"You could be helpful and turn off the fucking television," Harrow says, smirking when Gideon's head flops back against the couch cushions. She leans, grabbing the remote, and does it herself. "Since we're not watching it anyway."

Dropping the remote again, she takes hold of Gideon's other hand, moving them both to the slender, straight sides of her torso. The spread of Gideon's fingers against her body, the heat from her palms and the tips of her fingers, makes her eyelashes flutter once, and then again. Positioning Gideon like this, limbs and hands and once even the angle of her head arranged just so, holds a charge Harrow hadn't totally anticipated. It's one of the things keeping her chasing this, pushing her comfort inch by hard-fought inch.

Letting go of Gideon's wrists, Harrow reaches out, tracing her finger up the firm line of the other girl's jaw and towards her hairline. Her fingers comb into the red strands of Gideon's hair, pulling slightly to coax her head back up.