“I’ve always been in this,” Sloane replied. “You’re the one finally meeting me halfway.”
Catherine looked up. “No, not halfway. All the way. I just didn’t know how to start.”
Sloane touched her face, letting her thumb rest along Catherine’s jaw. “This is a hell of a beginning.”
Sloane walked into the bedroom first, shrugging out of her denim jacket with a fluid, easy grace that Catherine found herself watching like it was art. The lamp was already on, soft golden light that made the room feel like something out of a painting. Or maybe it just felt that way because Sloane was in it.
Catherine lingered in the doorway, her coat still buttoned, lips parted slightly as if she had something to say but hadn’t found the words yet.
“You’re staring,” Sloane said without looking up, folding the jacket over the back of a chair. Her voice was low, lazy with contentment, but laced with the knowing pull of flirtation.
Catherine stepped into the room, finally unfastening her coat, letting it fall neatly over the arm of the chair beside Sloane’s. “You’re beautiful,” she said simply.
Sloane stilled for a second, then turned. “Say that again.”
“I said you’re beautiful.”
Sloane walked to her slowly, bare feet soundless against the hardwood floor, her eyes fixed on Catherine’s face. “No one’s ever said it like that before,” she murmured.
“Like what?”
“Like it’s a truth you just discovered. Like you needed to say it out loud to make it real.”
Catherine’s lips curved into a faint, soft smile. “Maybe I did.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Sloane raised her hand and cupped Catherine’s cheek, letting her thumb glide along the edge of her jaw.
“I don’t want tonight to be about goodbyes or nerves or even plans,” she said. “I want it to be about this.”
“This?” Catherine asked, her voice breathy.
“You and me. Here. Now. Just us.”
Catherine leaned in, her forehead resting against Sloane’s. “You’re what home feels like.”
And just like that, the kiss began—not rushed, not desperate. Just slow. Honest. Catherine’s hands slipped around Sloane’s waist, pulling her close, and Sloane’s fingers tangled in Catherine’s hair. Every motion felt like a question answered, every touch a quiet promise.
They undressed each other without urgency, moving like they had all the time in the world. When Catherine lay back on the bed, the way she looked up at Sloane, open, unguarded, made Sloane pause for a second, overwhelmed by the sheer wonder of being loved like this. Of loving like this.
“You okay?” she whispered.
Catherine nodded. “I’ve never been more okay.”
Sloane lowered herself beside her, not over her but with her, bodies aligned. Her hands skimmed down Catherine’s arms, her lips brushing over the hollow of her throat.
“You’ve let me see you,” Sloane said. “All of you. And you’re still the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever known.”
“You’ve taught me how to stay,” Catherine murmured. “And how to be soft without falling apart.”
They moved together slowly, learning each other again, not in the urgent way they once had, but with reverence. With familiarity and wonder all at once. Catherine whispered Sloane’s name like it was a spell. Sloane held her gaze as they found rhythm, as bodies and hearts locked in harmony.
It wasn’t about fireworks. It wasn’t about heat, though there was plenty of that. It was about depth. About trust. About the love they hadn’t dared to name until now.
When they came undone together, hands clasped, breath ragged, Sloane felt Catherine’s grip tighten, her body curling into hers. And in the quiet after, in the hush between heartbeats, Sloane pressed her lips to Catherine’s temple.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Catherine didn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”
