The sun was already high when Shane stirred awake on her sleek leather couch, half-dressed and tangled in a throw blanket she didn't remember pulling over herself. A dull ache sat behind her eyes—not from drinking, but from thinking too much.
From feeling too much.
May's texts were still unread, but burned into her memory like ink spilled on silk. Shane could still hear that voice in her head: "You build walls. I walk through them."
What the hell kind of woman said that and made it sound like a promise?
She groaned, pushing herself upright. Coffee. Shower. Maybe an early meeting with her attorney just to feel something real again.
But as she entered her open-plan kitchen, she froze.
May was there.
Barefoot. Wearing one of Shane's silk button-downs like it belonged to her. It hung just long enough to barely cover her thighs, swaying as she moved.
She stood at the stove, calm as sunrise, flipping eggs in a pan like she hadn't broken into the apartment of a billionaire at eight in the morning.
Shane blinked. "How the hell did you get in here?"
May looked over her shoulder with a slow smile. "You really think someone like me needs keys?"
Shane's eyes narrowed. "That's not an answer."
May turned fully, leaning her hip against the counter. The shirt hung open just enough for Shane to see the lace beneath it—black, delicate, intentional. Her eyes ran over her curves before she could stop herself, heat rising instantly.
"Relax, Kingston," May said, her voice low and amused. "Your doorman likes me. Told him I was a surprise guest."
"Surprise guest," Shane repeated, stalking closer. "More like a trespasser with style."
"You're not mad." May stepped forward, her eyes locked on Shane's. "You're intrigued."
Shane grabbed her wrist before she could touch her face. "You don't get to just waltz into my space."
But May didn't flinch. She leaned in, eyes sparkling, mouth inches from Shane's. "You let me in the second you kissed me."
Something in Shane snapped.
She pulled May in by the waist and kissed her hard, slamming her against the fridge. May gasped into her mouth, arching into her, fingers threading through Shane's hair as their bodies collided like a match meeting gasoline.
The kiss was deeper now—hungrier. Shane's hand slid under the hem of the shirt, fingers dragging along May's inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath her touch.
"You think you can just show up," Shane growled, her lips grazing May's neck. "You think I won't break you?"
May moaned, breathless. "Maybe I want to see what breaking feels like."
Shane's grip tightened. Her hand moved higher.
But then—she stopped.
Just like that.
She pulled back, eyes dark and dangerous, chest heaving. May looked wrecked already—lips swollen, hair wild, shirt slipping off one shoulder.
"Why me?" Shane asked, voice barely a whisper. "You could have anyone. Why me?"
May stepped closer, slowly buttoning one button on the shirt. "Because you're the only one who doesn't pretend to feel something. That's real. That's raw. That's what I want."
"You don't want real," Shane shot back. "You want the challenge. The high. You want to see if you can make someone like me fall."
May smiled—soft this time, without her usual edge. "No. I want to see what happens when someone like you lets go."
Shane stood still, heartbeat pounding in her throat. For a second, the room felt like it was spinning—too bright, too quiet, too full of this strange, aching thing neither of them could name.
And then May stepped close again. She reached up, brushed a lock of hair from Shane's face, her touch so gentle it undid every hard edge Shane had tried to keep in place.
"You're scared," May whispered. "But I'm not."
Before Shane could answer, May kissed her again—but softer now. Slower. Not claiming. Not teasing.
Inviting.
And for the first time, Shane didn't pull away.