Miller reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Astoria’s face, her touch impossibly gentle. “I’m looking at you,” she said. “And I see someone who has survived something hard and built something extraordinary anyway. I don’t see damaged goods. I see someone who learned to protect herself because she had to, and now she’s trying to figure out what it looks like to trust someone.”
Astoria’s vision blurred. She blinked, furious at herself, at the tears that had no business being here in this anonymous hotel room with this woman who somehow kept saying exactly the right things.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered. “Whatever this is. I don’t know how to be with someone who doesn’t…”
“Doesn’t what?”
“Doesn’t make me feel like I have to earn the right to take up space.”
“You don’t have to earn anything with me.”
“That’s what terrifies me.”
They looked at each other in the low light, the city humming sixteen floors below, and Astoria felt more exposed than she had when Miller had undressed her an hour ago. This was different, showing someone the parts she’d kept hidden, the wounds she’d protected, the girl who’d learned not to cry. And yet, Miller hadn’t run. She was still here, still looking at her and pulling her close.
And Astoria had no idea what to do with that. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. That surprised her.
Astoria had braced for awkwardness, for Miller to fill the space with reassurances or questions or the kind of well-meaning commentary that would make her regret saying anything. Instead, Miller just looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression, and then she moved closer.
Miller’s arms came around her, pulling Astoria against her chest, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. No words, just warmth, steady and unhurried, the kind of embrace that expected nothing in return.
Astoria went rigid for a moment, an instinct, years of training herself not to need this. But Miller didn't let go or react to the tension; she just kept holding her. Something inside Astoria cracked a little further.
She let herself be held.
It was harder than the sex. That she could do—bodies and heat and the temporary obliteration of thought—but this was different. This was letting someone hold her while she felt like an exposed nerve, trusting that Miller wouldn't use thevulnerability against her later or file it away as ammunition the way Valerie always had.
Miller’s hand moved slowly through her hair, a soothing rhythm that made Astoria’s throat tight.
“You don't have to say anything else,” Miller murmured against her temple. “We can just stay like this.”
Astoria pressed her face into Miller's shoulder and breathed. The sheets smelled like sex and expensive detergent and something underneath that was just Miller—that particular warm scent she'd started craving between their meetings.
Minutes passed, maybe longer. The city hummed below them, and the air conditioning cycled on and off, and Astoria's breathing slowly steadied into something that matched Miller's. She became aware of the places where their bodies touched: Miller's thigh between hers, the soft press of breasts against her own, the heat of skin on skin. It wasn't urgent. It was just...present. A reminder that they were both here, both choosing this.
Astoria turned her head, her lips brushing Miller's collarbone. She felt Miller's breath catch, just slightly, a small hitch that sent warmth pooling low in her stomach.
She lifted her face to find Miller already watching her.
“Is this okay?” Astoria asked, and her voice came out rough. “I don’t know if I… After everything I just…”
“Hey.” Miller’s thumb traced her cheekbone. “We don’t have to do anything. I mean it. We can just stay like this.”
“I know.” Astoria swallowed. “But I don’t want to just stay like this. I was?—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find the right words for what she wanted, which was something that felt impossible: to be touched by someone who had just seen the worst of her history and hadn’t flinched. To find out if sex felt different on the other side of that kind of honesty.
Miller leaned in, and the kiss was slow and questioning—is this okay, is this what you need, I’m here—and Astoria answered by pulling her closer.
Astoria’s fingers threaded into Miller’s hair, tugging just enough to angle her head back, deepening the kiss with a hunger that surprised even her. The vulnerability from her confession lingered like a shadow, but here, skin to skin under the rumpled sheets, it twisted into something fiercer: a need to claim this moment, to rewrite the ache of her past with the heat of the now. Miller’s lips parted willingly, her breath hitching as Astoria’s tongue swept in, tasting of salt and the faint mint from earlier, exploring with deliberate strokes that made Miller’s body arch instinctively.
She pressed closer, their naked forms sliding together, their breasts brushing in a way that sent sparks racing down Astoria’s spine. Her hands roamed, one sliding down Miller’s back to cup the curve of her ass, squeezing firmly, pulling her hips flush against her own. Miller gasped into the kiss, her own hands mirroring the motion, her nails grazing lightly over Astoria’s body, tracing the lines of muscles earned from years of pushing herself to extremes.
The kiss broke only for Astoria to nip at Miller’s lower lip, a sharp, teasing bite that drew a soft moan.
“Fuck,” Miller whispered, her voice raw and eyes half-lidded in the low glow of the bedside lamp. Astoria smiled against her skin, trailing kisses along her jaw and down the column of her throat, savoring the way Miller’s pulse fluttered under her mouth.
Astoria shifted, rolling Miller onto her back with a gentle but insistent push, her high cheekbones catching the light as she hovered above. She captured Miller’s mouth again, this time slower, more sensual, their tongues dancing in a rhythm that built like a storm. Her free hand wandered lower, skimming overMiller’s ribs, her thumb brushing the underside of her breast before cupping it fully, circling her thumb over the hardening nipple. Miller arched into the touch, her legs parting slightly under the covers, inviting more. Astoria obliged, her mouth leaving Miller’s to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear.
