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The first time they kiss, Anne is sure that even the sky is too small for her heart.
It is an undeniably disgusting thing to think about—uncharacteristically sappy for her, too—but what can a girl do? Max has a gorgeous whirlwind of hair and the kindest eyes and a mouth that reminds Anne of a rosebud, apt to be waxed about in the trashy romance novels she used to hide under the bed. She hates herself for following this train of thought, but not enough to stop herself from giving in.
After they pulled away, for just a snapshot of a second, Max quirks an (especially pretty, Anne thinks) eyebrow. Anne’s heart relaxes to see the soft humor in her face. “I thought you said you don’t do women,” says Max, smiling.
“I’m wrong once in a while.” This isn’t an easy confession to make. Really, she knows that she has always been wrong about that particular aspect of her life. Even before she saw Max as the beautiful, wild-haired neighbor from across the hall, Anne wanted so much more than late-night wanks to Keira Knightley in Bend It Like Beckham.
“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that from you,” Max grins before leaning in to kiss her again. This time, Anne is prepared. She lets her hand settle on Max’s cheek, her thumb caressing the surprising softness of her skin. Max’s perfume is unexpectedly mesmerizing and fills Anne’s head with jasmine and silk and fucking rainbows. She feels her tongue touch the corner of her mouth, and opens her lips as an invitation.
They both moan into the kiss. Suddenly, Max pulls back, her lips red from the force of Anne’s. “Wait, wait, before we proceed...”
“What’s up?” Anne’s voice is spiked with impatience. She shakes herself out of her lust-induced state to lean back and properly look at her.
“Is this a one-time thing for you? Or would you rather want something more meaningful?” Max doesn’t lose her composure, and Anne doesn’t fool herself into thinking that she has the power to make Max nervous, but she does observe that the woman is fiddling with her thumbs. “I really like you, in case that hasn’t been sufficiently demonstrated,” she smirks.
Anne herself is at a loss for words. Nobody has ever asked her such a thing before. “What do you want?” she finds herself saying. She knows that she sounds suspicious, and a significant part of her is; romance and her don’t have a great track record.
“You,” Max says, simple and clear. “In the long run. In my life, my home, my bed.”
Anne’s breath catches in her throat.
“I’m not asking for more than you’re comfortable giving.” Max encircles her arms around Anne’s waist. “Please don’t be scared.”
She wants to scoff. Anne Bonny, who can throw punches while twirling in pointe shoes, has never been scared. Instead she says, “Only if you keep me in check.”
Max smiles again, and Anne knows that she is well and truly fucked.