Page 32

HARPER

Our kiss isn't sweet. It's not slow or careful or testing the waters. It's heat and hunger and the desperate pull of something that's been building between us for weeks—months, maybe.

The moment my mouth opens against hers, she groans like she's been waiting for this as long as I have.

My hands find the buttons of her shirt blindly, not wanting to stop kissing her, not wanting to pull away even for breath. Millie's fingers are everywhere—skimming the bare skin, curling into my hip like she's afraid I might disappear if she lets go.

She steps back only for a second, yanking her shirt over her head. Her chest rises and falls fast, her blue-green eyes nearly black now, pupils wide and wild and locked on me like I'm the only thing tethering her to this moment.

"You're so fucking precious," she says, voice low and wrecked, and then her mouth is on my neck, open and hot. The sound I make isn't controlled—it's a moan, loud and real and needy.

I tangle my fingers in her red hair, messing it up, tugging just enough to keep her there. My hips shift on instinct, rolling forward, grinding down against the front of her pants because I need friction—I need something.

She laughs and kisses me again, deeper this time, dirtier. Her thigh slides between mine and the second there's pressure, the second I feel her solid and warm right there, I let out a sound I've never heard from myself before. Like relief. Like hunger. Like finally.

My nails press into her back like I'm holding on for dear life.

Her hands cradle my jaw with this devastating kind of gentleness, like she's scared I'll shatter if she holds me too tight—except her mouth is anything but gentle.

Her tongue slides against mine like she's trying to ruin me from the inside out, like she wants to rewrite every memory my body has ever held.

And maybe she is. Maybe that's exactly what she's doing.

My hips move without permission, grinding into the solid warmth of her thigh, aching for something more, something deeper.

The kiss breaks with a gasp as my head falls back.

"Please—" I whisper, not even sure what I'm begging for.

Just more. Just her.

That word snaps something in her.

Her thigh presses up harder against me, delicious friction that steals my breath.

"Millie," I gasp, voice trembling. "Please. "

She hums against my neck, smug and reverent all at once. "So polite, baby."

Her lips trail down, wet and open-mouthed against my throat, my collarbone, and lower.

Her breath is warm and slow as she takes her time at my chest, her tongue swirling around my nipple like it's her favorite thing in the world.

I reach for her, shaky and overwhelmed, but she's already sliding her hand lower, between us, fingers dancing down my stomach until she finds the soaked fabric of my underwear.

Millie groans, low and rough. "Jesus, Harps. Is this all for me?"

All I can do is nod, dizzy with need. Her eyes flick up to mine, dark and focused. "What do you need?"

"You," I rasp, not even pretending to be composed.

Her fingers trace lightly over my underwear, just barely teasing my clit and I let out something between a moan and a sob. It's too much and not enough. "Need you to be more specific, love," she whispers, like she's got all the time in the world while I'm unraveling in her hands.

She kisses lower, her mouth brushing over the soft skin of my stomach, and I'm already gone. I can't think. I can't breathe. I just— "Millie."

"I'm listening." Her voice is soft now, almost tender.

I clutch at the back of her head. "Just... touch me."

She pauses, lips smiling against my skin. "I think you meant please?"

I nod frantically, lost in the ache. "Please. Please—kiss me, touch me. I need you inside me."

Her breath hitches, and then— "Fuck," she rasps, voice wrecked. Her fingers tug my underwear aside with a kind of reverence that makes me feel sacred.

Millie spreads me wider, pressing her lips to the inside of my thighs, hot, wet kisses that drive me wild, have me shoving my hands through my hair, squirming, desperate for her mouth where I've been dreaming of it for weeks.

"I love seeing you like this," she mumbles, trailing the tip of one finger up the center of my slit.

She dips it, just barely, enough to gather a pool of wetness and smear it on my throbbing clit.

She presses the pad of her thumb there, circling too slowly, too gently.

Her heated gaze holds mine as she pumps her finger, circling my clit, flicking her tongue over the cleft of my thigh. "So wet, so ready for me."

"Jesus, fuck— Millie. Please." I don't hold it anymore. I grab her face and guide it exactly where I want it— and she meets me right there with a smile.

Two fingers dip inside of me as her tongue circles my clit, "Amelia," I gasp as she curls upward, touching a spot that makes me go insane.

I'm a mess. My whole body is almost off the bed, writhing with the sensation.

Her mouth never leaves me, moving in tandem with her fingers, both our bodies rocking together.

"You're so goddamn tight. I can feel you pulsing around me, baby," she says as her hair falls over her eyes, I slide my fingers through it, pushing it back, holding it to her head to give me a clearer view of what she's doing.

She wickedly smiles up at me, her tongue moving in long, languid strokes. Millie adds her thumb against my clit, rubbing small circles over the bud, her tongue flicking it in tandem, and I'm out of my goddamn mind.

The pressure is too much. It sits right on the edge until it spills over and I'm falling.

"Amelia," is all I can plead before I'm coming. "Millie. Millie. Mi– Ah! Fuck."

Wave after wave crashes through me, overwhelming and unstoppable.

I try to keep my eyes open—to keep them on her, on the way she's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters—but it's too much.

My head falls back, eyes squeezing shut as the release floods me, fierce and endless.

I can't even cry out properly, breath punched from my lungs.

It feels like my whole body is unraveling, shaking apart under her mouth, her hands, her focus.

She doesn't stop. Doesn't move away. Her mouth stays on me like she's starved for something only I can give her, her tongue slow and reverent as she licks me clean, as if memorizing every part of what she's done to me.

I swear I feel her looking at me even when I can't look back—her eyes fixed on my face like a prayer.

By the time I come down, my whole body is loose, trembling.

I collapse back, boneless, trying to find oxygen again. Every breath is rough and heavy, like I had to earn it.

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a fall of red hair across my chest, soft and wild.

Millie's head is tucked just beneath my collarbone, her face pressed into my skin like she belongs there.

Her hand rests over my heart, feeling every erratic beat of it, and I know she can tell it's still pounding. Because of her. Only her.

She kisses my chest—once, then again. Gentle, quiet. Then I feel her whisper against my skin, barely a breath. "You're so perfect, Harper. Do you have any idea how much I want you?"

The words cut right through me. Not lustful. Not flirty. Real. Heavy with emotion I don't know what to do with.

I shift, turning just enough to look at her. Her face is flushed, lips swollen, cheeks damp from where I fell apart for her. I reach up and brush my fingers over her cheek, wiping the evidence away even though a part of me wants to leave it there. Mark her. Claim her.

"I think I do," I say softly. "I think I... feel it."

Millie nods, something bright flickering behind her eyes—blue like ocean water, like the sky before a storm. That smile of hers stretches slowly, and it makes something in my chest ache.

"Good," she murmurs, kissing me again. Just once, but deep enough that I feel it all the way down. Then she pulls back, grinning with a hint of trouble. "You think you can go again?"

"I—"

I don't even finish before she's shifting us, turning me onto my back like I weigh nothing.

She bends my knees up, easing my legs apart, exposing me completely under her gaze.

There's nothing hidden now. Nothing guarded.

And when I glance down at her, she's looking at me like she's seeing something holy.

Like I'm a miracle. Like she'd give her life just to worship me a little longer.

"Amel—" I lose the word. Because her fingers slide inside me—without hesitation, without warning—and my hips jerk forward with the force of it, my back arching off the bed.

"Holy shit," I gasp, clutching the sheets, dizzy all over again.

Millie leans in, her hand gentle on my spine even as her fingers move with devastating precision. "You like this, baby?" she whispers against my shoulder, voice low and rough and full of heat. Her other hand strokes slow up my side, like she knows exactly how to pull every sound out of me.

I can't speak. Can't think. Every breath gets swallowed up by the way she's touching me. My body rises for her without permission, like it's always known her hands, always craved this rhythm.

Millie's fingers delve deeper, my body quakes with the sheer intensity of it all.

Her touch is both gentle and commanding, leaving no part of me untouched.

I can't help but moan her name, a desperate plea for more.

Each thrust of her fingers sends me spiraling closer to the edge, my mind consumed by the raw, primal need for her.

Her gaze is locked onto mine, her eyes darkened with desire.

She knows exactly what she's doing to me, and she's taking pleasure in every second of it.

Her lips trail hot kisses down my neck, her breath mingling with mine.

I want to be consumed by her, to lose myself completely in this moment.

Her pace quickens, and I can tell she's enjoying the power she has over me. I'm at her mercy, and she knows it. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Every thrust of her fingers sends me closer to the brink, and I'm teetering on the edge of oblivion.

"Millie," I gasp out, my body trembling with the intensity of my climax. She increases her pace, her fingers curling inside me, finding that sweet spot that sends me spiraling into bliss. I cry out her name as I come again, my body convulsing in waves of pleasure.

As I come down from my high, Millie slows her movements, her fingers gently caressing me. I blink up at her, chest rising and falling fast, still trying to come back to earth. But she's already there, anchored, steady—watching me with this raw kind of wonder that makes my throat tighten.

"You're incredible," she murmurs, brushing hair from my damp forehead. "You have no idea, do you?"

I try to smile, but it breaks in the middle. My voice is soft. "I... that— was. Oh, my god."

She leans down, kissing me like she's calming a storm, like she's gathering all the broken pieces of me with her mouth and holding them close. I let her. I pull her in and wrap my legs around her waist, wanting her warmth, her weight, her breath. The illusion that this could last forever.

"I feel like I've wanted you forever," I whisper into the corner of her mouth.

She lets out a shaky breath, forehead resting against mine. "Then don't stop."

I kiss her again—slow this time, unhurried, as her hand slides gently along my side and we settle into the quiet together. Not rushing. Just breathing. Skin to skin. Safe. Chosen.

──────────

I don't think I've ever felt so still inside my own skin.

The city outside is frozen, tucked beneath a hush of snow.

Fat flakes drift past Millie's bedroom window, catching the dull light in lazy spirals, blanketing everything in white.

But nothing in here is cold. Not the sheets, not the air, not the space between her skin and mine. Especially not that.

My bare legs are tangled with hers. One of her thighs rests between mine, her arm draped across my back, the press of her palm warm and firm like she's afraid I might slip away in my sleep.

I won't. I couldn't. She's so soft in sleep.

All the hard edges I've seen—on the ice, in the media, under the weight of her last name—they melt when she's like this.

Quiet. Breathing against my hair. Her chest rising and falling gently beneath my cheek.

The rhythm of her heartbeat so steady it feels like a song I never knew I needed to hear.

My fingers drift across her stomach, then up, tracing the curve of her ribs, the shape of her breast. Her skin jumps beneath the lightest touch, even now, and I smile at that—at the way her body still reacts to me even in sleep.

Last night was magical.

I've had sex before.

I've had closeness, I've had skin, I've had noise.

But this was something else entirely. Millie didn't just touch my body.

She read it. She listened when it trembled, moved when I asked, slowed down when I needed her to, and didn't stop until I was undone three times over, shaking and gasping and utterly hers.

And then—when I finally took over, when I pressed my mouth to her core and made her fall apart—she let me have her. All of her. No defense, no fear. Just Millie, trembling beneath my hands, begging softly into my ear like she'd been waiting for me her entire life. Like she's completely mine.

Amelia Bennett is mine.

I don't know what this is. What we are. Where this will lead.

But I know—down to my bones—that I want to figure it out with her beside me.

That whatever shape this becomes, whatever mess or miracle it turns into, I want her in it.

And maybe that's what terrifies me. Because I've never felt this much before.

Not like this. Not all at once, pressed into my skin and etched into the way her body folds around mine like we were always meant to be this close.

I lie there with my cheek still resting over her heart, my fingers lightly tracing circles into her chest, and I try to make sense of it.

The weight of love, the ache of guilt.

Because while I'm here—wrapped in warm sheets, wrapped in her—my mom is halfway around the world, fighting for every breath.

And I'm happy. I'm happy. And I hate myself for it.

I know this is what she wanted. "Don't stop your life," she told me, eyes sharp even through her pain.

"Don't stop loving, or living, or laughing because of me.

I don't want you to see me like this." But knowing she gave me permission doesn't make it easier.

It doesn't loosen the guilt that coils tight around my chest like barbed wire.

Doesn't undo the ache in my ribs when I laugh too hard or when I let someone hold me.

When I let someone love me.

When I let Millie touch me, look at me like I'm hers.

Because part of me still feels like I'm doing something wrong.

Like I've chosen a warm bed over a cold hospital room.

Like I'm allowed to feel all this softness when someone I love is withering in silence a thousand miles away.

Millie shifts beside me in her sleep, murmuring something against my shoulder, and I still instinctively still my fingers. But she hums, nudges closer, pressing every inch of herself against me like she's trying to crawl into my skin.

I smile, helpless and aching all at once. "Are you trying to make us become one?" I whisper, the words more for myself than her, my voice soft in the quiet morning light. Her sheets are tangled around our bare legs, warm and heavy, and her skin feels like a second home under my palm.

I shift just enough to tuck her in closer, my arm sliding around her waist, and she stirs again—lashes fluttering before those too-bright, ocean-deep eyes blink open.

My breath catches, stupidly. Because even half-asleep, face creased with sleep lines and hair a soft mess over her forehead, Millie Bennett is ridiculously beautiful.

She blinks up at me, and then the smallest smile pulls at her mouth—soft and slow, unguarded in that way she only is when she first wakes up. "Hi," she rasps, voice low and warm and gravel-edged with sleep, and it hits me like a damn truck.

I wrinkle my nose, helpless. "Sorry," I murmur, like I've been caught stealing something precious.

But she just smiles wider, and something in her hand finds my waist beneath the covers, grounding me instantly. I feel her thumb stroke my skin like she can sense how loud my thoughts are.

"Jesus Christ," I whisper, burying my face in her neck, breathing her in like it's the only way I'll survive the morning. "Why are you so adorable?"

She laughs softly, chest shaking against mine. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

I hum, kissing just below her ear, feeling her pull me tighter. "You're too cute when you wake up. It's distracting."

Millie stretches, lazy and catlike, before settling back into the mattress with a content sigh. "You're warm," she murmurs.

"So are you."

We lie like that for a while. No rush. No alarms. Just the weight of her hand on my back, the rise and fall of our breathing syncing without effort, the quiet of a snow-covered city muffled beyond the windows.

She's so still beneath me I think she might've fallen back asleep, but then her fingers start tracing soft circles again, absentminded and soothing.

I shift up slightly, propped on my elbow so I can see her face. "What?" she asks, brows pulling together like she can't understand why I'm looking at her like this.

"I just..." I shrug helplessly. "You look like peace."

Millie tilts her head, studying me like she doesn't know what to do with that. "You are peace," I add, quieter now, almost shy.

She reaches up, tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, and smiles like I've given her something she'll carry for a long time. "Are you okay, baby?" she asks, brushing her thumb along my jaw like she's scared the answer might break her.

I nod, leaning into her hand instinctively, letting my eyes flutter shut for a second. "A little sore," I admit with a small, sheepish grin, "but I'm okay."

Her nose wrinkles, guilt flickering across her face like a storm cloud. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "Did I hurt you?"

The way she says it—like the thought physically pains her—makes me laugh softly, even as my heart clenches. I shake my head fast, reaching up to cup her cheek. "No. No, Millie. It's just... good pain," I say with a wry little smile, my cheeks heating. "Like... very good pain."

Her expression shifts—relief, amusement, something darker flickering behind her eyes—and she dips her head to kiss my forehead, lingering there like she doesn't want to pull away. "Okay," she whispers into my skin. "Still. I'll go easier on you next time."

I smirk, trailing my fingers lightly over her bare shoulder, watching the goosebumps follow in my wake. "Don't you dare."

That earns me a low laugh, the kind that curls deep in her chest and makes her body vibrate against mine. I shift to lie more fully on top of her, my chin resting on my arms across her sternum, tracing invisible lines into her skin with my fingertips.

"Wanna grab breakfast?" I ask eventually, reluctant to break the quiet, but my stomach is starting to make threats.

She nods easily, hand still playing with the ends of my hair. "Wanna get out of here for a while?"

I tilt my head, eyeing her. "Are you asking me on a date, Bennett?"

Her lips quirk, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I mean, I did make you come four times," she says, mock-casual, fingers drifting down my spine just enough to make me squirm. "It's only polite."

"Wow," I say, narrowing my eyes. "So that's your standard? Sleep with a girl, make her come three times in a night, then go on a date with her?"

She hums thoughtfully. "Three and a half, actually. You fell asleep before I could finish what I started."

Heat floods my cheeks, and I smack her shoulder with the back of my hand, grinning like an idiot. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," she says, dragging her fingers beneath the covers to squeeze my thigh, "you're still lying on top of me. Practically purring."

"Purring?" I scoff, but I am curled into her like she's my entire gravity, and I know she knows it. "I am not purring."

She leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "You totally are."

A full-body shiver ripples through me, and she grins like she's won something.

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile tugging at my lips. "Fine," I say, nosing against her collarbone, voice dropping. "But if this is a date, I want real food. Like, real food. No protein shakes or weird athlete toast. I want pancakes. Hashbrowns. Maybe a croissant the size of my face."

Millie looks appropriately solemn. "I know the perfect place."