I laugh then. It's so unexpected that I freeze and then laugh again, raising my arms above my head for her to pull my shirt off and away. I'm not scared that losing my shirt leaves me practically naked. In any other situation, I'd say I feel vulnerable. Not with Allison. With Allison, I'm eager to feel as much of her skin against mine as I possibly can.

It's safe here. Safe to be vulnerable. Safe to want, selfishly. I don't have to be unerringly brave or unendingly selfless. Whoever Beatrice Prior becomes in the dark, when no one is looking, she's safe with Allison.

Feeling daring, I slide my hand further up under Allison's shirt, cupping a breast, wondering how she'll react and move. Wondering what it will do for the warm press of her leg that feels good but simply isn't enough.

"Are we going to...?"

And is it all right? I want it, but I don't want to be something we regret.