Alive beneath her trembling fingers.
Savannah had meant to pull back.
She didn’t.
Her hand stayed right where it was, barely touching, her fingers grazing the curve of Tilly’s hipbone. Tilly’s eyes fluttered, their expression cracking open into something raw and hungry and barely controlled.
“Savannah…”
Her name came out like a groan, a plea held together by a thread.
Heat flooded down her spine.
Her knees nearly gave out.
She didn’t know why she’d done it.
She didn’t know how to undo it.
She didn’t want to.
The skin under her palm felt too good — too real — and wanting more curled through her so sharply she had to bite back a sound.
She let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, the words tumbling out before she could take them back.
“Tilly… can we go to my room?”
Her voice wavered, breath catching on the next words.
“I just—”
She swallowed hard, heat burning up her throat.
“I don’t want to stop.”
For a heartbeat, Tilly didn’t move.
Savannah felt the air shift between them — not colder, not warmer, just tighter, like the room itself was holding its breath. Her stomach twisted. She’d said too much. She’d gone too far. She should walk it back, soften it, something—
Tilly exhaled.
A soft, broken sound.
Like her words had punched the air out of them.
Their hand tightened at her waist — not pulling, just anchoring her — and when she finally looked up, Tilly’s expression made her knees go weak.
They weren’t shocked.
They weren’t confused.
They weren’t hesitating.
They looked undone.
Their voice came low, rough around the edges. “Are you sure?”
She nodded fast — too fast — heat prickling behind her ears. “Yes.”
