She wipes, then freezes. “Did I get it?”
I lean in, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “Now you did.”
Her breath catches and she doesn’t pull away. She rests her head against my shoulder, quiet settling between us without pressure.
“You’re not staring off,” she says.
“I am absolutely staring off.”
“No,” she corrects. “You’re here.”
I glance down at her. “That okay?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
The word settles deep in my soul. We stay out until the city comes to life below us, proving we can move on no matter what happens. We don’t talk much on the ride back. We don’t have to. Syvannah holds me like she’s memorizing what peace feels like, Peanut tucked warm between us, and the compound lights appear ahead like a promise.
Back at the Clubhouse, the night air still clings to us, cool and wind-sweet from the ride, but Syvannah’s hand in mine is warm, steady in a way it hasn’t always been. The engines have gone quiet, the yard mostly dark, the clubhouse windows glowing soft behind us like the whole place is holding its breath.
Peanut sits tucked into Syvannah’s hoodie, her head poking out like a tiny queen surveying her kingdom, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. Every now and then, she meows, as if reminding us she’s still here, still part of it.
Syvannah doesn’t let go of me when we step inside. She doesn’t pause, doesn’t look around like she’s waiting for the world to snatch something from her.
She just walks with me, her shoulder brushing mine, fingers threading with mine like it’s natural, like we’ve done this a thousand times and none of those times ever ended badly.
The hallway is dim. Quiet. Someone laughs from the common room, a muffled burst of sound that fades quickly, but down the hallway it’s just the soft thud of our boots, the faint creak of the old floorboards, the distant hum of the compound settling into the night.
When we reach our door, I turn the knob and Syvannah turns into me. Peanut jumps out of her perch and takes off into the room. Syvannah’s palms flatten against my chest, warm through my shirt, and then her mouth is on mine, soft at first, then deeper, like she’s done waiting for permission, done waiting for the moment to feel safe enough to take. Her kiss isn’t desperate, it’s certain.
My breath catches, and I shut the door behind us without looking, the latch clicking like a seal. The second it does, the world shrinks down to the feel of her body pressed against mine, the smell of her hair, shampoo and night air. the quiet sound she makes when I slide my hands around her waist and pull her closer.
Her fingers curl in my shirt like she’s anchoring herself. Like she’s anchoring me.
I kiss her again, slower this time, giving her room to breathe, to choose, to decide what she wants from me tonight. Syvannah responds by leaning harder into the kiss, rising onto her toes, her mouth opening beneath mine with a soft exhale that turns my blood thick.
“You okay?” I murmur against her lips, because I always need to know.
Syvannah nods once, quick, almost impatient. Her eyes shine when she looks up at me. “I’m okay,” she whispers, voice rough with feeling. “I want you.”
The words hit hard, heat and relief and reverence twisting together in my chest.
I lift her, and she makes a small sound of surprise, arms flying around my neck on instinct. She doesn’t fight it. She doesn’t tense. She just melts into me, legs wrapping around my waist like she’s claiming her own want, her own pleasure, without apology.
I carry her to the bed and set her down like she’s precious, like she’s powerful, like she’s both.
Peanut hops from the dresser and trots to the foot of the bed like she’s clocking her position for the night, tail flicking once before she settles, calm as if she’s done this routine with us a hundred times already.
Syvannah laughs breathlessly. “She’s ridiculous.”
“She’s family,” I murmur, and the word makes Syvannah’s expression soften like I just touched something sacred.
I hover over her for a second, braced on my hands, making sure she sees me, making sure she knows I’m not going to disappear into hunger. Syvannah’s cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from kissing, eyes steady on mine.
I trail my fingers along her jaw, down her throat, feeling her swallow. Her pulse jumps beneath my touch.
I move slow on purpose. Not because I’m unsure, but because I want her to feel every second of this. Something she’s choosing, she’s controlling. I kiss her again and again, small kisses that turn into deeper ones, my mouth learning hers like it’s new, like it matters.
Syvannah’s hands roam my shoulders, my chest, my arms. Each pass more confident than the last, as if she’s relearning my body with new eyes. A body that doesn’t frighten her. A body she trusts.