me, soft and willing.

Of my mouth tracing her skin, my tongue teasing those thick nipples that always pressed against her tops like they wanted my attention. Of gripping her thighs as she rode me slow, the sound of her moans making my dick throb even in my sleep.

I’d wake up messy, the evidence of my desire smeared on my stomach or my thigh, chest rising and falling as I tried to shake the feeling. But it never went away. Not really.

I ran a hand over my beard, forcing my dick to chill the hell out, and stepped into the living room.

She was already setting up takeout on the coffee table, her bare legs tucked under her, shoulders relaxed like she’d finally exhaled. The rich, spiced scent of jerk chicken for me, jerk salmon for her, rice and peas, and plantains filled the air—comfort food, the kind you could lose yourself in.

D’Angelo was playing through the speakers, “You’re My Lady” low and slow, floating through the space like incense smoke.

I paused.

That song—hell. I’d heard it a thousand times, but tonight, the lyrics hit different. Hit a little too close.

You're my lady...

It was everything I was trying not to think about. Everything Icouldn’tstop thinking about. Her.

I forced the thought down, hard, as I walked over to join her. It had been a long-ass day, and I wasn’t about to turn down some good food and time to unwind just because my libido was on overdrive around her.

We sat on the floor, like we had a hundred times before, but this time, it felt different.

Maybe it was the way she looked tonight—like she wasn’t trying, but still managed to make my mouth dry. Even with her big framed glasses that made me ache to see her eyes beneath, she was everything.

She was in a tiny crop top, one that barely sat beneath her petite breasts, showing off that smooth, flat belly. Her skin glowed, soft brown, untouched and perfect, and it took everything in me not to stare.

Or maybe I was staring, because when she caught me, her lips parted just slightly, her tongue flicking out to wet them before she looked away.

Fuck.I should’ve never moved in here.

"You still eat like a child," I muttered, watching her pick through her food, pushing the onions to one side like they personally offended her.

She shot me a look. "And you still eat like you got three stomachs."

I smirked, popping a piece of chicken into my mouth. "Gotta feed the gains."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

It felt easy, like it always had. Except for the tension sitting between us, thick and unspoken.

I felt it every time she looked at me too long. Every time her eyes flickered to my mouth. Every time she crossed her legs, like she was trying to stop herself from something she didn’t even want to name. And I wasn’t gonna lie—I liked it.

I shifted, stretching my legs out, letting my thigh brush hers just enough to make her breath hitch.

She swallowed hard, stabbing at her food like it had done something to her. "You’re annoying."

I chuckled. "You love it."

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