Kirika is the perfect weapon: silent, deadly, implacable. Mireille hates being at a disadvantage in any circumstances, but she has been forced to admit that Kirika is in a league of her own, and utterly terrifying. Mireille's gun is on the nightstand, and there is a knife tucked beneath the mattress; Kirika's hands and legs would be enough to end Mireille's life in an instant--but Mireille is the only friend Kirika has, and Mireille's fingers are twisting inside Kirika, making her arch and shudder.
Beneath Mireille's mouth, Kirika's pulse beats rapidly. Her skin is hot, and damp, and Mireille intends to leave her own mark on Kirika. She drags her teeth across the sensitive skin over Kirika's pulse, and murmurs appreciatively when Kirika's body goes taut, fingers curling tight around Mireille's shoulders.
Kirika's eyes are wide: stunned, and needy, and still far too dark. Her teeth threaten to split open her lower lip. Mireille thinks about kissing her, and works her fingers into Kirika instead--deeper, harder, and Kirika's mouth falls open. She pants heavily, wordlessly, and her eyes find Mireille's. Mireille has stared down death before--she will not look away now.
Kirika breaks. "Mireille."
Mireille lowers her head to the curve of Kirika's shoulder, and does not answer.
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