Sex isn’t normally like this for us. It’s hot and passionate, not slow and sensual.
“Yes,” she says against my lips. “Pleasetouch me, baby.”
It’s that soft, pleading tone that is so unexpectedly vulnerable that has my hand between her thighs in an instant. My fingers find her clit, and she inhales sharply. Neither one of us moves fast enough or applies enough pressure to make the other come. Instead, our touches are soft and lingering as we stare into one another’s eyes.
“You’re gorgeous,” she says.
“You’regorgeous.”
She adds a second finger and curls them inside me. I arch my body up while my fingers apply deeper pressure to her clit.
“Don’t stop,” I rasp.
“Never,” she promises and angles her arm so she can thrust deeper. We gradually increase the intensity. We’re both moaning, our gazes never leaving each other until I’m filled with the need to kiss her. My free hand is in Harlow’s hair, and she wraps her arm around my back.
Harlow tenses. My walls close around her fingers, my abdomen tightening.
Our pleasure takes over, we can no longer focus on kissing, our mouths hovering over one another’s as we come together with silent screams. My orgasm is a tidal wave that crashes over me. Her legs lock up as my legs squeeze her hips in a punishing hold.
And it’s then, as we’re breathless, our limbs so wrapped up in each other, I don’t know where I end and she begins,I realize I need to tell her what I’ve now known for months.
No one has ever made me feel so cherished, so adored, so safe. There is no other place I want to be than in her arms. There’s no other body I want to touch but hers. There’s no one’s fingers—no one’s mouth—I want on my skin but hers.
She’s the first person I want to talk to when I’ve had a shitty day. She’s the one I want to go to when I have good news to celebrate. She’s the person I want by my side when we explore new cities. She’s my favorite ally in Settlers of Catan when we crush strangers online together. She’s the only person who can get me to try the grossest-sounding popcorn seasonings and then begrudgingly admit they aren’t half bad. She’s my first thought every morning and my last thought every night.
Harlow is the only person I want.
“I’m …” I hesitate, my throat seizing up with the sudden paralyzing fear that I’m reading this whole thing wrong. That she’s going to look at me with the same pitying expression I’ve given every woman who told me they caught feelings when all we ever agreed to was casual.
“Lily?” Harlow asks, her forehead lightly scrunched in concern. “What’s wrong?”
It’s looking into her soft hazel eyes, I get the courage to saysomethingeven if it’s notthething. “I’m … I’m not seeing anyone else.”
“Your—?” Her eyebrows furrow for a moment before realization dawns. “Oh!” Her body, I didn’t realize, had tensed. She relaxes, and the corners of her mouth tilt up. “Yeah … I’m not either.”
“You’re not?” I say a little too loud.
She chuckles. “No. Just you. There’s only you, Lily.”
The words turn my insides gooey. Then a spark of panic hits. “Um. So. Full disclosure, I slept with someone back in January, but all it did was make me miss you, and I haven’t been with anyone else since.” The words spill out of me in a rush, and I can’t help but cringe. “Is that … okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” She strokes my arm reassuringly. “We were casual, I’d never hold that or any other hookups against you.”
“Okay.” I let out a relieved breath and grab her hand to intertwine our fingers. “Wait.” My grin spreads. “Does that mean you’re my girlfriend?”
“Not yet.” At my frown, she gives me a cheeky smile, then clears her throat. “Lily, will you be my girlfriend?”
“Oh, my god.” I giggle. “Of course I will.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, but I don’t care. She pulls me into a searing kiss, and we get lost in each other’s bodies over and over again.
Interstitial 7
Monday, June 8th, 2026
Lily (10:17 a.m.):
Just sat down at my gate
