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sweettemmy · 14 days ago

Text

❥ “𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞“

𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐚 𝐏𝐎𝐕: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 (𝐓𝐌𝐓𝐌 𝐂𝐡. 26/27)

(𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧? 𝐌𝐦𝐦𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 ....𝐱𝐱𝐱)

𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁 (𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝)

You’ve read 30 chapters of tension, chess, temptation, and one very doomed nerd. A bonus Juda POV of the alleyway scene—filthy, desperate, dangerous. Enjoy the fall.

❤︎ Content Warnings:

Explicit sexual content (18+), Desperate touching in public (alleyway scene), Obsessive thoughts / losing control, Unholy amounts of tension and lace

❤︎ Milestone Note:

thank you so, so much for 30 chapters of love, screaming, chessboard tension, thirst comments, and heart emojis. this one’s for you.

if you survive it, lmk.

────── ♔ ──────

Wanting was a terrible thing.

Craving a girl I shouldn’t want—couldn’t keep—was worse.

We were pressed against the wall. The world had shrunk, collapsed into a single point of gravity. Her.

Her mouth on mine. Her thigh locked around my hip. Her heat searing through every point of contact. Her lip gloss, warm and slick like cherry and sin, clung to my tongue.

My fingers sank into her waist, anchoring me to the one thing I wasn’t supposed to have. I pulled her closer, harder into the brick, like that’d be enough. Like anything could be enough.

It wasn’t.

Amara kissed like it was instinct, like she was born to seduce and tempt. A siren wrapped in soft skin and bad decisions.

Temptress. Vixen. Pretty fucking poison. And I was drinking deep, choking on it, addicted already.

Because this wasn’t something I was doing. It was something I was giving in to. Finally.

Fleeting teenage fantasies, years of quiet admiration I’d buried under logic and reason all ripped loose because of one kiss in a library.

Her hands clenched my shirt, pulling, greedy. Her breath hitched in my mouth and I felt it everywhere tight in my chest, low in my gut, shooting through my veins like I was being rewritten by her touch.

My hand slid up her thigh. Soft. So fucking soft. Warm. She arched into me, body desperate and responsive, like she needed more.

I did too.

I could feel her heartbeat under my palm or maybe that was mine. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

A breathy sound left her throat, cracked and desperate, and it broke me.

I tilted her chin up more and kissed her deeper, slower, like I needed to taste everything.

My thumb dragged along her jaw, and fuck, her skin like velvet lit from within. I pressed into her, hips grinding, spine pulled tight with every ounce of friction.

She moaned again. Needy and addicting.

I swallowed it.

This was insane. We were outside, behind a building, a packed club no more than thirty feet away. But none of that existed.

There was only her. Her lips. Her breath. Her thighs wrapping tighter around me. Her dress riding up high enough that I could palm the curve of her her ass.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

I felt drunk and I hadn’t even had one sip of alcohol.

I was drunk on her.

And then she rolled her hips right into mine, right where I was aching and the sound that tore out of me wasn’t human.

I buried it in her neck, panting against her skin. Biting back more. God.

I slipped my hand beneath the hem of her dress. Heat. All heat. She always ran warm. Like she had fire under her skin. She did.

I wasn’t thinking anymore. Couldn’t.

I wasn’t supposed to want her like this.

Wasn’t supposed to have her like this.

But fuck if I didn’t.

I shifted, trying to catch a breath, trying to remember where the line even was. My hand landed over her panties.

Scraps. Nothing. Barely-there lace that didn’t hide a damn thing. A thin, useless layer keeping me from what I thought about too often.

I’d touched too many surfaces tonight to touch her bare skin. So I did what I could.

I pressed my fingers to her clit through the lace. Dragged. Once. Twice. Then pinched.

Amara gasped, lashes fluttering, lips parting and that sound went straight through me. Lit me up.

Her hips rolled, slick and eager, and she moaned my name like it meant something. “Ju…Juda…”

I kissed her neck again, still rubbing her like it was the only thing I’d ever learned to do. And fuck, she was soaked. Soaked.

Her breath turned ragged. Chest rising and falling too fast. Her hips chased every stroke, greedy.

Greedy girl. Always greedy.

And I got it now.

I used to see boys destroy themselves over her. I never understood it. Couldn’t fathom how one girl could spin someone on their axis so badly that reason dissipates.

But now? being in her presence these past few weeks?

I fucking get it.

Yeah, Amara’s stunning, pretty. Too pretty. And that charm of hers? It’s nuclear. Wraps around you, gets under your skin, poisons you sweet.

She’d say my name and my mind would go blank. Nothing but images of her bent over my desk, my tongue on her thighs, her voice breaking as she begged for more. I never used to think like that. Not until her.

And it isn’t even that, I just want to know her, like really fucking know her.

I kept glancing down at my hand, like I couldn’t believe it was mine. The same hands that barely dared touch anything but books, notes, and chess pieces were tracing over her, making her gasp, making her lose control.

Not tonight, I told myself. I promised.

But then she whimpered.

And my hand moved. One more drag. Just one.

She bucked into it, hips snapping, and the sound that left her lips wrecked and desperate made my whole body lock up.

I had to yank my hand away. Had to. I was this close to losing it.

I pressed my hips to hers instead. Trying to ground myself. Trying to survive her.

But it was unraveling. Restraint? Gone. Logic? Fading. Every second I stayed here, she rewired me more.

Her lips. Her curves. Her heat.

Her scent, warm vanilla and jasmine stuck to me. My hands. My sheets. My memory.

I pressed my forehead to hers. Breathed her in. Couldn’t exhale. My lips found hers again.

She bit my bottom lip. Licked over the sting like she owned it. My eyes rolled back. My hands shook where they held her.

“Amara,” I rasped. Barely a voice. Barely a man.

She kissed me harder.

I thought pulling my hand away would help.

It didn’t. Every inch of her tempted me more.

“Juda…” Her voice. That voice. Silk and sin. A fucking weapon.

And before I could stop myself, before logic caught up, I slipped my hand back between us.

Back under her dress.

Back to that damn fabric.

Amara gasped when I touched her again. My fingers dragging slow, deep over the damp lace. Her mouth parted, lashes fluttered, and it was obscene.

She was the most beautiful and erotic thing to ever exist.

I pressed firmer this time. Rubbed in tight, measured strokes.

The lace clung to her, wet and hot, and when I grazed her clit again—fuck—her whole body shuddered.

She bit her lip to quiet the moan. Because she can’t be quiet. Not for shit.

I couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop touching her.

Her hips rolled, chasing it. Her breath caught in her throat. Her head tipped back with a soft thud against the brick.

“Right there, fuck just l–like that.” Amara gasped.

I adjusted the angle, rubbing tighter, faster. Still over the lace. Still holding back. Barely.

And then that noise. Soft. High. Needy. My cock throbbed so hard I saw white.

She whimpered. Her fingers fisted in my hair, nails scraping my scalp. I nearly came from just that.

“Feels good?” I whispered, voice shot to hell.

She nodded fast, breathless. “Yes. Oh my…yes. Don’t stop—”I didn’t.

I kept going. Touching her like she was a page I needed to study. Like she was scripture.

I pushed my fingers against her entrance, still through the lace but enough pressure to make her gasp, high and sharp.

She was soaked through. Dripping.

My fingers were slick. Soaked with her. And I’d barely even touched her. Jesus. My mind short-circuited—just the thought of sliding them under, of feeling her without anything in the way… I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. I couldn’t afford to snap. Not yet.

Not tonight. It’s been a rough day for her, one.

Two, we both agreed just a little more.

But I was walking a thin fucking line of a little more and burying my fingers inside her.

“Amara…” I breathed. “You’re—fuck.”

Her leg tightened. Hips grinding now, with rhythm. Purpose. She was chasing it.

So was I.

If I moved the lace aside, I could—

No.

No. Not here. Not like this.

But she was panting, flushed, mouth parted. Eyes begging.I wanted to watch her come. Feel her come.

I rubbed harder, slipping over the wet lace again and again. My hand trembled from how bad I wanted it. From how close she was.

Want. Desire. Without real reason? It’s a new thing for me. But I just fucking do, I want it.

She was gonna come. From this. From my hand. Through her panties. In a fucking alley.

And I was letting it happen.

Worse, I needed it.

I kissed her jaw. Her cheek. Her temple. Kissing her like I’d never get the chance again. Because maybe I wouldn’t.

“Juda, I’m gonna…fuck,” she whimpered, and I kissed her to keep her quiet, to devour the sound.

I didn’t stop moving my fingers.

I didn’t stop watching her.

Her chest rose faster. Her eyes glazed. Her body was about to—

—creak.

A door. Hinges.

Amara’s body jerked in my arms, but we were still kissing when the voice came.

“Hey, Juda? You out here?” Rafe. My best friend’s voice ripped me back to earth.

I stilled. My hand slid to her thigh, chest heaving, forehead pressed to hers.

And just like that we were snapped out of whatever alternate dimension we’d fallen into.

────── ♔ ──────

#teachmetemptme

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sweettemmy · 14 days ago

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❥ “𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲“

𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐕

(𝐂𝐇. 22, this in-fact did happen)

💌 valentine’s day. red lilies. late-night calls and underlined quotes. he shouldn’t have picked up—but he did.

☏ drunk words, soft voices, and one very curious girl pressing all the right buttons.

────── ♔ ──────

I walked through my room in silence. The quietness of my space didn’t bother me, not at all.

The only sounds I could hear being the city that doesn’t sleep even when people do.

After an evening spar and chess match Rafe had run off to go be with this girl he was currently seeing.

“Val’s day pussy.” As he calls it. Sometimes I do seriously question his train of thought. But that’s my brother by choice.

XI for life.

Unliked him, I’d chosen to study.

I adjusted up my glasses and sat at my desk with my books and notes.

My eyes strayed to the red lilies on my table, I stared at them before directing my attention back to the last thing I was writing.

My phone buzzed from where it was flipped over.

I had it on do not disturb, the only people I’d cleared for it were my family — who were definitely asleep, Rafe — who was probably already having sex, and…

I reached over and picked it up. There her message sat.

PRETTY-POISON: Smart-ass

PRETTY-POISON: Heyyyy. How was your day?

I stared at it. The name is fitting.

A glance at my watch told me it was late, I closed my laptop, maybe she needs something? No…she’s asking how I am…she's texting me because she wants to? I replied.

ME: Fine.

ME: What did you do today?

I leaned back in my chair, waited for a reply as the dots appeared and disappeared.

PRETTY-POISON: Wine. Pizza. Romance movie rating with my friends.

PRETTY-POISON: U?

Of course Ms. Popular isn’t alone on the day of love. Not surprising.

A part of me had wondered if she’d be out with a guy but no, just her friends. That…made me feel relieved.

We aren’t anything to each other so it shouldn’t really matter.

ME: Class. Studying.

ME: Rafe and I played chess before he ran off to be with this girl he's seeing.

PRETTY-POISON: You win?

ME: Naturally.

PRETTY-POISON: Modest as ever.

ME: I'm very modest. You just have a skewed frame of reference.

PRETTY-POISON: Sure, Socrates.

I didn’t laugh out loud but it was funny. Philosopher joke, cute.

My eyes flickered over to the vase of flowers on my table. Rafe was getting flowers for who he was seeing so I…got them for Amara too, Sunday.

I know she likes lilies and roses, I just remembered one day she was putting up fliers for the highschool dance Junior year and the committee person asked her which flowers she thought would be good for decoration.

She said lilies. Red ones. Because lilies mean passion, “I dare you to love me” she said with a smile.

That dimpled smile.

Just as disgracing as it is gorgeous.

And she liked roses because they were a romantic flower, no matter how classic, they were the queen of flowers even.

Enchanting, sharp enough to draw blood and it’s just as beautiful on the inside as it is out.

Why I chose to remember this…I couldn’t tell. I just did, I’d locked it away and stored it in my ‘compendium’ brain.

Amara…she fascinated me.

After taking off my watch I picked the phone back up. She hadn't said anything since I didn’t. I could’ve left it there but I sent another message.

ME: I forgot today wasn’t a tutoring day.

Her bubble disappeared and reappeared.

Why did I tell her that?

I rubbed my temple, annoyed with myself. That message didn’t need to be sent. She hadn’t asked. There was no point in mentioning the schedule.

I got the flowers for her Sunday, forgot I wouldn’t see her Monday but she do know that.

Her reply came.

PRETTY-POISON: You had some extensive nerdy lesson planned out or something?

ME: Or something.

It was a deflection, answer without an answer.

Then her message came through.

PRETTY-POISON: Also. Kindaaaaaaa random, but I read a liiittle more of your book. Dorian Gray.

Oh.

ME: Oh?

PRETTY-POISON: You slipped it into my bag like some secret literary blessing.

PRETTY-POISON: Bold move. Didn’t even text or tell, just waited for me to find it.

My lips tugged into a slight smile. I did, it was only a matter of time before she did. I actually…looked forward to seeing her annotations. It was a different view that I didn’t exactly mind reading.

ME: I didn’t want to make it a thing.

PRETTY-POISON: Isn’t it already a thing? We’ve been sticky note debating for a little over three weeks now.

ME: I guess.

ME: Figured if I asked if you were reading it, you’d pretend not to be. Because you enjoy doing the opposite of whatever I say.

Which is literally true. I.e “don’t go through my things.” Does just that.

PRETTY-POISON: Wow.

Oh, here comes the drama.

PRETTY-POISON: Rude. Accurate, but rude.

ME: I aim for precision.

The dots stopped for a while, I stood up and I placed my phone on my nightstand. I slipped it into her bag on a whim, I mean we had been debating.

There was a strange comfort in knowing she was reading something I cared about. That my annotated ideas was in her hands. Literally.

I took off my glasses, rubbed the bridge of my nose and after ran a hand through ny hair.

I heard the sound before I saw my phone glow.

I'm tryna find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful... Damn, girl! Damn, you's a sexy bitch, a sexy bitch…

Sigh.

I picked up my phone, staring at it. I shouldn’t answer but I did, just to shut off her accurate but annoying ringtone she’d chosen

“Hello?” My voice came out lower than I meant. Rough, like it had been sitting dormant. I’d barely said a word in the last few hours.

“I’m drunk.“ she announced, no hesitation.

I sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing a hand along my jaw. “Should I be concerned?”

“Probably,” she hummed. “But I’ll let you know if I start seeing double.”

I could hear the faint smile in her voice, and even though I didn’t smile back, something loosened in my chest.

“You already called me ‘Socrates’ tonight. So that checks out.”

There was a pause. I thought she’d missed it. But then, “You didn’t laugh.”

“I did. Internally.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It’s all I can offer at midnight on a Monday.”

I leaned back against my headboard, phone to my ear. The sheets felt cool against my skin, grounding me. My bed smelled faintly of her, vanilla since she insisted on lying here when we studied in my room.

Then she said it.

“I’m curious about something.”Of course she was.

I let a soft exhale slip out. “You’re always curious about something.”

“I’m serious.” She was quiet. “Okay, not that serious. But a little bit.”

I didn’t say anything.

Which she took as permission.

The sound of pages flipping reached my ear. Dorian Gray. Of course.

I could see her in my head, legs tangled in sheets, glossy black curls splayed everywhere, one arm probably bent under her head while she hunted for a quote with the city view behind her.

She probably had no idea what time it was.

Then she read it.

“The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.”

For a second, I couldn’t say anything. I wasn’t supposed to let her find that. I guess I hadn’t erased well enough.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“But I did,” she said softly, smug as hell. “And now I’m haunted. Oooo.”

“Call an exorcist.” I tried to brush it off. “I erased it. So ignore it.”

“Not well enough. You dog-eared the page too, then undid that.”

“It was impulsive,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “I underlined it, then thought… no. Too much. That’s why I erased it.”

She didn’t give me a second to breathe.

“Too much because you felt it? Or too much because you thought I’d catch it and tease you into submission?”

I huffed a breath of something like laughter. “Option two.”

“Liar.”

My head tilted up toward the ceiling. This girl. “You don’t know that.”

I could hear the smile in her silence. Then, she announced, “I have questions.”

Of course she does. “Of course you do.”

“Can I ask them?”

“You can.” I hesitated. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

Amara keep pulling things out of me, why do I let her? When will I stop her?

“Indulge me. I’m drunk.” She pleaded.

I didn’t hesitate to respond with a dry, “No.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then she sighed and dropped her voice a few octaves. “Please, Juda?”

I closed my eyes. My grip on the phone shifted, fingers pressing tighter. The way she said it…took my mind a place it didn’t need to go.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. “Fine. Yes. But no more saying… please or my name when you sound like that.”

Amara played dumb, “Like what?”

“Soft and… so damn tempting.” It’s fucking with my head. “Just ask your question before I change my mind.”

“Why that line?”

Of course she went straight for the heart. She sees no point in dancing around the bush, she did set it on fire after all.

That quote, I’d circled it without thinking the first time I read it. Underlined it again when I was rereading. It stuck with me.

Because it reminded me of her.

Hell, too many things of that book did but that one stuck with me in particular to a couple others.

I thought about lying. Skimming past it. But it was late. She was soft. I was soft because of her.

“I liked the line,” I explained. “It’s… arresting. The idea that something—or someone—could be so beautiful, they distort reality.”

You distort my reality. Make me want things I shouldn’t without even understanding why.

“That’s romantic,” I heard her say dreamily.

“It’s dangerous.”

“Is that why you erased it?”

“Maybe.” My voice lowered again. “Or maybe I didn’t want you to see it and start asking questions exactly like this.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Tough luck.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“So your filter’s gone.”

“Pfft. Like I have a filter sober?”

She wasn’t wrong. But tonight, something about her honesty hit deeper. Like it slid under my skin when I wasn’t looking.

“What will you do if I say something honest?” she asked.

Brace for impact. “I’ll… survive.”

“Mm. Stoic.”

“I try.” I really do but I’m finding my defenses to be weak.

She was quiet for a second. Then, softly, “Hey, Smart-ass?”

“Yeah?” I fully responded to it.

“If I was in that book, would I be Dorian?”

“No.” The word was out before I thought about it. But I didn’t need to. “You’re too self-aware. Dorian hides from himself. You stare at yourself in the mirror and then compliment your own reflection.”

Which I don’t doubt she does, she’s a walking self-compliment machine.

“Flattering.”

I didn’t disagree. “Yeah, well, you asked.”

She let herself laugh and I closed my eyes for a second, storing it in my head. She really did have a beautiful laugh, over the top and uncontrollable when it was real.

I’d heard it before, but never this close. Never directed at me — with me.

“You… rewrite things,” I told her. “You twist them around. Make them shinier. Or louder. Or more yours.”

You’re twisting me, my ideas, challenging my ideals. Its interesting.

Amara didn’t respond right away, so I filled the silence.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. It’s just… what you do. You walk into a room and everything adjusts.”

Which was true, she just carved out this place in all spaces. My head included.

“Don’t allude. Give it to me straight. The quote was too much because…?” Amara pushed again.

I drew in a long breath, holding it before finally exhaling slow.“Because it reminded me of someone and I didn’t like how much it did.”

“Hm. Sounds like a personal problem.”

“It is.” It really is.

“I like when you talk like this,” she said suddenly. “You’re not so restrained when I catch you off guard.”

“You like pushing people.”

“Just you.”

The words hit me right in the ribs. “And I’m letting you,” I murmured. Because I was, I let her bring me into her — to this point.

Silence fell again. Tense. Waiting.

Then she said it. “The quote, it’s me right?”

“Is it not always you?” I replied, quieter than before.

I could hear her breathing shift. Like she didn’t expect me to admit that. I didn’t necessarily plan to admit it either but she’d…softened me up enough that it spilled without thought.

“You think I rewrite history with my lips?”

Her voice had dropped again. Too soft. Too dangerous.

“Amara.” I said her name before I could stop myself.

It slid out of me like breath, dragged over gravel. A warning. A wish. A want.

“Just tell me,” she whispered. “C’mon. We’re in a literary moment. Educational stuff.”

I stayed silent. Couldn’t give her what she wanted. Not right now.

“Juda?” she called my name once more.

My name in her mouth again. I couldn’t keep hiding.

“Mhmm?” It left me soft, resigned. Wanting.

“I’m still going to beat you at chess.” Oh this pretty girl and her goal of beating me.

“No. You won’t.” Because I won’t let you.

Losing chess to Amara would mean so many things. I mean fully losing.

“Never say never.” She eased in, “What are you wearing?”

I sat upright. “This is not turning into one of those calls.”

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

“You’re drunk,” I repeated. Again.

“I’ll say please.” She literally used it as a threat.

With the effect it had on me, it was one. That word came and I wanted to give her everything.

“Fine.” I sighed, defeated. “T-shirt and sweats.”

There’s no way she can make a sexual joke out of that one.

“Hot. You sure are living up to the nerd fantasy.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose again. My pulse hadn’t slowed once since she’d started talking.

“I won’t be asking what you’re wearing,” I said firmly.

She sang-song.“And whyyy is thattt?”

This girl is really drunk. An imagine of Amara with flushed cheeks and a lazy smile popped into my head. I shook it away.

“Because I want to actually try to sleep tonight. And that image won’t do me any good. No matter what it is.”

I don’t need any details. I’ve…taken care of myself enough this weekend thinking of her.

She didn’t respond for a second but soon did.“Okay, I’ll spare you. Though it really isn’t anything scandalous.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t going to ask. I wasn’t.

I wasn’t going to imagine her soft skin in my hands or her smooth brown legs wrapped around my…see. No.

Then she said, quieter, “Also I hope you get some sleep. A better night’s sleep tonight, I mean. Since you said you don’t…usually.”

Oh, because I mentioned I don’t sleep well usually? She actually remembers I said that?

“Since when do you care about me, pretty?”

“I don’t. I just don’t want my tutor to pass out or die from exhaustion.”

I smiled again. A real one this time. Did she care or was she really joking? I’m not sure, but I took her hope and carried it with me.

“You’re not going to remember this conversation tomorrow, are you?” I said into my phone.

“I’ll remember the good bits,” she continued. “The rest I’ll make up to be more dramatic.”

Of course she would.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Silence lapped again like water at the edge of something.

“Amara!!” I heard a voice—not Rhea, probably one of her other friends—shouting in the background. “The second movie is about to start!”

“Be right there!” she yelled, then back to me. “I… have to go. Friends are calling. Lots of movies to critique. Lots of wine to drink.”

“I heard.” So you have to leave.

She would be too hungover to properly focus and study. “Don’t come to tutoring tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be skipping your classes anyway. You’re bound to be hungover. Rest.”

She didn’t even argue.“Okay. I’ll see you Wednesday then.”

“Okay.” I replied

She echoed me. “Okay.”

I didn’t want to hang up, weirdly this wasn’t so…bad. But I wasn’t going to stop her either.

“Night, nerd,” her voice slid into my ear — silky and honeyed, warm in the way firelight was warm; soft until it burned. I was getting addicted to that voice.

I waited a second too long.

“Hap…” I nearly slipped. Caught myself.“Goodnight, Amara.”

She cut the call.

The silence after her voice felt heavier than before.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

────── ♔ ──────

#teachmetemptme

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