Chapter 30 - Breathless Confessions

Orm stands in her bedroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her outfit is impeccable, each detail carefully chosen to highlight exactly what she wants Lingling to see. She adjusts the collar of her top, brushes an invisible speck from her skirt, then steps back to admire the overall effect. A smug smile tugs at her lips.

"I look good," she murmurs to herself, adding a final swipe of lipstick. "Too good, on purpose." Tonight is about reminding Lingling what she signed up for—if Lingling is pulling away, Orm will pull her right back in. She checks her phone to see a message from Lingling—already downstairs and waiting. With a confident toss of her hair, Orm grabs her purse.

"Let's see how long she lasts before breaking," Orm mutters, locking the apartment door behind her.

Outside, Lingling stands by her car, arms loosely folded as she tries to stay composed. She has told herself all day that she is ready for whatever Orm has planned. She's braced for teasing, for Orm's usual playful banter, but the moment Orm steps out of the building, Lingling's composure vanishes.

Orm's outfit catches the glow of the city lights, reflecting in a way that seems calculated to drive Lingling to distraction. Orm walks toward her, each step an unapologetic display of confidence, and Lingling finds her grip tightening on the steering wheel. Her throat feels dry.

"You're staring, babe," Orm says, stopping by the passenger side door. There's a playful tilt to her words.

Lingling blinks once, then again. "You're trying to kill me," she finally manages to say.

Orm's grin widens. "Is it working?"

Lingling doesn't respond. She just unlocks the doors, letting Orm slip inside. As Orm settles into the passenger seat, Lingling exhales in a sharp rush. Tonight is going to be dangerous, and she knows it.

The restaurant they chose is all soft music and dim, romantic lighting—a perfect backdrop for tension so thick it almost crackles. Lingling sits down first, trying to appear calm, but her eyes dart around, her heart pounding at the thought of how this evening might go. She's been steeling herself all day, determined to handle whatever "surprise" Orm has in store.

When Orm finally arrives at the table, Lingling sets her menu down and looks up. It's not that Orm is doing anything outrageous. She's just leaning in slightly, her arm resting along the edge of the table, her chin on her hand as she gazes at Lingling with that slow, knowing smile. There's something about her pose—relaxed yet undeniably confident—that makes Lingling's composure slip.

Lingling exhales, laying her menu on the table. "Are you enjoying this?" she asks, her voice coming out sharper than intended.

Orm sips her wine with deliberate ease, lips curving into a smug smile. "Immensely," she answers, her tone carrying a mischievous edge.

Lingling narrows her eyes. "This is revenge, isn't it?"

Orm leans forward, letting the candlelight play across her features. "Revenge? No," she says in a soft, teasing voice. "Just a friendly reminder."

"A reminder of what?" Lingling challenges, gripping the base of her wine glass a little too tightly.

Orm's playful smirk only deepens, her gaze flicking to Lingling's hand on the glass. "Of what you signed up for," Orm says, voice low.

Lingling feels her stomach flip. She sets her jaw, refusing to let Orm see her reaction. "You always have to get the last word, don't you?" she mutters.

Orm just arches an eyebrow, her eyes glimmering with triumph. She doesn't respond—she doesn't have to. The challenge is clear: Orm is in control tonight, and Lingling can't deny the flicker of heat that rushes through her at the thought.

The waiter arrives with their food, each dish artfully plated and smelling divine. Lingling tries to focus on the meal, but Orm is making it impossible. She brushes her hair aside, baring the curve of her neck. She takes slow, deliberate sips of her drink. She makes sure to lock eyes every time she speaks, as though each word is an invitation to lose control. Lingling, normally so collected, feels every nerve ending sing with tension.

"You seem tense, babe," Orm remarks sweetly, cutting into her entrée with a casual flick of her knife. "Something wrong?"

Lingling just stares, lips pressed tight. She knows Orm is well aware of the effect she's having. "You know what's wrong," she finally says, her voice flat and laced with frustration.

Orm grins, all innocence and mischief. "Do I?" she purrs, batting her lashes once for good measure.

Lingling exhales again, more forcefully this time, setting her fork down before she snaps it in half. She hates how easily Orm can unsettle her. It's infuriating and... thrilling. "You're insufferable," Lingling mutters.

"Aw, you love it," Orm counters, taking another sip of her wine, looking perfectly at ease. Then, seeing the way Lingling's jaw is clenched, she softens her tone just a fraction. "Fine," she concedes, though not without a teasing lilt. "I'll behave."

Lingling highly doubts that, but she merely rolls her shoulders, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. Meanwhile, Orm returns her attention to the meal, but that smug little smile never leaves her lips. They exchange a few more words, mostly polite commentary about the food or the ambiance, yet underneath it all simmers an undeniable tension—one that Lingling isn't sure how much longer she can handle.

They leave the restaurant in near silence, though the tension is far from gone. Lingling leads the way to her car, her emotions a frazzled storm. She keeps replaying the dinner in her head—every sly remark, every coy look from Orm—and it's driving her crazy. She unlocks the doors, and they climb in: Orm in the passenger seat, Lingling behind the wheel.

The engine purrs to life, and Lingling merges onto the quiet streets. Her grip on the steering wheel is too tight, knuckles turning faintly white. Orm notices, of course, but keeps quiet for a few minutes, letting the tension ripen. Finally, Orm stretches, letting out a content sigh.

Orm shifts slightly, letting out a soft, almost triumphant sigh. Her voice, though light, carries a subtle challenge. "Tonight was fun."

Lingling keeps her eyes on the road. She doesn't answer, not trusting her voice to sound neutral.

Orm glances her way. "You're awfully quiet," she observes, an undercurrent of teasing in her tone.

"I'm trying to drive," Lingling replies flatly, though her jaw is clenched. She can feel Orm's gaze lingering, as if daring her to give in to the tension that's been simmering all evening.

Orm tilts her head, letting a sly smile cross her lips. "Am I distracting you?" she asks, voice dangerously soft.

Without another word, Lingling veers the car to the curb and parks. Hard. The abrupt stop jolts Orm, making her blink in confusion.

Before Orm can speak, Lingling turns to face her, gaze dark and unreadable. "Orm," she says in a calm but firm voice, gripping the steering wheel as though it's her last connection to sanity.

Orm's smirk only grows. "Yes, baby?"

Lingling leans in, so close that Orm can't help the sudden hitch in her breath. In that charged second, the space between them is filled with the unspoken tension of the entire evening.

"You win," Lingling says, her words low and measured, an admission of defeat—or maybe surrender. There is a flicker of something in Orm's expression, a small falter in her smugness that betrays her surprise.

A heartbeat later, Lingling unlocks the doors with a smooth press of a button. "Now get out before I change my mind," she mutters.

Orm stares at her for a moment, then breaks into soft laughter. She pushes the door open and slides out, the city's night air rushing in to fill the car's stifling atmosphere. Pausing for a second, she leans down, catching Lingling's eyes. "Actually..."

Lingling raises a single eyebrow. "What?"

Orm's voice is playful. "Come inside for a bit."

They barely speak during the short walk from the curb to Orm's front door, tension thick around them. Once inside, Orm kicks off her heels with a relieved sigh, stretching her arms overhead. Lingling stands by the couch, shoulders tight, fighting the urge to bolt—or worse, drag Orm into her arms right then and there.

Orm turns around, and a small, lazy smile lifts her lips as she notices Lingling watching her. "Wine?" she offers casually, flipping on a soft lamp in the living room. The shadows across Orm's face somehow make her look even more enticing.

Lingling exhales, shaking her head as though trying to clear it. "Orm," she begins, her tone uncertain.

"What?" Orm asks innocently, though her eyes sparkle with mischief.

"You're testing me," Lingling murmurs, tension evident in her tight posture.

A gentle laugh escapes Orm's throat. She steps forward, closing the distance. "Maybe a little," she admits softly.

Lingling's breath catches. She can't deny how powerful this pull is, how every cell in her body is telling her to give in. Before she can summon a halfhearted protest, Orm lifts a hand and cups Lingling's face—her fingertips warm against Lingling's cheek.

Lingling's heart stutters. She meets Orm's gaze, every nerve electrified by the closeness. Orm's voice drops to a teasing whisper. "Still want to leave?"

Lingling can't force out a reply—she's already leaning in, capturing Orm's lips in a slow, deep kiss. It's not rushed, but it's far from gentle. There's too much pent-up energy for it to stay innocent for long. Orm exhales a soft sound, tangling her fingers in Lingling's hair, letting herself be pressed back against the couch.

Minutes stretch out, the heat between them building with each stolen breath and roaming touch. Lingling pulls away for air, her chest rising and falling heavily. "You're dangerous," she manages, voice husky.

Orm's lips curve into a grin, eyes bright. "You love it," she fires back, her own breathing ragged. She slides her hands over Lingling's shoulders, pulling her in for another kiss. And Lingling doesn't resist—she's too far gone, too caught in Orm's orbit to remember what she was so worried about.

They lose themselves in the moment, tasting wine and adrenaline on each other's lips. Everything else fades away: the jealousy, the teasing, the power struggle. In the hush of the apartment, with night fully settled outside, they only have each other—hot breath, soft laughter, and the knowledge that, despite the game they're playing, they've never been more certain of what they want.

Because for all the tension and taunts, the jokes and displays of power, this is real.

And neither of them wants to let go, not yet—and maybe not ever.

It doesn't take them long to migrate from the living room to Orm's bedroom. The lamp glows softly on the nightstand, illuminating the bed and two figures who can no longer keep distance between them. Orm sits on the edge of the mattress, nerves buzzing. Lingling stands in front of her, gazing down with a mix of longing and wariness, as though crossing a threshold she's not sure she's allowed to cross.

They've been close before, stolen kisses, flirted on the edge of something deeper. But never with this kind of finality. Tonight, everything feels amplified. Orm, heart rattling in her chest, lifts a hand to gently wrap her fingers around Lingling's wrist, guiding her closer. Lingling follows the silent request, settling onto the mattress so they sit face to face.

Orm notices Lingling's breathing hitch. Her eyes drop to Lingling's parted lips, then meet Lingling's gaze again. Wordlessly, she leans in, and their mouths meet in a soft, tentative kiss. It starts almost polite, exploring. But as the seconds slip by, the kiss deepens. Lingling's hand finds the nape of Orm's neck, holding her in place as if Orm might vanish if she let go. A low sound escapes Orm's throat—somewhere between relief and a plea for more.

Everything shifts. Lingling presses her closer, and Orm leans back against the pillows, pulse pounding. She can't remember the last time she felt this open. It's as if a dam has burst; all the playful banter, all the near-confessions, every heated glance they've traded is culminating right here, right now. Lingling's fingers skim the fabric of Orm's shirt, drawing a shiver from her. Orm tightens her grip on Lingling's shoulders, anchoring herself.

Lingling breaks away briefly, breath ragged. Her forehead rests against Orm's, eyes shut, words stumbling on her lips. Orm can feel how fast Lingling's heart is beating—it rivals her own. She runs her fingers through Lingling's hair, silently encouraging her. They share another glance heavy with meaning: this is more than lust. It's an admission they've both been too afraid to put into words. Slowly, Orm guides Lingling to lie beside her, the room bathed in the muted glow of the bedside lamp.

Every movement is deliberate—slow kisses trailing across collarbones, whispered names, hands clasped under the sheets. Lingling's lips brush Orm's jawline, sending jolts of electricity through her nerves. Orm responds by arching her back, a breathy moan escaping her lips. She runs her hands over Lingling's waist, feeling the slight trembling there. It's as if each touch is a question that both of them keep answering with yes.

The tension that built so steadily over the evening now blossoms into a quiet urgency. Fabric rustles, soft gasps echo in the small room. Orm basks in the sensation of Lingling pressing closer, an intimacy she's only dreamed of. She doesn't feel rushed. She feels accepted. Each second drips with a sweetness she never realized she craved so much.

After a while—minutes, hours, they can't tell—Orm finds herself half under the sheets, Lingling partially covering her. Their breath mingles in hot puffs against each other's skin, and the hush of the apartment amplifies every shift of fabric, every quiet sigh.

Time loses meaning. Minutes or hours later, they lie entangled in the sheets, their bodies molded together in a soft tangle of limbs. The bedside lamp still burns low, washing them in a drowsy glow. Orm has her head pillowed on Lingling's chest, listening to the steady, reassuring thump of her heartbeat. Their fingers intertwine, resting on Orm's hip, as though neither can bear to break the contact.

Eventually, Lingling swallows hard, mustering courage. Her voice wavers, almost too faint. "I love you."

The words hang in the air, both delicate and monumental. Orm feels Lingling's hand tighten in hers. For a moment, Orm can't breathe—she's overwhelmed by relief, joy, and the remnants of her earlier fear that all of this was slipping away.

She lifts her head to meet Lingling's gaze in the lamplight. "You... do?" Her voice trembles with awe.

Lingling's eyes flicker with both vulnerability and conviction. "Of course I do," she whispers. "It scared me, how much."

Orm's throat constricts with emotion. She cups Lingling's cheek, brushing a thumb over her jaw. "I love you too," she murmurs, tears threatening to form, though she's smiling. "I've been so afraid that you... that we—"

Lingling silences her with a soft kiss, one that tastes of comfort and adoration. They linger, sharing the warmth of each other's lips, letting the truth of their mutual confession sink into every cell of their bodies.

When they part, they stare into each other's eyes for a long moment. A soft laugh escapes Orm's lips, half-embarrassed and half-elated. "I can't believe we waited this long," she admits, voice muffled as she buries her face in Lingling's shoulder.

Lingling runs her hand along Orm's back, exhaling a breathy laugh. "We're both a little ridiculous," she agrees.

They shift in the bed, settling more comfortably against the pillows. Orm lets her arm drape across Lingling's waist, feeling her warmth, relishing the closeness. There's a playful glint in Orm's eyes now, a return of her usual teasing nature—but this time laden with new tenderness.

"Say it again," Orm suddenly says, a hint of mischief curling her lips.

Lingling arches an eyebrow, though her heart flutters at the request. "Say... what again?"

"You know," Orm coaxes, leaning in so her breath ghosts over Lingling's ear. "That thing you just said."

Lingling's cheeks warm a shade. She tightens her hold on Orm's waist. "I love you," she repeats, this time more certain, less hushed. Each syllable underscores the sincerity in her eyes.

Orm's grin widens, and she buries her face into Lingling's neck, humming in contentment. "Mmm... can you say it once more?"

Lingling's lips quirk upward in exasperation, but it's the loving kind. "I love you," she whispers, pressing a kiss to Orm's temple.

"And again?" Orm asks, her tone teasing but laced with genuine delight. She's holding on to each repetition like a treasured piece of evidence—proof she hasn't lost Lingling, proof that all her spiraling fears were unfounded.

"You're insatiable," Lingling murmurs, but there's laughter in her voice. "I love you."

Orm lets out a small, satisfied sigh, nuzzling closer. "That never gets old, you know."

Lingling rolls her eyes, a hint of amusement dancing across her features. "You're lucky I love you," she jokes, but her voice trembles a bit, betraying how deeply she means it.

Orm tilts her head up, her eyes shining. "I love you too," she says, matching Lingling's sincerity word for word.

Their repeated confessions settle the space around them into a serene lull. No more doubts. No more fears of drifting apart. For a while, they lie there trading gentle kisses, whispering the words back and forth. Eventually, Orm's teasing fades into an exhausted laugh, and she tucks her face into Lingling's shoulder. Lingling responds by stroking her hair in a steady, soothing rhythm.

"Are you staying?" Orm asks, just to be sure, her voice drowsy.

Lingling tightens her arm around Orm's waist. "Try getting rid of me," she counters softly, pressing one more lingering kiss to Orm's forehead.

Satisfied, Orm closes her eyes. The only sounds left in the room are their synchronized breathing and the muted noises of the city beyond the window. Lingling gently tangles their legs together, savoring the warmth of Orm against her.

In the quiet that follows, Orm can't resist a final tease. "Hey," she mumbles sleepily.

"Hm?"

"Tell me again."

Lingling's chest stutters with the faintest laugh. She tilts her head down, pressing her lips to the top of Orm's head. "I love you," she whispers.

Orm's sleepy smile is audible in her words as she replies, "I love you too." Her voice trails off into a content exhale, and she feels Lingling's soft chuckle reverberate against her.

They drift into sleep like that, each with an arm around the other, exchanging those three words whenever one of them shifts or half-wakes. It's a lullaby of sorts, an ongoing affirmation that they're exactly where they're meant to be. And though the night outside might stretch on indefinitely, here in Orm's bedroom, time feels precious and sealed—bound by their whispered confessions of love.