Thirty Nine
Tilly felt something in their chest stutter — not lust, not relief, but a stunned, aching kind of wonder.
Savannah wanted this.
She wanted them.
They kept one hand at her waist, steadying her as her knees wobbled again, guiding her the last few steps toward the bed. They weren’t sure their own legs were steady, but that didn’t matter.
All that mattered was not rushing her.
Not scaring her.
Not breaking whatever fragile, beautiful thing was happening.
They whispered, soft as a breath, “Lie back for me?”
Not a command.
A question wrapped in awe.
Savannah’s breath caught, but she nodded — a small, trembling motion — and eased onto the edge of the bed as if her knees had finally stopped pretending they could hold her.
Tilly’s heart kicked hard.
Not at the sight of her lying there — though that alone nearly undid them — but at the trust in the movement. The way she settled back slowly, palms sliding over the blanket, chest rising too fast, eyes wide with fear and want tangled together.
She wasn’t seducing them.
She wasn’t posing.
She was shaking.
She wanted them, and she was letting them see it.
Tilly didn’t know how to breathe.
They moved carefully — so carefully — crawling onto the bed beside her, one knee sinking into the mattress, their hand braced near her shoulder to keep their weight off her. Savannah looked up at them like she didn’t know what she was allowed to do, and God, it nearly tore Tilly open.
“Hey,” they murmured, brushing a thumb along her cheek. “Look at me.”
She did. Immediately.
Like the request pulled her.
Tilly lowered themselves until they were half beside her, half over her — close enough to feel her shaky breaths, close enough for their warmth to meet in the space between them.
They held their weight through their arms so they wouldn’t press down, but the heat radiating between their bodies was already overwhelming.
Savannah’s fingers curled in the blanket, knuckles white. Her breath stuttered when Tilly’s thigh brushed hers.
She was shaking.
Not fear shaking.
Want shaking.
Tilly felt it ripple through the mattress — the tremor in her legs, the tight pull of her stomach, the tiny arch of her hips reacting to proximity alone.
“Sav…” Their voice cracked, rougher than they meant. “You’re shaking.”
She let out a breathless sound — almost a laugh, almost a whimper. “I know.”
Tilly’s chest tightened.
They dipped lower, lips hovering just above hers. They wanted to kiss her again — God, they wanted to — but they needed her grounded, steady, sure.
“You still want this?” they whispered, breath brushing her mouth.
Savannah’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened again, filled with something desperate and certain.
“I want you,” she whispered.
The words hit Tilly so hard they had to brace themselves, one hand sliding gently to her hip, thumb tracing slow lines over the fabric.
Savannah jolted at the touch — a full-body shiver that traveled from her ribs to her thighs. Tilly felt every tremor.
Her thighs pressed together.
Her breath caught.
Her hips lifted just barely, instinct before intention.
Tilly inhaled sharply.
They cupped the side of her face, brushing her hair back, thumb sweeping soft across her cheekbone.
Then — slowly, giving her every chance to breathe, every chance to stop — they let their body lower until they hovered chest to chest, heat to heat.
Savannah’s breath hitched violently.
“Tilly…”
Not a warning.
A plea.
They kissed her again — slow, deep, warm — and Savannah gasped into it, arching toward them like she couldn’t help herself.
Her hands lifted, trembling, sliding over their sides and catching in their shirt. She didn’t pull them down on top of her. She just held — held like she needed them close, held like she didn’t know what else to do with wanting this much.
Tilly swallowed her soft, shaky exhale and whispered against her mouth:
“Tell me what you need.”
Savannah’s voice broke as she whispered back:
“More.”
Her breath was already unsteady beneath them, her chest rising too fast, her fingers trembling under their shirt. Tilly’s own breath stuttered at the feeling — warm skin on skin, hesitant but desperate.
They couldn’t stop themself from leaning in.
Not to her mouth this time.
Lower.
Their lips brushed the sharp line of her jaw, barely a kiss.
Savannah gasped — a small, broken intake of air that hit Tilly like a pulse of heat.
God.
They wanted that sound again.
They kissed her jaw again, slower, lingering just enough to feel her pulse jump under their lips. Savannah’s hand spasmed at their side, fingers curling in like the sensation overwhelmed her.
Tilly followed her breath downward, lips brushing the warm line beneath her ear.
The reaction was immediate.
Savannah shuddered — full-body, helpless — trembling through the mattress. Her legs shifted involuntarily, thighs brushing Tilly’s with a soft, needy friction she clearly hadn’t intended.
Tilly’s control snapped for a second.
Not gone — just frayed.
They let their thigh settle between hers, not pressing, just filling the space her body had already opened.
Her breath broke.
A soft, strangled whine escaped her — so quiet she might not have heard it.
Tilly heard everything.
Her thighs tightened around their leg, hips lifting the slightest bit like her body was reaching for something before she could think.
Tilly swallowed hard and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to her throat — tasting the heat there, feeling her gasp vibrate against their lips.
Savannah arched sharply beneath them, hands sliding higher under Tilly’s shirt in a desperate, seeking motion.
Tilly groaned — actually groaned — into her neck.
The sound seemed to rip through Savannah — her whole body jolted like the noise had touched her spine.
Her hands scrambled higher, curling around the back of Tilly’s neck, holding them close without quite pulling, as if she was afraid of taking too much but even more afraid of losing the heat of their mouth on her skin.
Tilly felt her trembling grow sharper, more focused, every breath she released brushing hot against their ear.
They lifted their head just enough to see her, and the look on Savannah’s face nearly unraveled them — flushed, lips parted, eyes blown wide with need she wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.
She was unraveling under them, open in a way that felt precious and impossible, like she hadn’t realized she was giving anything away until it was too late to take it back.
And God, Tilly wanted to honor that, wanted to move slowly, carefully, but the way Savannah’s thighs tightened around their leg made restraint feel like trying to hold back the tide with their bare hands.
They slid one palm up her side, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, guiding her gently, deliberately, into the angle they knew she needed. Savannah followed with a soft, broken sound that tore through Tilly’s last thread of hesitation.
They slid their hand down her side again, stopping at the button of her jeans. Savannah’s breath caught — not in hesitation, but in anticipation. Tilly opened the button with a soft flick, pushed past the denim, and the moment their hand found her heat, everything inside Tilly went molten.
The fabric of Savannah’s underwear felt slippery under their rough fingertips as they began circling her clit slowly.
Savannah’s head tipped back, and she let out a low moan.
“That’s it.” They whispered to her softly.
Their fingers began to increase the tempo, as Savannah’s moans grew louder.
“I need to feel you.” Savannah gasped. “Please.”
Tilly removed their hand and helped Savannah pull her pants off. They sat up and pulled their own shirt off, the nude colored tape on their chest curling at the corners.
Leaning back down, Savannah’s fingers found the line where their skin met the edge of the tape; their skin prickled.
Tilly’s hand found Savannah’s center once more, and they groaned at the wetness they found there; their fingers resumed their circling. Savannah moaned at the direct contact, and Tilly kissed her, swallowing the moan whole.
They slipped a single finger inside Savannah and stopped to let her adjust to the new feeling.
“More, please,” Savannah begged.
Tilly smirked and looked down at her. “Patience.”
They slid their finger back, slowly enough to tease and far enough to add a second finger to the mix.
Savannah moaned her pleasure, and Tilly let their mouth fall back to her neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there.
“That’s it, baby.” Their mouth faltered on the pet name. They almost pulled the word back, terrified it was too intimate, too hopeful — too much for something they still weren’t sure they were allowed to have; but Savannah didn’t seem to notice.
They pumped their hand as Savannah’s pleasure grew.
She grew louder with each thrust, her head tossed back, which Tilly used as their opportunity to place more hot kisses against her pulse point. A quick flick of their tongue, and Savannah’s earlobe was in their mouth.
They scraped their teeth gently across the soft skin, and Savannah’s breath hitched as she fell over the edge.
“Yes, Til!” The nickname seemed to fall off her mouth as if it had always done so. It sounded so right in her mouth, the realization hitting harder than it should have.