Her fingers curled a little harder under their shirt. “I’m sure.”
Something in Tilly loosened — not their restraint, but something deeper. Permission. Want. Relief.
They leaned in and brushed their lips against hers with a care that made her tremble, one last check, one last chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
Tilly kissed her again, slow and warm and devastatingly gentle, and Savannah felt it everywhere — her chest tightening, her breath slipping, her body leaning instinctively toward them.
Then they broke the kiss, just barely, their forehead resting against hers.
“Okay.”
One word.
Soft.
Deciding everything.
Tilly straightened slowly, their hand slipping from her ribs to her elbow, guiding without pushing. Savannah followed their touch, breath catching at how deliberate they were with her — how careful.
Not hesitant.
Just reverent.
“Show me,” they murmured.
Her heart jumped so hard she nearly stumbled. She pushed off the counter on shaking legs, Tilly’s fingertips brushing her arm as she moved. They followed close — close enough for warmth, not so close as to overwhelm.
The walk down the hallway felt impossibly long.
Every step louder than it should’ve been.
Every breath was too shallow.
Savannah’s hand trembled as she reached for her bedroom door, but before she could turn the knob, Tilly’s fingers brushed her hip — gentle, steadying.
“Hey,” they whispered.
She turned her head, barely.
Their eyes softened. “If you need to stop at any point, you tell me.”
God.
Why did kindness make her pulse spike more than anything else?
She nodded, voice barely a breath. “I will.”
And she meant it.
She wasn’t scared of them.
She was scared of how much she wanted this.
She opened the door.
The room was dim, lit mostly by the glow from the hallway. Neat — too neat — the bed perfectly made because she never messed it up on nights like this, nights she didn’t expect warmth or company.
