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She had been thinking about it for a myriad now, but Gideon managed to ask, "You gonna kiss me or not?" It was a miracle she hadn't stuttered. It felt like the proper time for it. She wanted it. The way Harrow was looking at her, she wanted it, too.
"Shut up, Griddle." Harrow's voice was still rough with salt.
They’d been sitting like this for nearly twenty minutes, cross-legged on the big bed in the center of their shared room, facing each other. They were both still soaked from the pool, caked in salt and uncomfortable.
"Harrow." The name felt oddly heavy on Gideon's tongue now. Holy, almost. Was this what reverence felt like? Gideon had never experienced that. Not willingly, anyway. "I want--"
"Hush," Harrow shot back, her sharp little mouth twisted up like she'd sucked on a lemon. "I'm trying to figure this out." Beneath her smeared face pain, there was a little furrow between her brows. More to herself than to Gideon, she said, "It's a puzzle." Her eyes, locked firmly on Gideon's, were steady and unblinking. "You and--"
Gideon promptly silenced her with a kiss. It was soft, and Harrow’s lips tasted like salt and blood. It was nothing like in the magazines Gideon was always reading. Harrow was here, and so very real, and Gideon couldn’t fight the urge to wrap her arms around her, pulling Harrow’s tiny body right up against hers. She had dreamed of this. She would never admit to it, but Gideon had dreamed of this for years, in her darkest, most secret dreams. Judging by the soft, pretty sound Harrow made against her lips, she may have dreamed of it, too.
When they parted, Harrow muttered, "Disgusting." Her dark eyes were darker than Gideon had ever seen them, and she gasped when Harrow nipped at her bottom lip. In a voice that was almost a purr, Harrow demanded, "Do it again."