"Nothing you'll find objectionable," says Harrow, mixed regret and gratification settling over her hearing that note of wary mistrust in Gideon's voice. "You have my word, Nav, for whatever that's worth to you."

She doesn't move at first, taking a minute just to look at Gideon: her flushed face, her tousled hair, the faint flutter of her eyelids as she keeps them closed. The expression on her face, uncertain and trusting and daring to hope, all at once. It's enough to make Harrow's chest grow tight, her breath shivering softly on her next inhale. She moves and twists, knowing Gideon will be able to feel the slight shifts in her weight; will hear the quiet rustle of clothes displaced and rearranged as she undoes her bra and takes it off, then tugs her shirt back into place.

As she takes hold of Gideon's wrists again, her cheeks burn--and as she guides her hands under her shirt and up towards the small curves of her tits, that heat gets deeper and hotter, more dizzying. "Okay," she says, a shuddering little gasp backing the word as her nipple brushes against the tip of Gideon's finger. "You can open your eyes."