You never want to admit to a spark. Sometimes because it’s always scary to admit to feeling to anything that makes you vulnerable. But also because sometimes you shouldn’t be admitting it.
You shouldn’t feel the way you feel…even if you haven’t fully described it. Or maybe that’s what everyone says.
And everyone knows sparks turn into flames and flames burn.
There’s a flame between your thighs when he pushes you up against the wall and the more he kisses you, the less you’re trying to douse it. The night sky is watching and no one else. No one else exists except for the beast of satiation, and gratification, and just the sheer disbelief that it is finally, finally, happening, happening hungrily and fast and you are devouring each other like it is the last time.
Nothing will ever be the same again.