Page 22 of The Spark Between Us

"I've never been surer of anything," she breathes, her fingers trembling slightly as she pushes my shirt off my shoulders.

Time blurs. Her sundress pools at her feet. My belt clatters to the floor. Every newly revealed inch of her skin is a revelation—thick thighs, soft curves, and warm flesh that I've denied myself for too long. I lift her onto the desk again, worshipping her neck with my lips, trailing downward to the lace edge of her bra.

"Fuck, Grant," she moans, her head falling back, fingers threading through my hair.

I've imagined this moment countless times, always followed by immediate guilt. But reality eclipses fantasy—the soft sounds she makes when I cup her breast through the lace, the way she whispers my name like a prayer, the heat of her skin beneath my palms.

She's bolder than I expected, her hands exploring my chest, my back, dipping to the waistband of my jeans. When she brushes against me through the denim, I groan against her collarbone.

"Too many clothes," she murmurs, reaching behind to unclasp her bra. "Need to feel you."

The sight of her—half-naked, flushed, eyes filled with desire—nearly undoes me. I slide my hands up her bare back, pulling her against my chest, skin to skin at last. The contact pulls a sound from deep in my throat, something between a groan and her name.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper, cupping her face with one hand while the other traces the curve of her waist. "I've wanted this for so long."

"Show me," she challenges, wrapping her legs around my hips and pulling me closer.

My hands find the edge of her underwear, hesitating one final moment. Years of restraint battle with present need. But when Ellie rocks against me, whimpering softly, restraint loses spectacularly.

I slide the lace down her legs, my control fraying with each second. Her hands are at my zipper now, determined and wanting. The classroom fades away—there's only Ellie, warm and willing in my arms, her lips against mine, her hands pulling me closer.

"I want you," she whispers against my mouth. "All of you."

It's reckless, irresponsible, and potentially catastrophic for everything I've built here. But looking into her eyes, feeling her heart race against mine, I can't find it in me to care.

For once in my disciplined life, I choose what I want over what I should do. I choose Ellie.

Chapter 8 - Ellie

This can't be real.

Grant Walker—the man I've fantasized about for years—is kissing me like he's drowning and I'm air. His hands are everywhere: in my hair, on my waist, sliding up my thighs. I'm not entirely convinced this isn't some elaborate dream my subconscious has painted to torture me. If it is, I don't ever want to wake up.

But the rough texture of his palms against my skin feels too real to be imagined. The weight of his body pressing mine against the desk is too solid, too present. The taste of him—mint and something musky, uniquely Grant is too vivid for even my overactive imagination.

I can feel him hard against me through his jeans, and the knowledge that *I* did this to him—that the always-controlled firefighter is losing himself because of me—is intoxicating. His hands are at the waistband of my underwear, and everything in me is screaming yes, please, finally.

But there's something I haven't told him. Something important.

"Wait," I whisper against his lips, my hand gently pressing against his chest. "Grant, wait."

He immediately freezes, pulling back to look at me with concern. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them, pupils blown wide with desire.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice rough with want but tinged with worry. "We can stop. Anytime. Just say the word."

The fact that he's ready to stop completely, despite how far we've gone, despite how obviously aroused he is, makes my heart swell with affection.

"I'm more than alright," I assure him, letting my fingers trace the contours of his chest. "I just... there's something I need to tell you first."

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face. "What is it?"

I take a deep breath, suddenly feeling very vulnerable despite the heat still simmering between us.

"I'm a virgin," I admit, my voice barely audible in the quiet classroom.

Grant's eyes widen slightly. "You're..." He trails off, processing. "I thought... in college..."

I shake my head, feeling a blush spread across my cheeks. "No. I dated, but I never..." I bite my lip, gathering my courage. "Part of me always hoped you'd be my first," I confess, hardly believing I'm being this bold. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think I was waiting. For you."

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