The door thunked shut, deadbolt locked, her fingers fumbled the chain. Jac just stood there in the narrow entryway, back against the wood, shoulders pressed so hard into it her muscles hurt. The apartment was dark, except for the slim red eye of the answering machine blinking on the kitchen counter. Blink. Blink. Blink. She stared at it for too long, as if it were a threat, not a piece of cheap plastic.

  “Not now,” she muttered. Her voice sounded raw. Smoke and adrenaline had scraped it clean.

  Her shoes left damp prints on the old vinyl as she crossed to the bathroom. Her ears still rang from the explosion, phantom sound in a room that had no noise.

  She flicked on the bathroom light. The glare stabbed at her eyes. Jac caught sight of herself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the woman looking back. Ash smudged across her cheekbones, a faint streak on her jaw where Bruce’s hand had grabbed her, dragging her out. Her hair was a mess, singed in places, a black halo gone wild. There was a bruise already blooming along her shoulder where she’d slammed into the floor.

  For a moment, her reflection seemed like somebody else. Some other rookie who’d almost died tonight.

  Her stomach flipped. She turned away, twisting the shower handle as far as it would go toward hot. Pipes complained inside the wall, then water came in a harsh, hissing rush.

  She peeled off her clothes piece by piece—jacket, shirt, holster, pants—every move suddenly aware of how close those things had been to burning with her inside them. The smell of sweat and smoke and lab chemicals lifted off the fabrics, clinging to her hands.

  When she stepped under the spray, the water hit so hot it was almost unbearable. She let it scald her anyway, pressing her palms flat to the tile, chin tipped down as the heat beat against the back of her neck.

  She closed her eyes. The lab came back in a rush. The stranger’s voice, broken and doubled. The way his body had moved, like the joints didn’t know which way they were supposed to bend. The way he’d thrown that tank like it weighed nothing. The sound of the explosion—more felt than heard—the floor jumping under her feet, air punched out of her lungs, flame and dust swallowing the room.

  Jac sucked in a breath, water streaming over her face now, hot and relentless. Her heart hammered harder the more she tried to slow it.

  You’re here, kiddo.

  Her father’s voice, as clearly as if he stood in the doorway.

  You’re here. You walked away.

  “Yeah,” she whispered, water running into her mouth. “For now.”

  Her mom’s voice followed, softer, threaded with that gentle firmness she’d used when Jac was eight and covered in scrapes from playing tackle with the neighborhood boys.

  Don’t let the worst of them be all you see of people, Jacquline. You stay out there too long and only look at monsters, you’ll start forgetting there’s anything else.

  She opened her eyes to the tile.

  There had been a monster in that lab. Whatever that man had been before, whatever he was now—nothing about the way he’d kept going after two bullets to the chest said “human” to her. Nothing about the way the table had shattered under him, or how he’d thrown that can like it was made of cardboard, or how his eyes had gone empty and cold in an instant.

  But Bruce had still called him “he.” Not “it.” Even limping them out of there, half-carrying her down the stairs, he’d said, “ I don’t know what the hell he is, but we’re not putting that into a report.”

  He. A person. Somewhere under whatever that was.

  Jac leaned her forehead against the cool tile and let the water drum between her shoulder blades.

  She didn’t want that thing to be human. It was easier if it wasn’t.

  Her mind shifted, unbidden, to the bar. To Melody’s hands sliding a drink across the polished wood. To her voice: soft, amused, with that rasp that caught on certain words and made them sound like they meant more than they did.

  “

  “You look like you could use something stronger, detective.”

  Jac’s mouth twitched.

  She’d been too scared to call, too scared to show up again after leaving that one message. Too busy. Too tired. Too… everything. Tonight, almost dying had taken the argument away.

  The water started to cool. She shut it off and stepped out, grabbing a towel. The air in the bathroom was hot and fogged, the mirror fogged over to a blank grey blur. She wrapped the towel around herself and wiped a small porthole clear.

  Her face looked a little less like a ghost now. Wet hair slicked back. Eyes still wide, but not hollow. She studied herself for a second that lingered. Alive.

  She turned away before the thought could slip into its opposite.

  In the bedroom, she dropped the towel and stood a second in the dimness, her heart still beating fast but for a different reason now.

  She opened the closet and reached past the usual rotation of slacks and button-downs. Her fingers found the black dress she almost never wore. Not especially fancy, just simple, soft, cut to follow her body instead of disguise it.

  She pulled it on, the fabric clinging lightly to her damp skin, and caught her reflection in the dresser mirror as she adjusted the straps.

  She looked… like someone else again. Not the rookie in a rumpled blazer, not the girl who’d sat at her father’s shrine with a cupcake once a year. Something in between. Something she hadn’t quite met yet.

  On the way back through the living room, she slowed. The answering machine blinked at her, red and patient. Blink. Blink. Blink.

  Her thumb hovered over the play button. “ “Don’t do it,” she thought. “ “Don’t listen to the world you can’t help right now.”

  She let her hand fall. The machine kept blinking as she grabbed her coat and badge, slipped her gun into her shoulder holster out of habit, and stepped back into the hall.

  The walk to the bar cut across six blocks of Billings that always felt different at night. Snow, old and grey at the curbs, had iced over in the evening chill. Streetlamps stretched orange pools over almost-empty sidewalks. A few cars drifted by, their headlights casting long, brief shadows of Jac against the brick.

  Her shoulder ached where the debris had caught her earlier. Every breath felt just a little too loud in her own ears.

  She thought about calling her mother. About hearing Helen’s voice and the way it would soften and then sharpen with worry. About having to say the words out loud: I almost died tonight, Mom.

  She clenched her jaw instead and shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets.

  Half a block from the bar, she could hear the muffled thump of music through the walls. Lower than usual—late enough that the crowd had thinned. The sign over the door hummed with neon light, edges crusted with snow.

  Jac paused outside, staring at the door handle. You don’t belong in there, that old voice whispered. You belong at the gym or at the range. Go back to the precinct.

  Then another voice, fresher and tired of being shoved down, cut across it. I almost died, and life’s too short to die alone.

  She took a breath and pulled the door open.

  Heat and sound rolled over her. The bar was maybe two-thirds full. Regulars, mostly. A couple of guys nursing beers at one end, a small cluster of women in heavy coats laughing near the jukebox, an older couple playing darts in the back corner.

  Behind the bar, wiping down glasses, was Melody. For a second, Jac just stood in the doorway and watched her.

  Melody’s hair was pulled up tonight, loose strands curling along her neck. The bar light glanced off the silver hoop in her ear. Her hands moved automatically, efficient, but her eyes kept tracking the room, reading people with the kind of instinct Jac recognized.

  Melody’s gaze slid past the door, then snapped back when it registered who she was looking at.

  Her eyebrows went up, then knit together. “Jac?” she called over, her voice carrying easily through the low murmur. “You okay?”

  The question wasn’t casual. It wasn’t the automatic ‘how you doing’ you asked anybody. Melody leaned forward, elbows on the bar, studying her with sudden focus.

  Jac realized she was still half in, half out of the doorway like an idiot.

  She stepped fully inside and let the door shut behind her. For a second she considered walking to some empty table, but her legs had already decided; they carried her straight to the stool in front of Melody.

  Up close, the bartender’s eyes swept over her—dress, damp hair, the hint of a bruise along her collarbone.

  “You look…” Melody started, then stopped. “Rough day?”

  Jac huffed a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. She slid onto the stool, hands gripping the edge harder than she’d intended.

  “I almost died tonight,” she said.

  It came out flatter than she expected. Like she was telling someone the time.

  Melody’s face changed. The joking light dropped out of it, replaced by alarm and something like anger on Jac’s behalf.

  “Okay,” she said quietly. “That’s… that’s a bit more than a rough day. What happened?”

  Jac opened her mouth, then closed it again, eyes dropping to the bar top. The wood was worn and scarred under the lacquer, ringed with old water marks. She traced one with her thumb.

  “It was work,” she said after a moment. “It got… out of hand.”

  Melody snorted softly. “Yeah, that’s what they always say before you see it on the news.”

  Her gaze gentled.

  “Do you want something?” she asked. “On the house. I’m not going to insult you with coffee.”

  “Whiskey,” Jac said. The word surprised even her. “Neat.”

  Melody gave a small approving nod, like that was the right answer, and reached for a bottle on the back rail. The amber liquid caught the light as she poured, then slid the glass across the bar.

  Jac wrapped her fingers around it. Her hands had stopped shaking, she realized. The heat of the room, the ordinary clink of glasses, and hum of conversation stitched the world back together a little.

  She took a sip. It burned going down, a good kind of hurt.

  Melody watched her for a moment, then leaned in a little.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said. “But if you want to, I’ve got fifteen minutes until my break and no patience left for listening to Randy over there complain about his ex-wife again.”

  Jac glanced down the bar at the man in question, who was currently gesturing with a half-empty beer like he was addressing the U.N.

  A corner of her mouth twitched. “I don’t know, my week’s been pretty shitty,” she said.

  “Try me,” Melody replied.

  So Jac did. Not everything. Not case details, nothing Ritter would yell about. But she sketched the edges: the murders, the pressure, the feeling of being one step behind something they didn’t understand. Then tonight—the building, the explosion, the stranger who wouldn’t go down.

  She didn’t say monster. She didn’t have to. It was there in the crack in her voice when she got to the part where the ceiling had started coming down.

  Melody listened without interrupting. Once, when Jac’s words hit a snag, Melody slid her another splash of whiskey without comment.

  “Jesus,” she said when Jac finished. “They don’t pay you enough.”

  “You don’t know what they pay me,” Jac said.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “I don’t have to,” Melody replied. “There’s not a number big enough for almost dying at work.”

  They held each other’s gaze a moment too long.

  “I’ve been watching you on that TV over there all week,” Melody admitted, nodding toward the small set tucked into a corner, sound currently off, flickering through local headlines. “They play the footage of you and your partner walking past that tape like eight times an hour. You always look…” She searched for the word. “Steady. Like you’re made of stone.”

  “Stone cracks,” Jac said, before she could stop herself.

  Melody’s eyes softened. “You did the right thing coming here,” she said.

  “Yeah?” Jac asked. “I thought maybe I was being selfish.”

  “You get one selfish night,” Melody replied. “Minimum, after all that.”

  Her break arrived in the form of another bartender drifting out from the kitchen, apron already tied.

  Melody told him, “I’m taking ten,” and slipped out from behind the bar, wiping her hands on a towel. Up close, she smelled like citrus and maybe a little like the cheap soap they used in the bathroom.

  “Come on,” she said.

  Jac hesitated, then followed her over to a small table near the far wall. Melody set her own drink down—something clear with lime—and dropped onto the chair opposite. Jac sat slower, as if her bones were still remembering the shock.

  “Has it always been like this?” Melody asked quietly. “The job?”

  “No,” Jac said. “My dad did thirty years. He had ugly cases, but not like this. Not… whatever this is.” She sipped again, letting the whiskey spread warmth through her chest. “Sometimes I think I got the worst year to start.”

  Melody reached out and, without thinking about it too much, Jac let her take her hand.

  Her palm was warm, fingers strong from lifting glasses and boxes. She held Jac’s hand like she’d done it before, with other sad people and other terrible nights. No flinch, no hesitation.

  “You don’t seem like the type who scares easily,” Melody said.

  “I don’t,” Jac answered. “Or I didn’t think I did.”

  “Being scared doesn’t mean you’re not brave,” Melody said. “Means you’re smart.”

  Jac let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  The jukebox switched tracks. Something bluesy and low filled the background. The bar noise faded around their little pocket of quiet, or maybe Jac just stopped hearing it.

  “You, uh…” Melody started, thumb brushing lightly over the back of Jac’s hand. “You didn’t call.”

  Jac huffed a soft, self-conscious laugh.

  “I wanted to,” she said. “Kept talking myself out of it.”

  “Why?”

  Because if she called, it meant being a person outside the badge. It meant wanting something that had nothing to do with the case, or her father, or proving herself. Because if she called, and it went wrong, she’d have to live with that on top of everything else.

  “I guess I’m better at running at gunfire than dialing a phone,” Jac said instead.

  Melody smiled, a small, crooked thing that made her eyes crinkle. “Phones can be scary,” she said. “People on the other end and all.”

  She let go of Jac’s hand only long enough to finish her drink, then set the glass down.

  “My shift’s almost over,” she said. “You look like you could fall over any second. You think of heading out soon?”

  Jac thought of her apartment. The blinking machine. The quiet. Then she thought of never doing anything for herself until this case was over, and how “over” seemed farther away every day.

  Her voice came out smaller than she’d meant it to. “I don’t really want to be alone.”

  Melody studied her for a heartbeat, like she was weighing something.

  “Okay,” she said. “Do you want to come back to my place? We can just… sit. I’ve got tea, or, you know, more of the dangerous stuff.”

  There was nothing loaded in the way she said it. Or maybe there was, and Jac had just wanted to hear it that way.

  Either way, she nodded. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’d like that.”

  Melody’s smile warmed, not wide, but real. “Give me five minutes to clock out,” she said, standing. “Don’t run away.”

  Jac watched her walk back to the bar, watched her move through the last motions of her shift—cash drawer, rag, quick word to the other bartender—with the kind of focus that made everything else slow down.

  Her heart was still pounding, but now it had a different rhythm. She glanced up at the TV. For once, the screen wasn’t showing her or Bruce or the tape line. The anchor was talking about the weather. Small mercies.

  Melody came back with her coat on and a set of keys in hand. “Ready, detective?” she asked.

  Jac stood. For the first time all week, the word didn’t feel like armor. It felt like just one piece of who she was.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  They stepped out into the cold night together.

  They walked the two blocks to Melody’s apartment in silence; the kind of silence that had weight, that felt chosen rather than slipped into. Snow muffled every sound except their boots on the sidewalk. The air was sharp enough to sting their lungs, their breaths steaming out in front of them like twin ghosts.

  Melody lived above a small insurance office—one of those places with outdated posters in the window and a bell on the door that probably hadn’t rung all week. The stairwell smelled faintly of old carpet and the radiator that clanged through winter like it had opinions.

  At the top landing, Melody fished out her keys and hesitated halfway through unlocking the door.

  “You’re sure?” she asked softly.

  The question wasn’t about coming inside. Not really.

  Jac felt the answer before she said it. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Melody nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and pushed the door open.

  The apartment was small but warm—yellow lamplight, books stacked in uneven piles, a half-finished painting leaning against the far wall, brushstrokes midnight-blue and neon green. A soft sweatshirt was thrown over the back of the couch. A mug sitting in the sink.

  Lived-in. Safe. So different from the wreckage Jac had crawled out of earlier that she almost forgot how to breathe for a second.

  Melody turned on one more lamp, then draped her coat over a chair. “Make yourself at home,” she said. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

  Jac stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She shrugged out of her own coat, fingers trembling—not from cold this time—and hung it carefully on the back of Melody’s couch. Her knees still felt floaty from the adrenaline crash. She sat, partly from instinct, partly because she wasn’t entirely sure her legs would hold her upright much longer.

  “Do you want tea?” Melody asked as she crossed to the small kitchenette. “Or—wait, I said I had the dangerous stuff.”

  She opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of something amber. Whiskey, but better than the bar’s house pour.

  Jac gave a soft laugh she hadn’t expected to find.

  “Tea’s fine,” she said. “If you’re still offering.”

  Melody glanced back at her, surprised and smiling.

  “Tea it is.”

  Jac watched her fill the kettle, watched the way Melody’s shoulders curved slightly forward as she bent to turn on the burner. Her movements were gentle, precise. Everything about her felt like a counterweight to the chaos of the last twelve hours.

  The kettle clattered lightly against its metal rest. Melody winced at the sound, then rubbed her arms, suddenly self-conscious.

  “You okay?” Jac asked.

  Melody hesitated, then turned to face her fully.

  “You scared me earlier,” she said. “When you said you almost died. I mean—I know people say things like that to exaggerate, but you didn’t sound like you were exaggerating.”

  “No,” Jac said quietly. “I wasn’t.”

  Melody crossed the space between them and sat beside her on the couch—close enough that their knees brushed.

  “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine right now,” she murmured. “Not here.”

  Jac swallowed. The words sank deeper than they should have. “Okay,” she said.

  She didn’t realize she was shaking until Melody reached for her hands—both of them—gathering them into her lap. Their palms fit too naturally together.

  “You’ve been holding everything in,” Melody whispered. “You’re allowed to let go.”

  Jac exhaled slowly, shakily.

  “I don’t really know how,” she said.

  Melody’s thumbs brushed over the backs of her hands in slow, warm strokes.

  “That’s alright. I do.”

  Jac’s breath caught. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Melody leaned in slightly, giving Jac every chance to pull away. Jac didn’t. Couldn’t. Something deep inside her tipped forward.

  Melody’s voice was barely there when she asked, “Can I kiss you?”

  The question was simple, but it thrummed through Jac like a physical touch.

  She nodded.

  Melody closed the small gap between them and pressed her lips to Jac’s. Soft. Careful. Testing.

  Jac melted.

  The first kiss lasted barely a heartbeat, but it lit up every nerve like it had been waiting for it. Melody pulled back just enough for their breaths to mingle.

  “Jac…” she whispered, eyes flicking down to her mouth again.

  Jac leaned in this time, closing the distance, kissing her deeper—still soft, but with an urgency that came from somewhere raw and unguarded. Melody made a quiet sound against her lips, a sound that vibrated straight down Jac’s spine.

  The kettle whistled, but neither of them moved.

  Melody laughed softly against Jac’s mouth and reached back blindly to turn off the burner. The whistle died, leaving only the sound of their breaths.

  When she faced Jac again, something had shifted in her eyes—something warm and wanting and unafraid.

  “You sure you don’t want the dangerous stuff?” she murmured.

  Jac shook her head. “I thought you were ‘the dangerous stuff.’”

  Melody smiled—slow, knowing—and kissed her again.

  This time the kiss unfolded without hesitation. Jac’s hands moved on their own, sliding up Melody’s sides, feeling the warmth beneath her shirt. Her heartbeat kept up its frantic, uneven rhythm, but she didn’t care. The world had narrowed to the soft pressure of lips and the taste of mint on Melody’s breath.

  Melody shifted closer, one knee nudging between Jac’s, her body fitting into the space like it had always been meant to. She kissed Jac with a tenderness that tugged at something buried deep—the part of Jac that had been lonely for far too long and never said it out loud.

  Jac cupped the back of Melody’s neck, fingers threading into her hair, and felt Melody respond with a quiet, breathy sigh that sent heat curling low in her stomach.

  The kiss deepened, slowed, then deepened again, building into something real enough to make Jac’s chest ache.

  Melody pulled back just a little, her forehead resting against Jac’s.

  “Come here,” she whispered, her voice low and coaxing.

  Jac didn’t wait for clarification. She leaned in, her arms slipping around Melody’s waist, and Melody guided her gently back until Jac’s shoulders sank into the cushions.

  Melody hovered above her—not pinning, not dominating, but enveloping—one hand sliding along Jac’s jaw, the other settling at her hip. Jac felt the warmth of her palm through the thin fabric of her dress.

  Everything felt heightened—the softness of Melody’s hair brushing her cheek, the faint strawberry scent of her skin, the rise and fall of her breath.

  Jac’s voice came out rougher than she intended. “Mel…”

  Melody kissed her again in answer, slow and deliberate, her lips pressing meaning into every inch they touched.

  Jac’s hands settled on Melody’s hips, thumbs brushing bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. Melody’s breath hiccuped—not loudly, but enough.

  For the first time in days, Jac’s heart wasn’t racing from fear. It raced from wanting.

  Melody pulled back just far enough for their eyes to lock, her thumbs stroking Jac’s cheekbones.

  “You’re safe here,” she whispered.

  Jac believed her.

  Melody kissed her again—deeper, longer—and the rest of the room fell away.

  The world narrowed to warmth and breath and the quiet rhythm of Melody’s body moving against hers.

  Jac barely remembered shifting—only that one moment she was lying beneath Melody, her pulse thundering in her ears, and the next she was the one drawing Melody closer, holding on as if she were afraid the moment might dissolve if she didn’t anchor them both. The week’s chaos—the deaths, the terror, the collapse—seemed to press outward from her chest in an ache that needed somewhere to go. Melody felt that pressure and answered it with gentleness.

  Melody broke the kiss only when they both needed air. She stayed close, her forehead resting against Jac’s cheek, her lips brushing the edge of her jaw. Her breath fluttered hot and quick, and Jac felt a shiver run through her.

  “You don’t know,” Melody whispered, “how long I’ve been hoping you’d walk back through that door.”

  Jac’s fingers tightened at her waist before she could stop them. “I didn’t think I would. Tonight almost didn’t happen.”

  Melody lifted herself enough to look at her, eyes searching, soft but focused.

  “What made you come?”

  Jac swallowed. The truth wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t romantic. But it was honest.

  “I didn’t want to be alone,” she said. “Not after… everything.”

  Melody nodded once, not pitying, or patronizing—just understanding on a level Jac felt in her bones.

  “You’re not alone now,” Melody murmured, brushing her thumb along Jac’s lower lip. “And you don’t have to pretend you’re made of steel.”

  That did something to Jac—unraveled something. Her breath stuttered and she turned her face into Melody’s palm without thinking. Melody kissed her again, slow at first, careful, then deeper when Jac answered with a soft sound she couldn’t hold back.

  Melody’s thigh slid between hers, and Jac felt the heat bloom low in her stomach. She gasped quietly against Melody’s mouth, fingers clutching instinctively at the back of Melody’s shirt. Melody responded by cupping Jac’s hip, guiding her with gentle pressure as if she already knew the shape of Jac’s want.

  For the first time in days, Jac wasn’t bracing for impact, but anticipating it.

  Melody kissed down her throat, lips tracing a slow, deliberate path along Jac’s pulse. Jac’s head tipped back against the couch cushion, breath catching in a soft exhale. Her hands slid into Melody’s hair, pulling her closer—not rough, but with a need she could no longer hide.

  Melody paused at her collarbone, her breath warm.

  “Do you want to slow down?” she whispered. “Or…”

  Jac didn’t let her finish. She guided Melody back up and kissed her with an answer that made words irrelevant.

  Something shifted between them—heat unfurling, permission given and received. Melody climbed into Jac’s lap, straddling her, their bodies aligning instinctively. Jac felt Melody’s weight settle over her, steady and grounding, and she let out a low breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  Melody’s lips brushed her ear when she spoke next. “Tell me what you need.”

  Jac didn’t know how to answer. No one had ever asked her that without expecting something in return. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Melody waited, patient.

  “I just…” Jac pressed her forehead to Melody’s shoulder, breath trembling. “…I need to feel something that isn’t fear.”

  Melody’s hands slid to either side of Jac’s face, lifting it gently so their eyes met.

  “Then feel me,” she said, voice velvet soft. “Just me. Tonight, that’s enough.”

  Jac nodded once, barely.

  Melody kissed her again, and Jac felt herself dissolve into it—felt everything she’d been holding collapse into heat and softness and want. She tugged Melody’s shirt up, fingers brushing warm skin; Melody shivered and helped pull it over her head, tossing it aside without looking.

  Jac froze for half a second, breath catching.

  Melody noticed—and smiled, slow, reassuring.

  “You can touch me,” she whispered.

  Jac did. Her hands slid up Melody’s sides, mapping the curve of her waist, the rise of her ribs. Melody’s breath hitched, her hips subtly tightening their press against Jac’s thigh. Jac leaned in and kissed the hollow of her throat, tasting warmth and sweetness and the faint salt of nervous sweat. Melody exhaled a soft, shaky sigh that curled through Jac like fire.

  The room felt smaller, hotter. The lamplight turned their skin gold.

  Jac’s hand was now cupping Melody’s breasts, softly caressing them while she flicked her tongue across her nipples in slow circles.

  Melody’s hands slid under Jac’s dress, fingertips gliding up her thighs, running her fingers along her panties, tugging at them. Jac’s breath faltered, a soft sound escaping her throat. Melody’s mouth curved against her skin.

  “Lie back,” she murmured.

  Jac did, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Melody followed her down, skin against skin, warmth spilling between them. Her lips traced a slow, deliberate path down Jac’s sternum, her hands sliding beneath the hem of Jac’s dress.

  Everything became sensation—the brush of Melody’s hair across Jac’s stomach, the warmth of Melody’s breath, the soft pressure of her lips. Jac arched subtly, unable to stay still.

  When Melody eased Jac’s dress higher, Jac didn’t stop her.

  When Melody kissed the inside of her thigh, Jac’s breath caught audibly.

  Jac arched her back once more, sliding the cotton undergarments off with a swipe.

  And when Melody settled, slowly, intimately, between her legs—Jac’s hand slid instinctively into Melody’s hair, her fingers threading through the dark strands as her back lifted from the couch.

  Not frantic. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and hungry and reverent. Melody’s tongue lapping gracefully, exploring. Tasting.

  Jac felt herself unraveling—every controlled breath, every guarded instinct, peeling away under Melody’s deliberate, tender mouth. A soft cry escaped her, one she didn’t recognize as her own.

  Melody answered with a soft hum against her skin, and Jac felt her world tilt slightly off its axis.

  Her thighs trembled. Her breath broke in sharp gasps. Her hand tightened gently in Melody’s hair.

  “Melody—”

  Her voice was barely a whisper, a warning, a confession—but Melody didn’t pull away. She guided Jac through it, steady and sure, her movements aching with intention..

  Jac’s climax came quietly, like a wave she couldn’t outrun, cresting through her with a deep, shuddering breath that left her whole body trembling beneath Melody’s mouth.

  When she finally collapsed back into the couch, Melody rose—slowly, carefully—and crawled up her body, kissing her softly. Jac tasted herself on Melody’s lips and something inside her tightened with a sweet, overwhelming ache.

  Melody rested her forehead against Jac’s again. “You okay?” she whispered.

  Jac nodded, breathless. “Yeah. I think… yeah.”

  Melody smiled—warm, soft, real. “Good. Because I’m not done with you.”

  She shifted, guiding Jac gently onto her side, and slid against her with deliberate, intimate closeness. Jac felt the unmistakable heat between Melody’s thighs as Melody’s leg draped over hers.

  “Your turn,” Melody murmured, her voice warm velvet against Jac’s cheek. “Only if you want.”

  Jac didn’t answer with words. She answered with her hands—pulling Melody in, letting the world fall away once more.