This person she’d found again.
Nothing and no one would ever compare to Charlotte Rosalind Donovan, with all her talent and intelligence and flaws and her shy heart. Lola waslove.
And Brighton had never felt so lucky.
To know her.
To get to love her.
“Lola,” she said, because just that name made her heart feel as though it were made of fairy dust, all light and brightness. Lola hummed again, setting fire to Brighton’s blood, her fingers still working inside her like magic.
This was one of those moments when Brighton was sure she was the only one in the world to ever feel like this, because ifeveryone felt like this, the world would simply implode from happiness.
“Baby,” she said, getting closer, her whole body racing toward that peak. She dug her hands into Lola’s hair but then pulled at her shoulders.
Lola looked up at her.
“Up here,” Brighton said, her voice raspy with need and want. “I want to see you. Feel you.”
Lola slid her fingers out, then undressed silently before crawling back onto the bed, settling alongside Brighton. They kissed, her hand back at Brighton’s center, three fingers sliding inside again so easily. Brighton gasped, nearly coming right then, but she held herself off, wanting to feel this desperate as she touched Lola too. She pulled one of Lola’s legs over her hip, exposing her perfect cunt, so wet and pretty. Brighton’s fingers didn’t waste any time, sliding between Lola’s folds, circling her clit. Lola tilted her head back, moaning, and Brighton pressed her mouth to Lola’s neck as she slipped her fingers inside.
Lola’s free hand gripped her shoulder, and she nodded, whisperingyes, yes, yes. They moved together, fingers fucking, mouths pressed together, breathing each other’s air, murmuring words to urge each other on, both sweet and wild.
“Fuck,” Brighton said, her orgasm building again. “Lola.”
“Don’t stop,” Lola said, her own hips working with Brighton’s fingers, her palm pressing against Brighton’s clit.
“Oh my god,” Brighton said, and Lola pressed hard, her face buried in Brighton’s neck, Brighton’s free hand tangled in her hair, pulling until she burst, body lighting up like stars, like a supernova. Lola followed her, tensing and then crying out against Brighton’s skin.
They stayed like that for a few seconds, catching their breath, fingers still inside each other, joined and content and exhausted.
Happy.
Together.
Lola and Bright.
Later, after they’d taken aslow shower together, just kissing and sliding soap over each other’s skin, they lay in bed, Dolly Parton big-haired and smiling above them.
Brighton’s eyes felt heavy, drifting closed to the rhythm of Lola’s breath on her neck as the big spoon. Still, every time she nearly fell asleep, she jerked awake, Lola’s arms tightening around her.
She couldn’t stop thinking about when the sun would filter in through the cherry-patterned curtains. About when they’d wake up, when their feet would hit the colorful plush carpet and they’d talk about what to order for breakfast, butafterwould be hovering in the air between them, her rooming with Leah and Lola’s inevitable retreat to New York.
A question haunted her mind, one she knew she had to ask, even as she kept swallowing it down.
When the clock rolled over to 2:00 a.m. and Brighton stuttered awake for at least the fourth time, Lola sighed, pressed her mouth to Brighton’s neck.
“What’s going on, love?” Lola asked.
Brighton turned in her arms to face her. She could barely see her features in the dark, but it was enough. She traced Lola’s cheekbones, her perfectly thick eyebrows, gathering courage.
Finally, she jumped.
“What happens next?” she asked.
Lola was quiet for a few seconds, long enough to makeBrighton feel as though Lola were just trying to find a way to fight for New York. And it wasn’t like Brighton was opposed to it—she just needed to be part of the conversation.
Needed to be seen.
