Page 29 of Loving Lauren
Lauren’s thumb brushed Sierra’s wrist. “Can I kiss you now?”
Sierra nodded, breath catching. “I was hoping you would.”
It started slow, lips grazing like a question. Then deepened, slow and certain. Hands explored the curves of arms, ribs, waist. Soft laughter when they bumped noses. Lauren tugged at Sierra’s shirt. “Can I take this off?”
“Only if I can take off yours.”
Their clothes fell away in pieces, not hurried, revealed like secrets. They stood in nothing but underwear, eyes meeting between every motion. A pause. Then they climbed under the covers together.
There was no choreography. Just instinct. Sierra’s hand traced the line of Lauren’s back. Lauren’s fingers combed through Sierra’s hair. A kiss on her jaw. Another, lower. Their limbs tangled and re-tangled as they learned each other’s warmth by heart.
Sierra kissed the slope of Lauren’s shoulder. “You make me feel like home.”
Lauren blinked; tears threatening. “You make me feel whole.”
They held each other, skin to skin, hearts stuttering in sync. No rush. No expectation. Just presence. Reverence.
Eventually, Lauren whispered into Sierra’s neck, “This scares me.”
Sierra held Lauren tighter. “Me, too.”
They stayed like that for a long time, tangled in cotton sheets and something sacred.
And when Lauren finally drifted, wrapped in Sierra’s arms, Sierra kissed their temple and whispered, “Stay with me.”
Lauren didn’t open their eyes. They didn’t have to. “Always.”
Chapter 16
The weeks that followed melted together like honey on warm toast. Those perfect stretches of time that embed themselves in your bones, all golden light, and quiet contentment. Sierra and Lauren had crossed an invisible threshold. This wasn’t just dating anymore; they were constructing something deliberate, something that felt like home.
Their days started with drowsy voice messages exchanged before either was fully conscious. Sierra would whisper updates about Salem’s latest plant massacre, her voice thick with sleep, while Lauren’s morning greetings came wrapped in that scratchy, just-rolled-out-of-bed rasp that made Sierra’s chest tighten in the best possible way.
Work pulled them in different directions. Sierra stayed buried in photo edits and shoot preparations, Lauren was bouncing between content creation sessions, makeup appointments, and brand collaborations. But somehow, no matter how the day fractured their attention, they always gravitated back toward each other. Sometimes it meant stolen lunch hours on parkbenches, sharing greasy fries while trading Salem photos like precious currency. Other evenings found Sierra appearing at Lauren’s door after marathon shoots, collapsing onto their couch while Lauren worked magic on her aching feet and they half-watched horror movies they could recite by heart.
Lauren had woven Sierra into their online world with increasing boldness, though always with the careful consideration of someone handling something precious: a shared latte, Sierra caught adjusting her camera in the soft amber wash of evening light, Salem mid-swipe at a feather toy — all of it documented with the reverence usually reserved for museum pieces. Lauren’s captions carried their signature blend of tenderness and humor, and even though Sierra had enthusiastically consented to every post, seeing their private moments broadcast to thousands still sent butterflies rioting through her stomach.
Movie nights with the Inner Circle maintained their sacred weekly rhythm. Themes rotated democratically: chaotic musicals one week, nostalgic teen comedies the next. Sierra always ended up pressed against Lauren’s side, their legs tangled comfortably, shoulders brushing with every laugh. The night Lauren accidentally launched popcorn across Sierra’s lap and spent several unapologetic minutes brushing away imaginary kernels from her thighs; the tension had become so palpable that Calliope launched into a theatrical chant of “Just kiss already!” until Jett silenced her with a well-aimed throw pillow.
Then came that Friday evening that would later feel like a turning point. Lauren captured Sierra barefoot in the grass during an impromptu photo session in the park, as if she were made of pure starlight. Lauren knew right then that would shift everything.
The photo appeared on their story that night: the two of them pressed cheek-to-cheek, grins splitting their faces, late sunlightwrapped around them like a benediction. Sierra’s hand rested over Lauren’s heart, her fingers splayed across their chest. The caption was beautifully simple:
@laurenluminary ???Found the one. No filter needed.
They tagged Sierra, and the response was immediate — an avalanche of hearts, flame emojis, excited “finally!”, and messages of support that made Sierra’s phone buzz constantly for hours. She’d given her blessing for the post, had even helped Lauren choose which photo to use. But seeing this declaration of love, permanent and public, felt monumentally significant.
That weekend, Sierra sprawled across her living room floor in post-yoga bliss, Salem draped beside her like a furry shadow, while Thalia’s voice filled the space through her phone speaker.
“You looked absolutely radiant in that picture.” Thalia’s warmth was clear even through the digital connection. “And that caption? Lauren is making a statement. How are you processing all this?”
Sierra exhaled slowly, watching dust dance in the afternoon light. “I love it, honestly. It makes me feel cherished, and I know how thoughtful Lauren is about what they share publicly. But it makes everything feel......officially real, you know? Like we’ve crossed into territory we can’t uncross.”
“Are you thinking about telling Mom and Dad?” The question hung in the air like smoke. Sierra could practically see her father’s expression, could predict the careful way he’d choose his words while his discomfort radiated outward like heat from a furnace. Salem stretched, batting lazily at Sierra’s ankle.
“I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “Part of me knows I should. It feels dishonest not to, but I’m not equipped to handle whatever reaction they’ve got chambered and ready to fire.”
“That’s fair, but you know I’m in your corner, always. Whatever you need.”
