It rained the next morning.
Not a quiet drizzle—but a full, unapologetic downpour that turned the city silver and gray. The kind of rain that made everything feel slower. Softer. Safer, somehow.
Shane Kingston stood in the kitchen, barefoot in sweatpants and a black tank top, watching the storm paint streaks against the windows. Her hair was tied back lazily, still damp from the shower, and a coffee mug rested warm in her hands.
The penthouse didn't feel cold today.
Not with the soft rustle of movement coming from her bed.
Not with May still here.
Shane didn't realize she was smiling until she heard footsteps behind her.
May padded in quietly, one of Shane's white button-down shirts hanging off her frame, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. Her hair was a sleepy mess, skin flushed from warmth and sleep, lips curved in that soft, knowing way that made Shane's chest ache.
"I thought you'd left," May said softly, coming up behind her.
Shane turned, one hand automatically reaching for her waist. "Didn't even think about it."
May raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Miracle."
Shane shrugged. "You make it hard to walk away."
That earned her a kiss.
Soft, slow, and lingering—like neither of them were in a rush. Like the storm outside had paused time just for them.
May rested her head against Shane's shoulder. "I like mornings with you."
Shane's arms wrapped tighter around her. "I'm still getting used to them."
"But you want more, don't you?" May's voice was a whisper. "Of this. Of us."
Shane's eyes found hers. And for once, she didn't hesitate.
"I do."
And she meant it.
No walls, no games, no coy deflection. Just truth.
May leaned into her kiss again, slower this time, fingers brushing against Shane's jaw, then threading into her hair. When their mouths broke apart, May's eyes were softer, deeper.
"I want to stay," she whispered.
Shane's chest tightened.
She nodded, words caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat.
May smiled, and pulled her gently toward the couch.
They curled together under a blanket as the storm raged outside, the city blurred into fog and sound. The television played something neither of them were really watching, their focus entirely on each other—on touch, on breath, on closeness.
May traced slow patterns on Shane's bare arm. "You always this quiet?"
Shane chuckled softly. "Only when I'm not trying to impress someone."
"I think I'm already impressed," May murmured, leaning up to kiss the corner of her mouth.
Shane turned her head and caught her lips fully this time, sliding her hand up May's thigh beneath the blanket, her touch warm and deliberate.
May sighed into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut, body melting into her like it belonged there.
Like it always had.
They kissed for a long while—soft and slow, not driven by urgency but by something sweeter. Something rare. Shane wasn't taking this time. She wasn't proving anything. She was just being—with May.
And May?
She let Shane lead, let herself be held and touched and cherished in a way that made her feel grounded.
Needed.
Wanted.
Loved.
Eventually, Shane leaned back, brushing May's hair behind her ear, eyes locked on hers.
"I don't know what this is turning into," she said, voice rough with honesty, "but I'm not walking away from it."
May reached up, touched her cheek. "Then don't."
"Even if I mess it up?"
"You will," May said with a small smile. "And I will. But I think we'll figure it out."
Shane closed her eyes briefly. The vulnerability cracked something open inside her, but it didn't hurt. It felt like relief.
She leaned down, pressed her forehead to May's.
"You scare me," Shane admitted.
May kissed the tip of her nose. "You scare me too."
They both laughed quietly—because it was true. And it was beautiful.
Later that day, the rain still falling steady, May cooked in Shane's kitchen wearing nothing but her button-down and a pair of Shane's socks. She danced slightly to music playing from the speakers, spinning in place as she stirred something on the stove.
Shane watched from the counter, elbows resting on the cool marble, completely enamored.
"Do you always take over other people's kitchens?" she asked, smirking.
May turned, grinning. "Only when they have ingredients and no idea what to do with them."
Shane chuckled. "I know how to cook."
"Toast doesn't count, Kingston."
Shane stood, walked up behind her, and slid her arms around May's waist. "You're lucky I like you."
"Mm," May purred, leaning back into her. "You more than like me."
Shane kissed her shoulder. "Yeah. I do."
And she didn't pull back when she said it.
Didn't feel the urge to hide.
May turned in her arms, facing her, lips brushing against Shane's with a softness that was almost reverent. Her fingers slid under Shane's shirt, resting against bare skin, and Shane leaned into the touch without hesitation.
The heat that always simmered between them sparked, but it wasn't explosive. Not today. Today it burned slow and warm—like the kind of fire you built to last through the night.
They kissed again, deeper this time, bodies pressed close, hands sliding over familiar curves and muscle. But when Shane lifted May onto the counter, it wasn't about possession.
It was about intimacy.
She kissed every inch of her with purpose. Not to break her. Not to dominate. But to worship.
To show her how much space she now took up in Shane's world.
In Shane's heart.
May whispered her name like a prayer, like it tasted different now—softer, sweeter.
And when Shane finally pulled back, resting her forehead to May's, their breathing uneven and their hearts racing, there was a quiet understanding that hung between them.
Something had shifted.
This wasn't casual anymore.
This wasn't just sex or chemistry or the thrill of the chase.
This was love.
And Shane Kingston, the guarded, powerful woman who once believed love was a myth, now had it curled in her lap, pressed to her chest, wrapped in her sheets and dancing barefoot in her kitchen.
That night, as the rain slowed to a whisper, they lay in bed facing each other.
The room was dark, but Shane could see May perfectly—every shadow and curve of her, memorized.
May reached for her hand, linking their fingers.
"Tell me something real," she whispered.
Shane took a breath.
"I used to think love made you weak," she said. "But I feel stronger with you than I ever have."
May kissed the back of her hand. "That's because real love doesn't take your power. It shares it."
Shane swallowed the lump in her throat.
She pulled May close.
Held her like she never wanted to let go.
Because she didn't.
Not anymore.