It was Vivian’s turn to catch her breath. The by-now-familiar blush bloomed on her cheeks.

And just like that, the mood changed, crackled from reminiscence into electricity.

Jules’s mouth softened and parted.

Vivian stared at it, biting her own bottom lip.

“Okay,” Jules whispered, apropos of nothing, and leaned in.

She would never know if it was the stress, the worry, or the sight of Jules’s mouth, but tonight Vivian leaned forward too and met her halfway. They lingered for a moment, brushing their lips together, little puffs of breath between them.

And tonight, Jules waited.

Vivian didn’t. She pressed her lips to Jules’s; she cupped her chin; she caught her breath and sighed when Jules tilted her head and kissed her back. That sound, that sigh, slid through Jules’s brain and buzzed around at the base of her skull. She parted her lips and felt the lightest accidental brush of Vivian’s tongue against her mouth. It made her whimper.

Vivian gasped at the noise and cupped the back of Jules’s neck.

God. They might not be having sex, but they were definitely fucking each other right now.

Jules kissed Vivian again and thought about long looks and accidental hand-brushings and countless tiny moments. She and Vivian had been fucking each other for a very, very long time. Before London. About time they figured it out.

She moved her mouth from Vivian’s and trailed it down to her chin, then her jaw.

Vivian gasped again, shuddered, and did not push her away.

Jules’s head spun. She kept kissing, kept nuzzling while Vivian trembled and tried to catch her breath. Her grip was like iron on the back of Jules’s neck.

Could Jules—would it be okay to—she touched Vivian’s neck with the back of her index finger, stroked it gently up and down.

Vivian hissed and arched into the touch.

Jules promptly lost her mind, whispered, “Let me,” and leaned down so she could kiss where her finger had touched, could kiss Vivian’s throat for the first time. She barely pressed her mouth to the skin, kissing Vivian almost as much with her breath as she did with her lips.

Vivian made a breathless noise. Then she turned her head, rubbed her nose in Jules’s hair, and whispered—pleaded—“No. No. Not here.”

Where, then? Jules didn’t say. Instead she pulled back, her head whirling.

Vivian was flushed and panting. She pressed a hand to her throat, closed her eyes, and tried to collect herself.

Jules watched her in agony. “So,” she croaked, “so…I’ll, um, I’m going home?”

Vivian kept her eyes shut. “I think that’s a good idea.” When she opened her eyes again, they were glazed with desire. Her breathing was back under control, but her face was still red and she still quivered.

God. Jules stood up fast. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she gasped.