Here in your bedroom
Lottie’s bedroom is decorated like a child’s. There’s a lamb stuffed toy in the corner. Everything is lacy and borderline sickening. Oh the things Shauna will tolerate just to kiss a pretty girl.
There’s a bead of sweat sliding down the hollow of her throat, catching in the center of her chest. Her thighs are bare where her jeans ride low on her hips, knees braced tight on either side of Lottie’s waist. She’s all angles and muscle, but not loud about it—just there. Quietly strong in the way of people who fix things without telling you they’re broken.
Lottie’s sprawled beneath her like a painting left out in the sun. One arm stretched over her head, her other hand fisted in the hem of Shauna’s shirt, breath high in her chest. Her hair’s come out of its clip—it’s long, light brown, soft at the edges—and it’s a mess now, curling across the pillow in loops. Shauna’s seen it perfect before, slicked into a ponytail for warmups, but it’s different now. Better.
It’s touched.
Shauna’s hovering just enough to keep their chests apart. Her arms—God, her arms—are tense with the hold. She’s got that compact frame, stocky in the way that comes from carrying gear and throwing elbows at soccer practice. Her delts shift every time she adjusts her weight. Her biceps flex when she leans in. Her skin is warm and golden, with soft bruises blooming from last week’s scrimmage. There’s a faint scar across her right tricep Lottie’s never noticed before, and she traces it with her pinky like it’s a story she hasn’t been told yet.
“Jesus,” Lottie breathes.
Shauna glances down. “What?”
“You’re like… built.” Lottie’s voice is breathless, awed.
Shauna snorts. “That’s the beer talking.”
“I haven’t had a sip.”
Shauna smiles, but she doesn’t blush. She just shifts lower, presses her weight into Lottie’s hips until she hears the faintest gasp.
Lottie’s taller—everyone knows that—but she doesn’t feel it now. Beneath Shauna, she’s all soft lines and sensitivity. Her ribs rise fast under her tank top. Her legs tremble a little when Shauna trails fingers down the waistband of her skirt.
Shauna doesn’t even kiss her yet. She just looks at her.
Her gaze flickers over the hollow of Lottie’s throat, the shimmer of her lip gloss smudged to one side, the faint pink flush spreading from her neck to her ears.
“You’re ridiculous,” Shauna mutters, almost fond.
Lottie’s fingers curl into her arm, right where the muscle meets the crook of her elbow. “You’re the one who looks like you do push-ups in your sleep.”
Shauna laughs, low in her throat. “Someone’s gotta carry the team.”
And then—finally—she kisses her.
It starts soft. Lips just grazing, breathing into each other. But it builds fast. Shauna’s hand slips under Lottie’s tank, drags up her spine, and Lottie arches like she’s being lit from the inside.
She tastes like cherry ChapStick and beer and something saltier—nerves, maybe. Want.
Shauna pulls back just slightly, lets their noses brush.
“You good?” she asks.
Lottie nods, glassy-eyed. “You gonna keep asking?”
Shauna grins. “You gonna keep making that sound?”
Lottie’s laugh dissolves into a gasp as Shauna leans down and kisses the hollow between her collarbones, slow and heavy. Her hands are everywhere—spine, hip, the inside of Lottie’s thigh. Not frantic. Just sure.
Lottie’s hair is caught in the seam of the pillowcase, fanned across the bed like a halo. Her skin’s pale, a little freckled, goosebumps rising where Shauna hasn’t even touched yet. She’s delicate in a way that dares you to be rough with her.
Shauna isn’t.
She’s steady. Controlled. Gentle only in precision.
The room smells like skin and sweat and the faint floral detergent from Lottie’s sheets.
Shauna leans over her, forearms braced, flannel hanging open, chest rising and falling like she’s trying not to lose it too fast.
Lottie murmurs, “You’re so hot it’s hurting my feelings .”
Shauna just shrugs, eyes dark. “Don’t tell the whole team.”
Lottie’s lips curve, slow and wild. “Then make me forget it.”
Shauna does.