She hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.
She definitely hadn’t meant for it to feel like this.
Her whole body hummed, hot under her skin, pulsing in places she hadn’t let herself think about in years. She didn’t know how to stand or breathe or think. All she knew was that Tilly was right there, looking at her like they were barely holding themselves together.
It made something molten curl low in her stomach.
Savannah tried to steady herself with a breath, but it only hitched, sharp and helpless. Tilly’s thumb still rested near her ribs, barely touching, a warm line of contact that sent soft, dizzy waves through her.
She felt fragile.
She felt wanted.
She felt like she might actually come apart.
“Tilly…” she whispered, though she didn’t know what the rest of the sentence was supposed to be.
They didn’t say anything. They just watched her — eyes dark, chest rising and falling like they were fighting their own breath too. Their pupils looked blown, hungry, and the sight clenched something deep inside her.
Savannah pressed her palms flat against the counter behind her, trying to stay grounded, but it didn’t help. She was too aware of everything — her lips, her skin, her heartbeat, the warmth between them. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped her, one she didn’t recognize until Tilly inhaled sharply in response.
Her legs felt unsteady.
Her pulse was too loud.
Her body was too warm everywhere Tilly had touched her.
She wanted more.
God, she wanted more.
And wanting terrified her.
She swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to meet theirs — and instantly regretted it. Tilly’s gaze swept over her mouth, her throat, the rise and fall of her chest — slow, deliberate, reverent. Heat shot straight through her, stealing her breath.
“Savannah,” they murmured, voice low and wrecked.
Her knees actually wobbled.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She wasn’t supposed to want like this, or let someone see her this undone.
But Tilly wasn’t pulling away.
Her fingers loosened on the counter, drifting upward before she realized she was moving. Her hand brushed Tilly’s waist — light, uncertain — and then, with a shaky breath she couldn’t stop, she slipped her fingers beneath the hem of their shirt.
Just a few inches.
Just enough to touch warm skin.
Her fingertips met heat and muscle, and the contact jolted them both. Tilly’s breath caught hard, their whole body going tense under her hand. Savannah froze, terrified she’d gone too far —
—but Tilly exhaled, shaky and low, like her touch had knocked the air straight out of them.
Their skin was warm.
Soft in some places, firm in others.
