Dahlia brought her hands to London’s face. Made sure they were looking her in the eye.
“I need you. Okay? And I need you to need me back.”
London sucked in a breath.
“You have no idea,” they said.
“Then okay.”
She kissed them, hungry, hard, wet, and London let themself go. It felt like a physical release, letting go, something they had to work for, but they did it. They forgot about the notes on their phone. They pushedChef’s Specialout of their brain. The only thing that mattered, they decided, was this human in front of them, her skin, her hair, her very big life that she was, miraculously, letting them be a part of.
London’s mouth traveled to Dahlia’s neck, sucking, licking, chasing those sounds in her throat, wanting to feel them against their lips. Their fingers returned to her nipples, pinching harder, and she rewarded them by pushing her pelvis into theirs and releasing a gasp that went straight to London’s gut.
In a smooth motion, London unhooked Dahlia’s bra, slid the straps down her shoulders, and gently, finally, pushed her onto the bed.
London was starting to feel heady now. Some part of their brain told them to slow down, but as they followed her onto the bed, knees straddling her thighs, her peaked nipples called to them. The way her body writhed when London took them into their mouth was addicting. She was so reactive to everything; it made London feel like a magician. A thrill licked through them at the curse she released when they engaged the slightest pressure of teeth against the puckered, sensitive skin.
London’s hands tracked down her sides as their mouth worked. They heard the uptick in Dahlia’s breathing, sensed the slight arching of her back with each touch. They felt almost disconcertingly wild with power.
At length, London backed away to take a breath, to study her, take her in. She stared back, eyelids heavy and dark.
“Seriously, though,” London said, lightly trailing fingertips down her belly. “You’re perfect.”
Dahlia froze. After a second, she propped herself up on her elbows. Her eyes cleared.
“I had really bad acne in middle school. I still have scars, all over.” She motioned to her face. “Not perfect.”
London’s frown matched hers. They leaned in to examine Dahlia’s face, to show her they weren’t being dismissive. There was some scarring. Maybe they had noticed it before. Maybe they didn’t care.
London shook their head. “Still looks pretty fucking perfect to me.”
Dahlia growled in frustration. She flopped back down on her back, smacked a closed fist against her hip.
“Don’t do that.”
London crawled farther onto the bed, resting at her side.
“Do what? I’m not lying. You really are perfect to me.”
“Perfect isn’t real,” Dahlia said, exasperated. She turned to face them. “I don’t want to be perfect, because I know I’m not. I want this”—she touched London’s chest—“to be real.”
London stared at her for a beat. They had never looked at Dahlia’s eyes this close up before. They tried to stop their brain from categorizing them as perfect. They failed.
London wondered whatrealmeant for her, how it was even a question that this was.
They knew Dahlia hadn’t been with anyone other than David. That being with someone else was probably scary, or strange. Maybe . . . maybe she’d thought things were perfect with David, until they weren’t, so now she didn’t trust perfect anymore.
But Dahlia had to know this was real.
London needed to convince her, they decided, how real this was.
London stood up from the bed and removed, as rapidly as possible, every single item of their clothing.
Dahlia returned to her back, propped up on her elbows, and watched, a slightly amused yet attentive look overtaking the uncertainty that had been on her face.
“You are very not perfect,” she said when London was naked in front of her. “And I like you very much.”
London had been about to leap onto the bed and rip off Dahlia’s shorts—the removing of their own clothing was meant to be efficient, not a striptease—but suddenly they stopped. They comprehended Dahlia staring at them, studying them, what they had just done. They had been so focused on Dahlia, on what she was feeling and what she needed that it was like their brain went to another dimension, and now . . . oh. Now they froze, self-consciousness crashing back on them like a wave.
