Chapter 14: Tension Like Thread

  By the time they left the library, Mira could barely walk in a straight line.

  It wasn’t just that Lena had touched her—not really. It was how Lena had touched her. Like a whisper against a wire, soft but electrified. Mira’s whole body still felt coiled, her skin oversensitized, the echo of Lena’s voice threading through her ribs.

  She followed Lena out into the night, her steps a little too quick to seem casual. The air was cool, but Mira ran warm beneath her sweater, heat trapped along her skin like memory. She tried to calm her breath, but the silence between them only made it louder in her ears.

  Lena didn’t say anything—she just walked beside her with that same unhurried confidence, hands in her coat pockets, gaze forward.

  But she wasn’t walking toward the dorms.

  Mira’s brow furrowed. She gnced around the quiet campus. Only a few scattered lights still glowed in distant windows. Most students had gone in for the night. The sidewalks were nearly empty.

  “Um…” Mira started, her voice soft and unsure, “this isn’t the way back.”

  Lena’s mouth curled into a faint, unreadable smile. She didn’t look over.

  “I know.”

  Mira’s heart kicked up. She swallowed.

  “Then… where—?”

  Lena stopped in front of the arts building. A tall, shadowed structure with echoing halls and windows that reflected the dark. The side door creaked open easily beneath Lena’s hand.

  Lena finally gnced at her, eyes calm.

  “Come.”

  Mira hesitated—but only for a moment. Something about the way Lena looked at her… Mira could never quite resist. She stepped inside, pulse humming just beneath her skin.

  The building was still, the air faintly cool and carrying a trace of old varnish and paper. Their footsteps echoed softly down the narrow hall.

  Lena led her with quiet purpose to a small room near the back. A music practice room. Mira had been in one of these before—small, square, soundproofed. It looked like nothing. Just a desk, a couch, and walls padded to drink every sound.

  But the moment Lena shut the door behind them, something changed.

  The silence became absolute. Intimate. Like they’d dropped off the face of the earth.

  Mira stood in the middle of the room, suddenly too aware of everything. The hem of her skirt against her thighs. The press of her sweater over her chest. Her breath, shallow in the quiet.

  She turned toward Lena, unsure what to say.

  But Lena didn’t speak. She just looked at her—with a gaze so focused it was like a hand on Mira’s skin.

  It wasn’t stern or sharp. It was soft. Careful. But it pinned her there all the same.

  Lena stepped closer, closing the distance between them inch by inch, until Mira could feel the heat from her body.

  “You’ve been good,” Lena said quietly, her voice so close it was almost a breath. “But not good enough to get what you want yet.”

  Mira’s throat tightened. Her lips parted.

  “I—I’m trying—”

  “I know.”

  Lena’s hand rose, brushed Mira’s cheek, then threaded back through her hair.

  She tugged. Gentle, but firm. Mira’s chin tilted up automatically. A breath caught in her throat.

  Lena leaned in. Close. Her lips hovered above Mira’s, but didn’t touch. Just close enough to taste the possibility.

  “You want me to touch you again?” she murmured.

  Mira nodded, wide-eyed. “Yes.”

  Lena’s lips grazed her jaw. Not a kiss—just a ghosting presence, almost reverent.

  “Then stand still.”

  Mira’s spine stiffened. She tried. She really did.

  But then Lena stepped behind her. And a single fingertip traced the length of Mira’s spine, slow and knowing, and her knees almost buckled.

  “Still,” Lena repeated, her voice velvet-smooth.

  One hand pressed lightly to the small of Mira’s back, grounding her. The other slipped under the hem of her sweater, skimming her bare skin. Just fingertips. Barely there. But they left fire in their wake.

  Mira whimpered—quiet and breathy.

  “I want to hear you,” Lena whispered, close to her ear. “But I don’t want to see you move.”

  Her fingers climbed up Mira’s sides, teasing along the ribs, skating just below her bra strap. Mira’s chest rose and fell in shaky gasps.

  “I—please…”

  “Yes, you can,” Lena breathed. “You’ll take it. Like a good girl.”

  Mira bit her lip, the pressure building under her skin until it throbbed.

  Then—Lena’s hand slid up, under her skirt, slow and deliberate, nails grazing her inner thigh.

  But just when Mira’s breath turned into a desperate plea—

  Lena stopped.

  Mira made a strangled noise, hips twitching toward the loss.

  “Why—” Mira’s voice broke.

  “Because I want you begging,” Lena said, her lips grazing her skin. “I want you ruined before I even touch you.”

  Lena’s hand rose to Mira’s throat. Not squeezing—just resting there, warm and firm, her thumb brushing the hollow beneath Mira’s jaw.

  Mira’s whole body stilled.

  Lena’s palm was warm against her skin, her thumb resting in the hollow of Mira’s throat, feeling every tremble, every breath.

  “This,” Lena said, her voice soft and unyielding, “is mine.”

  Mira let out a small, broken noise. Her thighs pressed together, her head tilting instinctively to give Lena more access.

  Lena stepped in, chest against Mira’s back. The other hand slid around to her stomach, resting ft and possessive.

  “Not just your body,” Lena whispered, “but this. This need. This ache. This helpless little flutter when I speak to you like this.”

  Mira whimpered, eyes fluttering closed. Her whole body leaned into Lena’s touch.

  “You belong to me,” Lena murmured. “You just don’t know what that means yet.”

  She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the side of Mira’s neck—slow and open, full of cim. Her grip on Mira’s throat didn’t tighten, but it didn’t release, either.

  Mira was trembling. Barely breathing.

  And Lena smiled against her skin.