Page 33 of The Spark

“You remember?” I asked, voice breathless. “What you did to me that night on the couch?”

He nodded slowly, eyes locked on where our bodies met. “I’ve never forgotten the way you tasted. How you came for me.”

My nails dug into his shoulders as I bounced harder, faster. Our skin slapped together, the couch creaking beneath us, the music pulsing in the background like it was set to the rhythm of my moans.

“Amaya,” he groaned, his voice thick, hands now gripping my ass, guiding me. “You’re fuckin’ incredible.”

I leaned down, kissing him, messy and deep. My hips still moved, grinding, sliding, rocking into him. He matched me, thrusting up to meet each drop with a deep, punishing rhythm that made me see stars.

“I’m gonna cum,” I breathed. “Fuck, Amir—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Just brought a hand between us, his thumb rubbing tight circles on my clit. “Let go, baby. Let me feel you.”

My entire body clenched. The orgasm ripped through me, sharp and hot, my cries muffled against his neck as I came around him—wet, tight, pulsing.

“Shit,” he groaned. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

I collapsed against his chest, still twitching from the aftershocks.

But he wasn’t done.

He shifted suddenly, lifting me off him and turning me around.

“Get on the couch,” he growled. “Knees. Now.”

I obeyed without thinking, breath shallow, body electric. I knelt on the cushions, hands braced against the back of the couch, legs spread wide as I felt him behind me, thick and hot against my slick folds.

“You ready for me?” he asked, voice rough, his hand gripping my ass, guiding his dick to my entrance.

“Yes,” I whimpered. “Please.”

He slammed into me in one deep, hard thrust.

I cried out, arching, nails digging into the couch as he filled me all over again—this time from behind, deeper, rougher, sharper.

“Fuuuuck, Amir.”

“That’s right,” he growled, thrusting into me with hard, unrelenting strokes. “You like that? You like me tearing this pussy up?”

“Yes. Yes,” I moaned, pushing back to meet every stroke. “Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

He gripped my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my neck as he pounded into me, each stroke pushing me further, higher, closer to breaking again.

“You feel that?” he hissed into my ear. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

“Yes, Amir. All yours,” I gasped, breathless. “Yours.”

He tugged my hair harder, his other hand gripping my waist as he drove into me, deep and rough and filthy, his breath hot against my ear, his body slamming into mine with purpose.

“Cum for me again,” he demanded. “Make a mess on this dick.”

I was already there.

My whole body locked up as the pleasure ripped through me again, harder this time, wetness flooding him as I screamed his name, shaking, crying, unraveling with each relentless thrust.

“Amir—!”

“Fuck, Amaya,” he growled, his pace stuttering. “I’m gonna—fuck?—”

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