The morning air was cool, but Shane Kingston was burning from the inside out.
Sleep hadn't come easy. Again. The message she sent last night—I miss you—still hung in the air like smoke, unanswered, untouched. And that silence had more weight than a thousand no's.
She sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but boxers and a tank top, legs spread, elbows on her knees, hair a disheveled mess. She stared at her phone like it might blink first.
It didn't.
Of course not.
May wasn't the type to come running.
She was the type who waited—poised, patient, infuriatingly beautiful—until you came to her on your knees.
But Shane Kingston didn't kneel for anyone.
She stood with a grunt and moved through the penthouse like a caged animal, every movement sharp, controlled, but simmering.
In her closet, she didn't bother with flash. Black slacks, slightly loose. A dark green tank top that clung to her torso just right. A matching dark utility-style overshirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Dog tags she never usually wore hung low on her chest—an old remnant of a brother who taught her never to let anyone close.
She laced up her boots with a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Today, she was done waiting.
She found May downtown.
It didn't take much. She still had her address—May had left it behind after a night they both swore wasn't about feelings, just tension and heat and need.
But Shane remembered every corner of that apartment. The long hallway with creaky wood floors. The second-floor window that spilled golden light across the sheets.
She took the stairs two at a time, her boots pounding like thunder.
Then stopped in front of the door.
She didn't knock.
Not yet.
She needed a second. To breathe. To not feel like she was crawling.
But when she finally did knock—two solid raps, nothing uncertain—she didn't expect the jolt of nerves that followed.
Seconds passed.
Then the door opened.
And there she was.
May Anderson stood in the doorway in a loose robe, hair slightly damp, lips parted like she wasn't expecting anyone—but she had been hoping.
Shane took a step forward.
May didn't move.
They stared at each other.
The space between them pulsed.
"I got your message," May said, voice cool. Controlled. Too calm.
"I figured," Shane replied, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "Didn't think I'd have to follow up in person."
May tilted her head. "You didn't have to."
Shane stepped in closer. "You didn't answer."
"I didn't think you were the type to wait around for answers."
"I'm not," Shane said. "But you make me want to do a lot of things that aren't me."
May's expression cracked for a split second. Just enough for Shane to see behind the walls. There was longing there. And heat. And something she wasn't ready to say out loud yet.
Shane stepped into the apartment. May didn't stop her.
The door clicked shut behind them.
For a moment, neither moved.
Shane's eyes dragged over the space—still full of May's scent, her warmth, her softness.
It made Shane's pulse race.
"You left," Shane said, turning toward her. "But you left your mark on everything. On me."
May's lips curved, but it wasn't smug. It was quiet. Knowing. "I didn't think you noticed."
Shane's jaw tightened. "I noticed too much. That's the problem."
She stepped closer, closing the gap between them until their bodies nearly touched.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you," Shane said, voice low, thick. "Your mouth. Your moans. The way you look at me like I'm something worth breaking open."
May swallowed, her robe slipping slightly off one shoulder.
Shane's eyes followed the movement.
"You don't even know what you did to me," she whispered, her fingers brushing May's jaw. "You walked in and started tearing down walls I spent years building."
"Then why did you let me go?"
"Because it scared the hell out of me."
Silence.
Then May reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.
"You still scared?"
Shane's answer was her mouth crashing into May's.
It wasn't a kiss—it was a claiming.
Hard. Deep. Desperate.
She backed May up until she hit the wall, Shane's hands already tugging the robe open, baring warm skin beneath.
May gasped against her lips, nails digging into Shane's shoulders as she whispered, "You're late."
Shane grinned, breath ragged. "I'm here now."
Then her mouth was at May's throat, teeth dragging along skin, fingers gripping her thighs and lifting her like she weighed nothing. May wrapped her legs around Shane's waist with a soft moan that made Shane's blood roar.
Shane didn't take her to the bed.
She pressed her against the wall, grinding into her slowly, deliberately, every motion soaked in tension and want and something deeper neither dared name.
She kissed down May's chest, hands firm but reverent, like she was trying to memorize every breath, every sigh, every tremble.
May arched into her. "God, Shane…"
Shane looked up, eyes dark. "Say it again."
May leaned down, lips barely brushing hers. "You feel like fire."
Shane smiled, wicked and soft all at once. "Then let me burn you."
And she did.
She took her time, every kiss a promise, every touch a confession she didn't know how to speak out loud. She touched May like she was something holy and hers to worship. Slow, then fast. Rough, then gentle. Always in control—but never cold.
She listened to every sound May made.
Let them guide her.
Until they both came undone.
Together.
After, they lay tangled on the floor, the sunlight from the window crawling across bare skin and flushed cheeks.
Shane lay on her back, one arm behind her head, the other wrapped around May's waist. Her tank top was half-off, her body slick with sweat, but for the first time in days—weeks, maybe—she felt settled.
May curled into her side, tracing slow patterns over Shane's stomach.
"Still scared?" she murmured.
Shane didn't answer right away.
But when she did, her voice was low and real.
"Yeah. But you make it feel worth it."
May looked up, surprised.
Shane met her eyes. "I'm not good at this. At us. But I want to try."
May smiled. "I don't need perfect. I just need real."
Shane leaned in, kissed her gently.
"You've got it."