CHAPTER 11 – THE WEEKEND CLOSES
The gentle morning drifted into the afternoon and Mira opened a bottle of wine before they padded barefoot out onto her balcony. The afternoon light poured over it, catching in the leaves and the soft linen drapes that billowed gently at the doorway. The city spread beyond, hushed by distance. It all served to make the space feel almost like another world.
Harper blinked as she stepped outside, momentarily stilled by the sight and the smells that greeted her. Trailing vines curved along the matte black railing, woven with gentleness through a minimalist trellis. Tiny blossoms swayed on their stems: jasmine, mint, and something deeper, maybe thyme or bergamot, caught on the breeze. In the corner, a raised stone planter overflowed with herbs, their leaves lush and just slightly tousled from Mira having trimmed them recently.
Harper could picture her easily: barefoot, in a soft black slip, pressing her fingers into the soil with care. She probably spoke to the plants, too—in Arabic.
“Mira, this is so lovely.”
Mira smiled, genuinely pleased that Harper liked her little patch of green. She hummed and drew Harper back to herself, and they curled up on the broad chaise. Their limbs tangling without thought.
Mira had brought a volume of French poetry with her, and read it aloud to Harper in a low, melodic voice. Harper couldn’t understand it, but she thought she could guess at the emotion of it creeping through Mira’s voice.
At one point, she found herself responding to a verse by nuzzling into Mira’s chest, breathing deeply, and kissing her collarbone. She wanted so much, just to sink into her. “Whatever you just said,” Harper whispered, “that worked.”
Soon they were dozing together like that. Soft and sun-warmed, half-naked in each other’s arms, with the city stretching far and silent below them.
=====
Eventually, as evening drew near, Harper slipped back inside. She padded into the kitchen, pouring the rest of the wine, and pulling open the fridge, searching for something light for dinner—olives, bread, some soft cheese, and figs.
She worked without thinking, still barefoot, and still only wearing the short robe Mira had gotten for her. She was still overwhelmed at the idea that Mira knew so early on that she would be wearing it in her home one day.
She grinned and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and hummed under her breath. The elegant music that Mira had played through the system earlier, came to life again through Harper, and now it had jazz hands and midwestern vowels.
Mira came up behind her and slid both arms around her waist, and laughed softly, “You’re ridiculous.” Then she kissed her shoulder, and her neck, and Harper pressed back into her, causing Mira to tighten her grip.
It wasn’t too long before they were curled up again on the couch, their plates mostly untouched on the low table in front of them. Harper’s legs lay draped over Mira’s lap—just where Mira liked them to be—and her fingers drifted in slow, thoughtful sweeps over every inch of Harper’s thighs, teasing and exploring.
Harper sipped her wine and leaned her head back against the couch, sighing in contentment. “I might actually never move again.”
Mira smiled. “That would be inconvenient. But you’d look beautiful doing it.”
Harper peeked at her over the rim of her wine glass, eyes glinting.
“Careful, I’m very suggestible tonight, and only lightly clothed,” she murmured. “And you’re sitting there looking like a sin I’d gladly commit again.”
She reached for Mira’s hand, guiding it higher up her thigh, and nudging it gently inward. Her skin prickled beneath Mira’s fingers, and Harper knew that her warmth would be unmistakably evident.
Mira smiled and let her fingertips roam gently. “You’ve captivated me, Harper.”
She said it in her calm, controlled voice, like she’d been turning the words over all evening, testing their weight before releasing them.
Harper reached out, her fingers curling lazily into Mira’s hair. “Mmm. You’re really going to say that right now? Between cheese and thigh-stroking?”
Mira laughed, low and warm, a flush blooming high on her cheekbones.
“I’ve had time to think.” Mira’s eyes searched hers, the heat beneath her poise unmistakable. “You’ve consumed more of my thoughts than I’m ready to admit.”
Harper tilted her head, warmth spreading through her chest. “I don’t know how you expect me to respond to that,” she said, watching her hand get lost in Mira’s thick hair, “when you’ve already crowded out every other thought my poor little brain was managing.”
Mira smirked and Harper dropped her gaze, blushing brightly. “I’ve been thinking, too, Mira. About what this is, and what it means.”
Mira waited and Harper took a slow breath, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.
“I don’t even know if I’m into women, generally,” she said, brow furrowed. “Like, I’m not suddenly checking out every girl on the subway or joining some secret sapphic society.”
She glanced up, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
“I just… since you, I haven’t looked at, or considered anyone else. Not guys. Not girls. Not even my barista, who’s basically hot coffee in human form.”
She giggled and there was a small pause, and then, “It’s like all my settings have gotten rewritten. And now they only point to you.”
Harper’s whole face shifted suddenly then, like someone had just flicked the lights on inside her head.
“I guess that makes me a Mira-bian.”
Mira’s brow arched. “A what?”
Harper nodded solemnly, the corners of her mouth twitching. “A Mira-bian. A very rare and endearing species. Known for its deep emotional vulnerability, affinity for luxury apartments, and tendency to lose its mind over one, singular woman with exceptional bone structure and terrifying hands.”
Mira burst out laughing—a rich, rare sound that made her whole body shift and her eyes crease with pleasure.
“You are impossible,” she murmured.
The sound of Mira’s laugh never failed to turn Harper gooey. “I’m honest,” Harper countered. “And maybe a little wrecked.”
Mira’s fingers, still tracing high on Harper’s inner thigh, suddenly reached out with purpose and stroked Harper’s wet slit.
Harper gasped, her thighs spreading instantly, and her eyes locking onto Mira’s with desperate desire.
“Careful, ma douce tendre,” Mira murmured. As though she hadn’t just destroyed Harper with one move. “I’m known to be possessive.”
Then she leaned in, her breath warm against Harper’s skin, voice low enough to tremble.
“Et tu es à moi.”
Harper blinked and swallowed loudly, not sure what Mira had said, but loving how it sounded. She gathered herself as much as she could. “Good.” She breathed, hand gripping Mira’s hair a little tighter, “Be possessive.”
Mira’s expression was slow and molten. And Harper ached for her. She lifted her hips slightly, bringing her pussy back into contact with Mira’s long fingers.
“Mmm. Mira,” she murmured, voice thick with desire, “how are you going to fu—” she laughed, breath catching, “—claim me this time?”
Mira’s low laugh unfurled like smoke against her neck. “Oh, I am so going to fuck you, My Harper, because I have claimed you and will continue to do so.”
She kissed her then, slow and deep, letting Harper know the full weight of her intentions. And then she pulled back just enough to let the words slip between them.
“I’m going to take my time with you.”
Her hand slid beneath the edge of Harper’s robe. “I’m going to make you lie back,” Mira continued, “And let you feel me and kiss me, long and deep. I hope you understand, your mouth is mine now.”
Harper whimpered, fingers sliding free of her hair.
“And then,” Mira whispered, her lips grazing Harper’s jaw, “I’m going to taste every inch of you again. Slowly. Until you forget everything else.”
Harper’s body melted into her, her head falling back to offer more skin. “I want that. I want you, Mira,” she whispered. “More than anything.”
Mira kissed her neck, sucking on her skin and biting gently, causing Harper to moan in pleasure. And then she shifted them with quiet precision, guiding Harper to lie down along the length of the couch.
Harper yielded, breath shallow, hair spilling onto the throw blanket. Her robe had loosened, revealing flushed skin and soft curves, and her eyes grew hazy with lust and anticipation.
Mira hovered over her, long-limbed and utterly composed. She looked at Harper like she was something to behold. And then, Mira undid the robe’s tie all the way, slowly parting it like she was unwrapping a gift.
Her lips brushed Harper’s collarbone, then the soft firmness of her breast, before lingering to mouth the gentle curve beneath it. From there, she drifted lower, pressing a slow kiss to Harper’s navel.
Her hands traced every line as if memorizing her—her flat but soft tummy, her ribs and waist, and hips— until Harper lay bare again beneath her, trembling and breathing loudly.
Mira’s voice was low. “You are a masterpiece.”
Time seemed to slow as Harper lay stretched across the couch, breathless and open, her mouth parted, trying to remember to breathe.
Mira’s hands were magical on her, their bodies pressed close, and Mira’s mouth moved with tender authority. It was an adoring claim expressed slowly and confidently.
She kissed those places no one had ever taken their time with. Pausing only to murmur praise into her skin. She pressed long, anchoring kisses between her breasts, along her ribs, and at the soft arch of her hip.
Harper’s fingers drifted, too, with unhurried curiosity, tracing the length of Mira’s thigh before gliding higher. Her breath caught as her touch met warmth—an answering slickness that made her still.
She looked up, awed. “You’re so wet,” she whispered. She grimaced slightly at the clumsiness of her comment, but pressed forward. “Because of me?”
Mira’s eyes darkened, and her lips parted. And then, without a word, she rose to her feet, her body tall and graceful.
Harper, dazed and blinking, followed her every step with wide, reverent eyes.
Mira circled to the head of the couch, where Harper’s chaotic hair spilled across the cushions, and looked down at her. She moved forward, then, placing one long, bare thigh on either side of Harper’s face, and hovered over her, letting Harper see fully the affect she had on her.
There was a holy silence. Only Harper’s heavy breathing interrupted it. Her lips parted with awe.
Between Mira’s thighs, her wet center was a beauty to behold, and Harper was undone with want. Mira’s soft, delicate folds were swollen and glistening in anticipation. The evidence of Harper’s effect on her had begun to spill down her legs. The sight of it struck Harper breathless. She wanted to disappear into her and drink deeply. That she could do this to Mira left her aching with wonder.
“Yes,” she whispered, trembling as she gazed upward. “God, Mira, yes. Please.”
Mira grinned wickedly as she lowered herself with aching control. The petals of her outer lips were slick and parted and begging to be devoured. The inner ones, a deeper shade, were wet with dew.
There was no rush or hesitation for Mira. She was simply a queen assuming her throne. And as she did, one hand reached down behind her, fingers threading gently into Harper’s hair, while the other slid forward and across Harper’s chest, curving around the soft weight of one of her breasts. Her thumb was grazing the nipple, slowly and deliberately.
Her voice, when it came, was low and thick. “Yes, it’s all because of you, ma tendre. And, I want you to make me even wetter.”
Harper moaned beneath her, hands sliding up to the full curve of Mira’s bum, gripping there, and spreading her open. The shift brought Mira’s hidden rose fully into view, and Harper moaned with lust.
She took her time, licking slowly up the insides of Mira’s thighs, gathering what had already spilled. Above her, Mira’s body answered—a hitch of breath, a soft whine. The faintest tightening, then release of her muscles beneath smooth skin.
Harper drew her down inch by inch, and slowly Mira’s weight settled fully, and then, with each exhale, settled again.
Mira was sitting heavily on Harper’s face now. Her heat pressed down; her wet warmth was everywhere. And Harper held her there, savoring it all. Feeling Mira melt into her mouth a little more with each breath. Her mouth worked slowly with a sweet, desperate need. Nothing else existed but the weight of Mira above her and the need to keep her exactly where she was.
They stayed like that, Mira seated in Harper’s devotion, Harper drinking from her, and candlelight flickering all around them.
Harper parted Mira’s folds effortlessly with her tongue, and Mira responded by rolling her hips down onto it, releasing her sticky-sweet nectar to coat Harper’s lips, chin, and tongue. Mira moaned, deep and low, fingernails digging into Harper’s breast as her pleasure crested.
When Mira opened her eyes and looked down. Harper’s light colored bush was nestled above smooth, swollen lips that were slick and opening. And as Mira absorbed the vision before her, Harper’s thighs parted, almost as an offering—as if her body already understood what Mira wanted, and yielded to her willingly. Mira smiled, slow and dangerous, and eased her weight off Harper’s mouth slightly as she leaned forward.
Harper’s panicked response was immediate. She whimpered, a soft, startled noise, and her grip on Mira’s hips tightened immediately, pulling her back down to her mouth, even as she raised her head to keep her mouth deep in Mira’s wet sex.
Mira’s breath caught at Harper’s reaction and she exhaled a quiet, amused breath before bending low, her voice dark. “You want me to stay right here, Ma pauvre Harper affamée?” she murmured.
Harper hummed, begging.
Mira moaned again at Harper’s eager mouth. “Then behave and open for me.” She said in breathy gasps.
Mira’s fingers slipped between Harper’s folds, gliding in slow, deliberate sweeps over her clit, tracing and teasing and learning.
Sounds were coming from deep within Harper’s chest, and her hips rose to greet Mira’s hand, her soft cries tumbling into Mira’s sex—each one a vibration Mira felt deep inside her.
When Harper was fully surrendered once again—Mira shifted a second time— lifting herself slightly, just enough to then lean down into the heat between Harper’s legs.
The scent hit her hard. Salty, heavy, and unmistakably Harper. It flooded Mira’s mouth and nose, thick and unfiltered. She groaned low in her throat at the taste, licking once, slow and deliberate, then again with an insistence she didn’t bother to soften.
There was no coming back from this for Mira. Not now. Not with Harper’s essence thick on her tongue and clinging to her lips. Her scent filled Mira’s breath with something brutally true. She would come to crave it. She already did.
Their rhythm changed from there. Becoming more feral and hungry. It was all breath and desire. Mouths were offered, and bodies answered. Fingers and tongues stroked and pressed in. The wet sound of sex threaded between their gasps and moans.
.Then, without warning, Mira’s whole body jolted and she groaned long and loud. Her whole body jolted, a deep shudder tore through her as her spine locked. One hand clamped onto the back of Harper’s leg. The other found Harper’s hand and locked there, fingers tight, holding fast like she might come apart otherwise.
“Don’t let go,” Mira gasped, forehead pressed hard to Harper’s mound. “Hold me. Reste avec moi.”
Harper stayed, holding and licking her gently through it. Eventually, Mira’s shaking eased, but she didn’t pull away. She opened her eyes and moved instead. Her hand slid down, slow and sure, one wet finger stroking Harper where she was still aching, while her tongue found Harper’s swollen clit and worked it urgently.
Harper broke with a sharp sound. Having Mira like this, having taken her fully, she was already past control. She pushed her mouth firmly into Mira’s slick labia, and her own climax tore through her, fast and unforgiving. Her hips lifted hard and her thighs closed around Mira’s head. A raw cry ripped out of her as everything gave way at once.
Mira took it. All of it. She stayed exactly where she was, drinking deeply, and feeling Harper’s orgasm pulse through her mouth and settle deep inside her. God, her taste.
The world took its time coming back after that. When Mira finally moved, she did it slowly, lowering herself along Harper’s body until they fit together without thinking about it. Harper folded into her, spent and open. Sweat-slick skin pressed close, legs tangled, breath still uneven as they lay there, holding onto each other because neither of them was ready to let go yet.
The candlelight painted them gold. Their sweat mingled, and their mouths found each other’s skin, cheeks, and lips and shoulders.
They lay there like that. Entwined, and spent. Two women who had given each other something true. Something that no one else would ever name. Something they alone knew the shape of.
=====
Eventually, Mira stirred, an elegant unfurling of her spine, as she pulled back and stood. Entirely nude and glorious.
Harper could only stare at her, dazed with affection and awe, her face still shining and flushed.
Mira looked down at her and raised an eyebrow with dry amusement, and then held out a hand. “Come.”
Harper sighed and rose on unsteady legs and took it. They walked together down the hallway—a goddess and her devotee, both sated and glowing. Mira led them back into her bathroom, opened a drawer, and pulled out a soft-bristled toothbrush, brand new, still in its packaging, and handed it to Harper without a word.
Harper unwrapped it and smirked, brushing her teeth beside Mira at the double vanity, watching her in the reflection of the twin vintage brass mirrors.
“Did you get this when you got my robe, too? Knowing you’d have me here.”
Mira gave her a look, and a coy shrug of her shoulder, and Harper laughed.
For a moment, they were just two women winding down from a regular Sunday night—except both of them were naked, and Harper couldn’t stop staring at Mira in the mirror.
Mira caught Harper staring, mouth full of foam. Harper froze—then lifted her brows in exaggerated innocence before promptly pulling a cross-eyed face, and committing to it with zero dignity.
Mira’s giggle bubbled out, so rare and bright that Harper felt it in her knees.
“I’m sorry,” Harper said thickly, toothbrush still in her mouth. “Is this just your default bedtime look, or are you actively trying to sabotage my ability to perform basic tasks like brushing my teeth?”
Mira hummed and winked at her. She’d been smiling and laughing more lately—soft, unguarded laughter that kept surprising her in moments like this. It came more easily now, and more often, and she was keenly aware that Harper’s nearness had something— everything—to do with it.
They rinsed, spat, and dried their mouths, and Harper turned off the bathroom light.
Mira turned toward the bedroom, hips swaying with unintentional cruelty, and Harper, helpless to herself, delivered a swift, playful smack to her perfect bum.
Mira gasped, a short, utterly feminine squeak of surprise. She turned, eyes wide, lips parted.
Harper immediately melted. “Oh my God, that squeak! I’m going to hear it in my dreams.”
Mira laughed again as she climbed into bed. “There might be consequences for that, mon grain de folie.”
She pulled Harper in after her, turning her gently and wordlessly onto her side, and folded herself around her. Mira’s naked body was so warm and long, and the way she tucked herself behind Harper—one arm across her belly, the other stroking her hair—made something behind Harper’s ribs ache with comfort. That’s how Mira would have them sleep from now on, naked and tangled together.
Mira kissed the curve of Harper’s shoulder, then spoke softly in the hush of the dark. “I have to be in the office early in the morning, ḥabibti.”
Harper’s heart sank.
Mira continued, aware of Harper’s reaction, “Allen will take me. You may stay here as long as you wish. I’ll tell him to return and be ready to take you wherever you want to go, whenever you decide to.”
Harper twisted in her arms to face her, blinking. “Mira, that’s ok. I’m fine with the sub—”
“No,” Mira interrupted gently, a quiet command beneath her calm. “You’re not taking the subway.”
Harper blinked, lips parting. “But it’s too—”
Mira silenced her with a kiss, brief and amused, but firm. “This isn’t something we’re arguing about.”
Harper gave a soft, breathy laugh and let herself sink back into Mira’s arms. “Yes, Mira.” She said, as the sensation of being cared for and protected by a woman like Mira Laurent nearly overwhelmed her.
“When can I see you again?” Harper whispered.
Mira smiled against her shoulder, and breathed her in.
“Mmmm. We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry, My Harper, I’m not going to let you forget me.”
She tightened her arms slightly. “Now sleep.”
And for the first time in a long time, Harper let herself drift into the kind of sleep you only fall into when someone strong is holding you close.
CHAPTER 12 – SOMETHING INSIDE ME JUST ASCENDED AND WINKED
The sound came soft and persistent— the hum and buzz of her phone vibrating across the bedside table.
Harper groaned, barely opening one eye. The bed beside her was empty. Mira was gone, but her perfume haunted the sheets. That impossibly rich blend of oud and something deeper.
She reached for her phone and squinted at the screen:
Jules – Incoming Call
Harper rubbed a hand over her face, cleared her throat, and answered.
“Hey,” she said, voice still thick with sleep.
“You’re alive,” Jules replied, suspiciously calm. “I was starting to think I’d have to swing by with coffee and a defibrillator.”
“I’m up,” Harper said, stretching long beneath Mira’s dark linen sheets. Her muscles ached in all the right places. She sank into it, smiling to herself. “Sort of.”
Jules paused. “So, a weekend with Mira? Will I see you today?”
“I’ll be in soon.”
“You sound different. Like you slept in a five-star cloud and maybe had sex until your soul left your body.”
Harper laughed, cheeks flushing. “I’ll see you at the office, kay?”
“I want everything.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harper said, grinning as she hung up.
She exhaled and rolled onto her back, her body humming with memory. Her thighs were still sore, and her lips still burned faintly, as if her mouth remembered the shape of Mira’s.
She pressed her phone to her chest for a moment before looking at it again.
One unread message.
Mira Laurent:
Good morning, ḥabībtī aṣ-ṣaghīrah.
You looked like sunlight sleeping in. I didn’t want to leave you.
I’ll be thinking about you all day.
Allen is at your disposal.
Beneath the message, Mira had attached a contact card – Allen’s full name and number.
Harper bit her lip. The giddiness bloomed warm and wide in her chest.
She typed back quickly:
You’re going to get me fired. I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.
Also, still recovering. Still aching. Still yours.
Thanks for Allen.
She set the phone down and lay still for a moment.
It was hard to explain this feeling. Not just the lingering pleasure or the heat of Mira’s touch, but something bigger. Something quiet and vast. Like she was still being held by her, even with distance between them.
She sighed, smiling to herself, and finally rolled out of bed.
=====
Allen, impeccably polite as always, was waiting at the lobby entrance in the sleek black car—engine purring quietly, sunglasses on, posture straight. The moment he spotted her, he stepped out with quiet efficiency and opened the rear door with a slight bow of his head.
“Miss Quinn.”
Harper grinned as she approached. “Allen. You don’t have to call me that, you know. It’s just Harper, please.”
He didn’t quite smile, but there was a flicker at the corner of his mouth—the closest she’d seen to amusement. “It’s what Miss Laurent prefers.”
Harper muttered as she slid into the back seat, “And she always gets what she wants, doesn’t she?”
“I’ve not seen her fail yet.”
The door clicked shut behind her, and they pulled smoothly away from the curb.
Allen drove with the same precise calm she remembered from their previous trips—taking her home after their first date, and then just the other day, driving them to and from the beach. He was an important part of Mira’s world. And now, somehow, part of hers too.
She cleared her throat, a sly curiosity getting the better of her. “So… how much do you know, Allen?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“I mean,” she continued, grinning mischievously at him in the rearview, “do you just drive her? Or do you, like… know things?”
“I know a great many things,” he said mildly, half amused by her cheek. “But I also know how to keep them to myself.” The sparkle in his eyes as he returned her look in the mirror, softening his reply.
It earned him a bright giggle. “Good answer.”
They turned onto the bridge, sun flashing off the water below.
A couple of minutes passed in companionable silence before Allen added, “She’s been different, you know. Since meeting you.”
Harper blinked, her heart rate spiking. “Different? How’s that?” She tried to sound casual. She knew she failed spectacularly.
“Lighter. Easier in some way. Like something’s finally loosened in her. Like she’s not bracing anymore.”
Harper turned to the window, watching the city blur past. Her chest ached and she chewed on her lip. Her hand coming up to brush her neck.
Allen continued, voice even, “She doesn’t invite many people in. And almost no one into her car.”
“Well,” Harper said softly, “I guess I should feel pretty special.”
“I think you definitely should.” He concluded with a gentle smile.
They fell quiet again, the rhythm of the ride folding around them— past the Williamsburg Bridge, and through the soft morning hush of Brooklyn. Even the city seemed to pause for her, like time had softened just enough to let her catch her breath.
When they finally reached her building, Allen eased the car to a smooth stop.
Harper shifted forward but didn’t open the door just yet. “Thank you, Allen. I like knowing she has you. And Camille. As she faces… all that she does.”
He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s my pleasure.”
Then, after a small pause, he added lightly, but not without weight, “And if I may, I’m glad she has you, now, too.”
Her throat caught. She swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That means a lot.”
As she stepped out, she turned once more. “I think I’ll ride to work from here and get some air. So don’t worry if you don’t hear from me.”
He gave a subtle nod. “Have a good ride, Miss Quinn.”
She watched as he pulled away, the dark vehicle disappearing down the block.
=====
Harper’s loft was warm and familiar. But it also felt quieter. Almost like it was incomplete, now. Or maybe that’s what absence felt like—the shape of Mira not being there.
She showered slowly, tilting her face into the steam, letting the hot water ease her thighs and wash Mira’s perfume from her skin. Not because she wanted to—God, no— but, just to give her a chance at functioning like a human being again, and not some smitten shrine to Mira Laurent.
She pulled on short denim shorts that showed off her legs—legs she’d always liked, sure— but Mira’s admiration had turned them into something she suddenly felt like displaying.
She matched it with a loose button-up—leaving a few undone both at the collar and at the bottom—it fell open just enough to feel like a secret. Then she slipped on her battered pair of white Converse. She looked herself over in the mirror and grinned.
“Okay,” she muttered. “You don’t look entirely like you were ravished all weekend. Just… mostly. Like, eighty-five percent.”
Then, with helmet, bags, and bike in possession, she wheeled out into the bright Brooklyn morning.
The ride through Dumbo gleamed in late-summer light. The sun slid across brick facades and cobblestones, and the breeze curled through her hair.
The air smelled like roasted coffee, saltwater, and just a trace of diesel from a passing truck—you know, romance.
Every bump in the street made her wince, which felt like a private joke between her body and Mira.
And yet— it wasn’t just the sex— though that had measurably altered something inside her forever.
It wasn’t even Mira’s ridiculous beauty. It was the way Mira looked at her, and held her so possessively. It was the way she whispered to her in French and Arabic like Harper was something rare. She didn’t understand the words yet, but she would. She’d ask Mira to teach her the important ones first—the words Mira used when she made Harper feel like she belonged to her.
She loved being treated with that gentle ownership. And Harper was letting her. Harper was choosing it. Wanting it.
There was a pull now, steady like the tide. Whatever she felt for Mira, it was deeper than lust, and she felt it drawing her in, breath by breath.
She didn’t have the right words for it. Not yet. But she knew this: all she wanted was to kneel at Mira’s feet again, like she had in the shower yesterday. God, that has felt so good and right. Did that make her weird?
She was so caught up in the thought, she almost rode straight into a lamp post.
“Shit. Focus,” she hissed to herself, cheeks flaming.
She coasted to a stop outside her usual café, securing her bicycle with a quick, practiced motion, and then re-emerged minutes later with two cardboard trays to place in her front basket. It was enough caffeine to launch a small satellite, or keep the Nudge Engine team upright—through a Monday, at least.
By the time she reached the office, the truth had settled deep into her chest: she wasn’t just happy. She was marked—branded, even—and her heart was humming with it.
=====
The elevator doors dinged open, and Harper stepped inside the Nudge Engine office balancing the trays of coffee. She took a quick breath, bracing herself for Jules’ inevitable interrogation.
Inside, the space was a blend of exposed brick, scattered prototypes, and the faint scent of cold brew.
Jules was stationed near the whiteboard, when she turned, took one look at Harper and arched a brow, the gesture as sharp as a smirk.
“Are you okay?” Jules asked, grinning like she already knew the answer.
“Because you look like someone just rearranged your soul and left bite marks on your sanity.”
Two or three of the early birds glanced up from their laptops.
Harper crossed the room, handing Jules her coffee with exaggerated ceremony. “Good morning to you, too.”
“You’re glowing.”
She set the rest of the coffees on the communal table, and the others drifted over, murmuring thanks and collecting their orders.
“I have sunscreen on,” Harper replied, deadpan.
“You’re levitating.”
Harper blinked. “That… might not be entirely inaccurate.”
Jules stepped closer, lowering her voice but not her intensity. “You’re not slinking out of this one. Start from the beginning. I want locations, timestamps, and hydration breaks.”
Harper took a slow sip of her coffee, her grin tilting somewhere between sheepish and triumphant. “Oh, sweetie. I could draw you a map.”
Her voice had that just-barely-hoarse quality, and her lips still held the faint pink of having been kissed raw. Every single moment from the weekend was seared into her.
“Good, start with—” Jules caught herself and motioned toward one of the desks. “Wait. Not in front of Henry.”
Henry, the team’s resident data scientist, currently wearing a Star Wars hoodie that read May the Data Be With You, looked up from his triple-monitor setup, a pencil tucked behind his ear like an old-school detective. His expression was somewhere between earnest confusion and the vague concern of someone realizing he’d missed several conversational steps.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Um… should I be running a query on something?”
“No, Henry,” Jules sighed, already steering Harper toward her office. “Just keep doing… whatever that is.”
“It’s a Bayesian analysis,” Henry called after them. “And it’s beautiful!”
Jules didn’t break stride. “Exactly. You and your equations are the only virgins left in this building.”
=====
In Midtown Manhattan, the city shimmered— glass towers catching the golden wash of a late summer morning.
From her office, high up in the Calridge building, Mira Laurent observed it all in silence: an empire of steel and motion.
Her office was quiet and curated. The desk gleamed, perfectly ordered, every paper aligned, every cable hidden. A single matte ceramic vase held a spray of eucalyptus and an olive branch. Somewhere nearby, a cello suite murmured, low and steady, just enough to be heard faintly.
Mira sat behind the desk, spine long, one leg crossed over the other beneath the tailored fall of her pencil skirt. Her right heel rested lightly against the floor, angled with elegant carelessness.
The navy silk blouse she wore clung in deliberate ways, her sleeves cuffed neatly, and her collar parted just enough to reveal the layered necklaces resting against her collarbone.
A red pen twirled slowly through her fingers, rhythmic and precise—though the pages before her remained untouched.
Outwardly, nothing had shifted.
But Harper Quinn lingered inside her. Her scent, and the memory of her chaotic giggle threaded through her being.
The phone beside her lit up, its glow soft against the brushed brass surface, and Mira’s whole world paused.
Harper:
…Still aching. Still yours.
Mira’s lips parted. The breath she took was slow and unguarded, and when it left her, it carried a quiet, involuntary laugh. She closed her eyes for just a heartbeat, letting the weight of her emotions land.
She didn’t have more than that, though. The sound of a single heel tap cut the moment short.
“You’re laughing at your phone,” Camille observed dryly from just inside the room. “Mon dieu. Am I to assume the world is ending, or have you regressed into a teenager in love?”
Mira didn’t look up. She signed the top sheet. Camille slid forward, tapped the pen just once, and passed it back.
“Not in love,” she said. “Just… content.”
Camille’s brow arched so high it could have been weaponized. “Ya latīf.” Good grief.
She paused, then added, “Should I call an ambulance?”
That earned her a small, but unmistakable smile.
Camille turned toward the window, tablet in hand, all cool, sharp angles.
“It was unnerving,” she went on, flicking open the day’s schedule. “Not hearing from you yesterday. I nearly filed a missing persons report.”
“I texted,” Mira said smoothly.
“Three words, and no punctuation. I almost called Interpol.”
“You’re dramatic this morning.”
“And you’re unusually soft,” Camille countered. She breathed in through her nose, “I don’t like it. It makes me nervous.”
Mira leaned back, adjusting her cuff. “You must at least be happy to see me back at my desk, properly constrained.”
“Not yet,” Camille said without looking up. “That post-coital aura you’ve brought with you? It’s obnoxious.”
A knock at the door brought their volley to an abrupt close. It opened to reveal a tall man with a calm, deliberate bearing.
“Apologies. Am I interrupting?” His tone suggested he’d heard enough to be amused, but was far too discreet to show it.
“Dominic,” Mira greeted her colleague. “Of course not. Come in.”
Dominic stepped forward, unhurried. His suit was deep charcoal and immaculately cut. It spoke of old tailoring houses and quiet money rather than trend or display. Everything about him suggested discernment.
He was a few years older than Mira, early forties perhaps, a touch of silver at his temples that sharpened rather than softened the impact of his calm blue eyes. He carried the kind of authority that came from long boardroom tables and decisions made without needing to raise his voice. Here, though, he came to her.
He was the head of a long-standing partner firm in London, temporarily stationed in New York. He was as sharp as glass, efficient, and, refreshingly light on ego. Ordinarily, he would have registered immediately. The kind of man Mira would have clocked without effort. Not pursued, perhaps, but certainly noticed.
And, indeed, she did notice him, but In a precise, clinical sort of way. She took in the line of his suit, the steadiness of his gaze, the ease with which he occupied space. She assessed him the way she assessed a well-designed room.
But nothing in her shifted. There was no further pull or heat. The part of her that once might have leaned in, and might have entertained the possibility, remained utterly still.
Mira realized this with a flicker of quiet certainty, that whatever appetite she had once held for men like Dominic, it had been eclipsed. Mira now had only a single point of focus.
Her Harper.
She felt it then—a calm, sensual knowing. Dominic was impressive. But he was irrelevant. And Mira, found, to her surprise, that she was utterly unbothered by the truth of it.
What had Harper called herself? A Mira-bian? Well, perhaps she was the equivalent for Harper. She’d have to ask Harper what ridiculous—and utterly endearing term—she might have for her.
“I was hoping you might have fifteen minutes later today,” Dominic said. “Nothing urgent. Just a few strategic questions I’d rather not commit to email.”
Mira glanced at Camille.
“You’ll be free at 3:45,” Camille replied instantly, “assuming your next client call ends on time.”
“Perfect,” Mira said with a single elegant nod. “I’ll see you then.”
Dominic returned the nod with a faint smile. “Looking forward to it.” And with that, he withdrew, the door closing softly behind him.
Camille didn’t look up from her tablet. “He’s clever.”
“He listens,” Mira said. “He pays attention. And he leaves his ego at the door.”
“You should poach him.”
“I already tried.”
Camille hummed. “Then we’ll try again.”
Mira’s gaze dropped to her tablet at last, though not before it flicked, almost involuntarily, toward the phone beside her.
“Schedule?” she prompted.
Camille resumed without missing a beat. “Stacked. Morning prep with Legal, then the Vancouver client at ten—she’s in a mood—bring your shield. After lunch, that partnership negotiation with Ainsworth, then Dominic at 3:45. Four-thirty’s a debrief with the APAC team, and I’ve locked in thirty minutes for you to review the London proposal before you head to the gala dinner tonight.”
Mira inclined her head, dry. “So… gentle.”
Camille muttered something in French that Mira pretended not to hear before turning toward the door.
=====
Jules practically yanked Harper into her office, one hand on the small of her back, the other clutching her coffee like it was essential to her survival.
She stopped just inside the door, scanning Harper with a narrow-eyed squint.
“Okay,” Jules said, eyeing her suspiciously. “Please tell me that smug, freshly-fucked face is permanent.”
Harper blinked innocently… “This is just… my face-face.”
She waited a breath before grimacing and resigning herself to her fate.
“Okay, fine. It’s my freshly-fucked face. And I’m hoping she’ll make it, you know, kind of a regular feature.”
Jules froze mid-sip. “Oh my God, yes. You did it.”
“Fuck, yes, I did.” Harper’s slight embarrassment faded away to delight.
Jules collapsed onto the little couch beside Harper’s desk with the giddy, predatory energy of a best friend about to cancel her whole morning for gossip. “From the beginning. And no self-deprecating jokes until after the first round of sex.”
Harper removed her glasses, as if she were about to address something crucial to global peace. But the mischievous sparkle in her eyes betrayed her.
“Well… it started with the dress. She told me to wear something short. Something leggy.”
Jules made a sound like she’d just been shown a royal engagement ring. “Of course she did. That woman gives orders like she was born on a throne.”
Harper sighed at that, “Yeah,” she breathed, “She has this tone—this look that she gets—and then she has this “don’t-argue-with-me” voice, and I just go all soft and bendy.”
Jules went very still. “Oh.” She said, far too casually.
Harper froze. “Oh no,” she said faintly. “Okay. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
She buried her face in her hands. “I need to leave the country.” She said as she let out a helpless little laugh, eyes flicking to the ceiling like it might have advice.
Jules giggled and then she sighed.
“Oh, Jules, she bosses me around. She just… decides. And somehow I’m already agreeing.”
She exhaled again with a near vacant smile on her face. And then continued.
“We went to the coast. Barefoot on the beach. She brought this French picnic thing: lanterns, little dishes, wine. Who does that?”
Jules’ mouth fell open. She didn’t speak. She just listened in awe.
“We didn’t sleep together that night,” Harper went on.
Jules tilted her head in confusion.
“I mean, we slept together—in her bed. But she didn’t want to rush. She said she wanted to really know me first.”
Jules clutched her coffee like it was a baby animal. “I’m in love with her.”
“I know.”
“Okay, but did you?”
“The next morning.”
There was a thoughtful pause, and then Harper shrugged, “I guess she got to know me very quickly in my sleep.”
Jules’ jaw dropped.
Harper nodded sagely. “What can I say? I’m a multi-talented sleeper.”
“Oh, my God.”
“And then she sort of… rearranged my autonomy for the rest of the day,” Harper said.
Jules slapped a hand over her mouth. “Harper.”
“I know. I heard it. I’m begging you to understand that sounded normal in my head.”
Jules leaned in, moving on— for now. “So, sweetie, are we talking full gay awakening spiral, or just one extraordinarily powerful woman?”
Harper’s grin tilted, easing into something quieter. “I think I’m just in the Mira-verse. I can’t even picture anyone else.”
Jules looked at her for a beat, then smiled like she’d been waiting years for this. “You really are glowing, you know.”
“That’s just the sex.”
“No,” Jules said with another breath of laughter. She rested her chin in her hand. “You’ve been in love with your work for years. It’s about time you fell for a person.”
Harper smiled without meaning to, the kind that warms your whole face before you notice.
A few minutes later, she was mid-story again, and animated—halfway through telling Jules about the shower.
Not a shower. The shower.
“…so I’m standing there, hands on the wall, steam everywhere, and she’s holding me from behind—”
Two junior devs appeared in the doorway, mugs in hand, faces frozen like wildlife caught in high beams.
Harper didn’t notice. She leaned forward in her chair, her tone hushed. “—and then she just reached and—”
Jules’ eyes widened in slow horror. “Morning, team!” She said with the brittle brightness of a kindergarten teacher. “How’s integration?”
One of them blinked rapidly. “Uh… stable. Totally stable.”
The other nodded too fast. “Yep. We’ll, uh… update Slack.”
They began backing out like people leaving a crime scene. The door swung shut, and Harper frowned. “They seemed weird, huh?”
Jules turned to her, deadpan. “Harper.”
“What? You told me to tell you how good the sex was.”
Somewhere down the hallway, one of the devs dropped their mug.
Jules got up and shut the door hard. “That’s because I thought the door was closed. I wasn’t aiming to gift the entire backend team a live reenactment of your sex life. You know they’re all crushing on you.”
Harper shrugged. “They didn’t hear the ending. That’s arguably the best part.” She said, her eye glazing over with the memory of Mira’s climax.
Jules noticed and groaned. “Please don’t give them the ending.”
“Well, I’ll just say I went to the beach. Had some wine. And, you know, seven hours of… cardio.”
Jules buried her face in her coffee. “I hope Mira knows what she’s gotten herself into.”
“Honestly, you’re the one who wanted to know,” Harper said, still sounding a little confused.
“I regret everything.”
“No, you don’t.”
A beat. “…Okay, I don’t.”
They laughed, and Harper finally turned to her computer, but her eyes drifted to her phone.
One new message.
Mira Laurent:
Ma tendre, have you eaten today?
You mentioned how you get lost in the flow so easily. I worry the hours have slipped past you again.
Harper bit her lip, smiling like a fool. Mira was looking after her.
She typed back:
Not yet. I’ve been too busy wishing you were whispering more Arabic or French in my ear.
A few seconds later:
Let me know when you’ve eaten.
I don’t want you light-headed when I finally decide what I’m going to do with you.
Harper collapsed into the desk, forehead thunking against the wood.
Jules peered over. “What now?”
“She’s going to ruin me.”
Jules smiled. “I hope so.”
=====
Harper had just gotten home from work and was standing barefoot in the middle of her loft, phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek as she tugged a hoodie over her head – then immediately yanked it back off again.
Wrong vibe.
She cursed under her breath and began pacing, her words already spilling out at full speed.
“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wait for you to text, or if calling was okay, or if there’s, like… a chic French rulebook you forgot to give me.”
She gave a crooked grin. “Something titled, ‘When and How to Contact Mira Laurent Without Offending the Gods.’”
Across the city, Mira leaned back in her leather desk chair, still at work, the skyline behind her glowing gold in the last light of early evening. The call was on speaker. Harper’s voice cut into the silence—fast, flustered, undeniably her.
Mira closed her eyes and smiled softly for a moment, relishing her chaos for a little longer. Then she interrupted, gently, but firmly:
“Stop.”
On the other end of the line, Harper cut off mid-sentence, like someone had pulled the power.
“—oh.”
The silence curled between them. Mira let it linger a beat longer, then murmured,
“You may call me whenever you need to, ya rūḥi. Day or night. If I can’t answer, I won’t. But I don’t want you to ever hesitate.”
She paused. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t call.”
On the other end, Harper exhaled, shaky, relieved, a little breathless.
“Right. Okay. I will. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a human car crash of anxiety, I just—“
“You’re perfect,” Mira said, her voice soft as dusk.
She heard Harper take a deep, flustered breath. “Well. That’s unfair.”
Mira laughed softly, and then let her voice drop just enough to reach beneath Harper’s skin.
“Come over tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll send Allen. Bring an overnight bag, too.”
There was a beat of stunned silence. Mira could almost hear her blushing.
“Still there?” she asked, amused.
All Harper could manage was a breathy “Mmhmm.”
Mira allowed her voice to deepen, giving way to something hungrier.
“I haven’t been able to focus all day,” she said. “And I know exactly what the cure is.”
Harper’s breath caught. “What’s that?” she asked, barely audible.
Mira glanced toward the door. Camille was gone. The glass caught the city’s glow, fractured and quiet.
“A leggy blonde,” she said slowly, “with thick, unruly waves, who makes me laugh.”
She paused.
“And moan.”
The sharp inhale from Harper’s end was audible.
Mira glanced at the time, then closed her eyes for a moment, savoring it.
“Allen will pick you up at seven, My Harper.”
She ended the call before Harper could respond and leaned back, a faint smile curling her lips—victorious.
