Moving In

Katy's been sleeping in her backseat since the breakup. Rent money's nothing but a joke and hunger's riding her harder than desire. She shows up at Jane's place smelling of gas station bathrooms and last week's regrets, smiling like she's got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Jane opens the door and stiffens. Fresh linens, coffee, order—none of it's ready for Katy's sharp eyes or the way her jacket's half unzipped. 'Room's yours if you clean up first,' Jane says, already regretting the offer. Katy doesn't argue. She strips in the hallway, leaves her sweat-stained tee on the tile, and steps into the shower. Hot water slides over her skin, over ink and scars and the muscle tension nobody touches anymore. Steam fills the room, and when she steps out dripping, Jane's still there—caught, watching. Katy doesn't wait for permission. She steps close, close enough that water transfers from her to Jane's shirt. Hands brush damp hair from Jane's face; Katy's breath is steady but her pulse kicks. 'You want me gone or wet?' she asks, and her mouth finds the line of Jane's jaw before the answer lands. Jane's resistance cracks quick. Katy's fingers slide under damp cotton, mapping warm skin and the hitch in her breath. They move backward until Jane's shoulders hit the wall. Kisses turn urgent—teeth, tongue, the taste of shampoo and hunger. Katy pins Jane's wrists above her head, hips pressing in, thigh parting Jane's, slow and deliberate. Fingers push lower. Jane's thighs tense; Katy finds her wet already, slick and open under her touch. She works her with steady pressure, thumb circling, two fingers sliding inside and curling just right. Jane's head tips back against the wall, a moan dragged loose, hips pushing down to meet every thrust. Katy watches—eyes locked, mouth at Jane's ear—whispering how tight she feels, how good she sounds when she stops pretending she doesn't want this. They drop to the floor half-dressed, Jane on her back, Katy's mouth between her legs, licking and sucking until Jane's legs shake and she comes with a cry that echoes off cold tile. Katy climbs up, kisses her deep, lets Jane taste herself, then guides Jane's hand between her own legs. Jane's fingers push in and Katy rides them hard, grinding down until she shudders and swears, coming fast and loud against Jane's palm. Afterward, the room is quiet, breathing slowed, skin cooling. Katy stretches out on the floor, eyes half-lidded, watching Jane dress with shaking hands. Neither says the obvious: this isn't just a place to sleep anymore. It never was.