Sullivan closed her bedroom door and drew the blinds. She got into bed, but she felt restless. The house was too quiet. The light coming from under the door was too bright. She rolled over. Her body longed to be touched. She loved sex, the way she could be fully in her body.
Now the only thing she could think about was Kia. The way she’d absentmindedly rest her hand on the side of her neck and tilt her head when she was thinking, appreciating something, or pondering a problem. The way she kicked her hip out when she stood at the kitchen counter, her curves unmistakable.
Now she grabbed the extra-firm body pillow she never used when she was sleeping. She lay on her side and tucked the pillow between her legs, clamping her knees together. Sullivan loved being touched. She stroked her clavicle and down her chest, savoring the sharp angles and softness of her skin and the way her body responded. If only she could touch Kia like this. If only Kia could touch her.
Sullivan pulled out her favorite vibrator, the Labianator. When she bought it, the box had promisedsilent, toe-curling vibrations. In reality, it sounded like a helicopter taking off. Quickly she rolled onto her belly, thrusting into the pillow and vibrator. Thefirst vibrations on her mons were exhilarating.
She stopped at a sound. Had Kia come home early? Was that Kia opening her own bedroom door? Going downstairs for a snack? She wouldn’t knock on Sullivan’s door and ask where Sullivan kept laundry detergent or cream of tartar, would she? So far, they’d respected the sanctity of closed doors. No, it was just the house creaking.
She thrust into the pillow, clenching it between her thighs, chasing the muffled vibrations until she felt her whole insides contract. Relaxation washed over her, and it should have helped her to sleep, but several hours later, she was still tossing and turning. No deep sleep to be sure. She might as well get up and walk around for a few minutes, step out on the deck and breathe the forest air. This time next year, there wasn’t going to be a forest. There’d be fried tursnicken air. Maybe that thought would quell the desire that masturbating had done nothing to dispel.
Sullivan didn’t see Kia until Sullivan had taken a few steps into the kitchen. The kitchen was dark except for a single pendant light. Kia sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island, her arms folded next to her laptop, on which showed her U-Spin account and a browser open to RV accessories, her head pillowed on her arms. She leaned precariously, obviously asleep. One startling dream and she’d slip off her stool.
“Kia?” Sullivan said softly.
Kia’s back rose and fell with her breath. She looked adorable with her cheek squished against her arm and her scarf unraveling from her hair. Sullivan crossed the room. She couldn’t just wake Kia with a loudHey, there. But she also couldn’t leave her teetering on the stool.
“Kia?” Sullivan placed a gentle hand on Kia’s shoulder.
Kia woke up like she’d been caught sleeping on the job. Shelisted to one side as though she’d forgotten where she was and expected the back of a chair to steady her. She grabbed at the counter to stop her fall, then slipped off the stool, heading for a backward tumble. Sullivan caught her and held her.
“What… I…” Kia mumbled.
“You fell asleep.”
Kia slumped against Sullivan, her head resting on Sullivan’s shoulder.
“What time is it?”
“Almost three.”
“Fuck. I have to be up by five.”
Sullivan held her, gently stroking her back, trying not to notice Kia’s paper-thin T-shirt, the clasp of her bra easy to feel through the fabric. Sullivan didn’t let her hand drift over the band. She shouldn’t be stroking Kia’s back at all. Kia looped her arms around Sullivan’s waist. It felt as natural as breathing and as miraculous as a bird landing on her hand.
“When was the last time you slept all night?”
“Before I won the American Fare.” Kia rubbed her eyes without stepping out of Sullivan’s embrace. “Nothing feels like a win. There’s no end when you’re an influencer. If you’re losing followers, you need to get them back. If you’re getting traction, you have to getmoretraction. I guess it’s like every job. You go to work on Monday, and then you go again on Tuesday.”
“And at a regular job you have days off, and you leave at the end of the night.”
Kia should be in bed, rolled on her side with Sullivan’s arm around her. The thought suffused Sullivan’s body before she could push it away: Kia sleeping naked, her head on Sullivan’s pillow. When Kia finally went to bed—if she went to bed—did she long for someone’s arms around her the way Sullivan’s body yearnedfor that comfort? Yearned for it even more than she yearned for sex, although the tension between her legs reminded her that she was holding a beautiful woman. Not justawoman. Kia. Sullivan tightened her thighs as though that had ever dispelled desire.
“And you should go to bed,” Sullivan said.
Kia pulled away and looked at Sullivan, more alert than she’d been a minute ago.
“I will. I just really want to write back to some of my fans. The Love Tunnel is trending. The picture you took.” Kia slumped with an amused sigh. “That’s the gayest I’ve been online, and a lot of kids are coming out to me. One more hour. Then I’ll go to bed.”
Sullivan glanced at the clock on the fridge screen. Two fifty-nine. Kia wouldn’t go to bed at all if she stuck to her five a.m. wake-up. Sullivan felt a wave of tenderness so intense it felt like a physical ache.
“Come and crash out on the sofa for a few minutes,” Sullivan said. “You’re not answering fans if you’re sleeping in the kitchen. You might as well be comfortable.” Without waiting for an answer, Sullivan put a hand on Kia’s elbow to guide her to the sofa.
“I never had a sofa this big,” Kia said as she lay down. “Not a sofa you could stretch out on or cuddle with someone. When I tried to cuddle with Gretchen on her sofa, she said I didn’t know how.”
Kia was lying on her back, looking up at Sullivan, her eyes sleepy and bright at the same time.
“She shouldn’t have said that,” Sullivan said. “She could have showed you.”
