Grace hesitated a beat. "So…?"
Oakley's smile was small, almost childlike. "I want to be closer to you."
Grace hadn't expected the directness. With anyone else she was the gate and the lock—firm when she had to be, unblinking in refusal. The moment she sensed someone edging past her boundaries, the alarms usually sang.
Except with Oakley. With Oakley the alarms went quiet, as if some quiet current tugged her off course and softened everything she thought she knew about herself.
She sighed, surrendered. "Okay."
Joy flared bright in Oakley's face. She tipped the quilt a little higher and scooted across the mattress. The space collapsed; even their breathing seemed to acquire weight and texture, a shared rhythm drawing them into the same small weather.
On the nightstand, the tablet blinked awake—some stray notification stirring it from sleep.
Grace noticed. "Did you not close the cover all the way?"
Oakley wavered. "Maybe?"
"I'll check." Grace hated asking for favors. She propped herself on an elbow, reached past Oakley, and leaned over the nightstand to shut the case.
Her hair slid forward—soft, clean, a dark curtain—skimming Oakley's collarbones, whispering at the hollow of her throat. It tickled. It tempted. It smelled faintly of something rain-bright and expensive.
"Grace," Oakley heard herself say, as if the word had been waiting at the back of her tongue.
"Mm?" Grace clicked the cover closed and turned her head.
Oakley didn't answer.
Grace stayed there, braced over her, patient. "What is it?"
Still no words.
And then Oakley sat up in one swift, decisive motion. An arm, slender and sure, looped around Grace's neck; cool perfume rose like mist; a soft, damp kiss landed on Grace's mouth and shocked her eyes wide.
Breaths staggered. Somewhere deep inside, the banked coals flared.
Just as the heat took, Oakley eased back, smiling with her arm still around Grace's nape. "That's a good-night kiss."
It had come out of nowhere—no tidy preface, no plan—just a sudden, aching need. If she didn't kiss Grace right then, she felt she'd simply die of it.
Their noses brushed. Their exhales braided. Grace's chest rose and fell; the edge of her mouth lifted. "A good-night kiss?"
"Mm-hmm…" Oakley nodded, breath warm and a little ragged. She began to let go. "Good night."
Like a mischievous kitten—spring up, swat, retreat; tail aloft, eyes gleaming; no mercy for the one left spinning.
Grace pressed her lips together and said nothing.
"You—" Oakley worried her lower lip. "You're not going to tell me good night?"
Grace didn't answer. She simply cinched an arm around Oakley's waist and drew her in hard enough to jolt them both, the sudden closeness scrambling their pulse.
Her palm cradled the back of Oakley's head; her mouth found Oakley's again. Breath tangled. Teeth grazed. A dizzy, honey-bright blur rushed Oakley's brain until her scalp tingled and thought fell away.
Grace was gentle, yes. But under the warmth there was a fierce streak, an unmistakable claim.
The room thickened with heat. The night itself seemed to lean over them, listening. Sense and order slipped, went soft at the edges.
After a long while they parted. Grace tipped her forehead to Oakley's, eyes shut, working to even her breath.
Oakley licked her lips; her own breath came uneven. "Grace."
"Mm?"
Oakley's forefinger traced the center of Grace's lower lip. "You really like kissing me, don't you?"
Grace angled her face a fraction. "I told you. I'm no saint."
Oakley arched a brow. "Is this your way of blaming me for seducing you?"
Grace's lashes lowered. "I didn't say that."
A soft laugh. Oakley's fingertip kept circling, teasing. "Blame won't stick anyway. You let me. You knew what might happen the second I climbed into your bed, and you said yes. Your intentions…" She tilted Grace's chin up with a touch. "Let's be honest—they're not all that pure."
Grace's throat moved. She didn't deny it. "Then we'll call it even."
Oakley's smile deepened; she let the words pass without answering them. Her mouth parted slightly. "Otherwise… why are you holding me so tight?"
Grace swallowed again, didn't speak—only tightened her arms until her knuckles blanched, as if she could fuse them at the seams.
Oakley carried some elusive scent, something tender and dangerous at once, and it caught in Grace like a hook. That long-starved wanting stirred and stretched and would not lie back down.
Feeling the grip grow firmer, Oakley wet her throat and settled her chin on Grace's shoulder. "Grace."
"What?"
Oakley's hair spilled forward, silk pooling over her chest. Tilted like a sly little fox, she asked, very quietly, "Do you want to get a little closer?"
Grace's eyes opened. "Closer?"
"I mean…" Oakley fisted the back of Grace's shirt, voice soft and sure. "No distance at all."
The wordless roar in Grace's mind wiped everything clean. Control felt like something at the far end of a corridor, dimming.
Oakley's shoulders lifted; she straightened and pressed in, her mouth near Grace's ear, breath a velvet shiver. "Try it?"
The invitation felt like standing under a tree laden with sun-warmed fruit, sweetness perfuming the shade until all good sense slid away. Heart skittering, Grace's hand moved of its own accord, down, in.
The first contact—astonishing, electric—emptied her lungs. Oakley's shoulders hitched, the smallest confession, and the surge in Grace's chest became a need with teeth.
The dream from last night flashed—heat, harmony, a fall without fear.
Oakley sank into her, words trembling against Grace's ear. "Do you want to come in and play? Hmm?"