Work Text:
The air tastes of dust and late summer when Harvey kisses her goodnight at the edge of the farm.
It’s not a passionate kiss. It’s gentle. Measured. Familiar. His lips brush hers like a habit, and doesn’t linger. One hand rests against her cheek, thumb grazing her skin.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asks, again. “When does Shane get here?”
Flora nods. “Soon. I’ll be fine.”
Harvey adjusts the strap of his overnight bag. His eyes flick toward the road, then back to her. “I know the whole ‘night apart’ thing is a little outdated, but... I’ve always pictured it that way. Makes tomorrow feel more like—”
“What?” she prompts.
He shrugs, then offers a small smile. “Like a new start.”
It’s a simple thing to say. And it fits him. Harvey always know what to say. He’s steady in a way that used to make her feel safe. Still does, most days.
She said yes to him because it made sense. Because he never made her feel like a gamble.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. Another kiss—quick. Soft. Done. He lets his fingers slip from hers and turns toward the road.
Elliott waits at the corner, holding a bottle by the neck and waving like they’re sneaking off like teenagers to do something illegal. Harvey laughs quietly and awkwardly before he waves to her one last time.
Then he’s gone.
She watches the path until they disappear from view, then turns toward the porch.
The sky’s starting to change—blue fading into orange, clouds catching fire along the edges.
“You two are disgusting, you know that right?” a voice calls from the swing.
Shane.
He’s half-sprawled across the porch swing, beer in hand, one leg hooked over the armrest like it got there by accident. That hoodie again—the one he never washes. His hair’s a mess. His smirk isn’t.
Shane in a nutshell.
“Didn’t realize I was crashing a Hallmark special,” he adds, sipping his beer.
“Idiot,” Flora says, stepping up onto the porch.
“Yeah,” he says, “but you like that about me.”
She drops into the swing beside him. He hands her a beer. She takes it without thanks. Cracks the tab. Drinks.
It hits sharp. Cold. Bitter in the best way.
He nudges her shoulder. “So. Last night of freedom. What’s it like?”
She watches a bird land on the power line and shake its feathers out. “Feels... quiet.”
“Quiet’s good.”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything. The swing creaks. Somewhere down the hill, a goat makes a noise like it’s choking on hay. Crickets start up in the grass.
“Glad you came,” she says eventually.
“Yeah,” Shane says. “Me too.”
She barely makes it to the fridge before Shane raises a hand like he’s calling foul.
“Don’t even think about cooking,” he says, dragging something from the bag he dumped by the door earlier. “I brought pizza. You’re off-duty.”
She lets the fridge door swing shut. “You spoil me.” She roll her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah.” He tosses the frozen box onto the counter and sets the oven like he’s done a hundred times before. “Just trying to protect the kitchen from whatever war crime you were about to commit.”
She flips him off, casual. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Lucky’s not the word I’d use,” he mutters, collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs. He tilts it back, front legs lifting just off the floor, balancing dangerously.
Flora leans against the counter, arms folded, beer still in hand. The kitchen’s washed in fading sunlight, warm where it hits, cooler where it’s pulled back into the shadows. Everything smells like dust, oregano, and that shitty cologne Shane wears when he’s trying not to care.
She doesn’t realize how long she’s been staring until he speaks again.
“So,” Shane says, leaning back in the chair until it creaks. “How’s life on the farm? Still pretending you know what you’re doing?”
Flora exhales, dry. “Define ‘pretending.’”
He grins. “Still naming the chickens after dead poets?”
“No…” She takes a drink, “I moved on to Greek tragedies.”
“Figures.” He pauses. “Still can’t catch the brown one, can you?”
“Euripides is a menace,” she mutters.
“They can sense your fear.”
“He bit me yesterday.”
Shane snorts and smirks. “Good taste. I taught him well.”
Flora rolls her eyes but doesn’t fight the smile. “You’re such a fucking jerk.”
The silence stretches for a long minute before Shane breaks the silence.
“Jas asked about you.”
Flora glances over. “Yeah?”
“Wanted to know if you'd still visit after the wedding. If you were gonna disappear.”
Something inside her pulls tight. She looks down at the floor. “Of course I’ll still come around.”
“I told her that,” Shane says. Then quieter: “Still. It’s different, right? Marriage. Even if you say it’s not.”
She doesn’t answer. The timer on the oven clicks as it preheats.
He shifts in the chair, his voice dipping back into something safer. “Marnie asked me if I was ‘ready to meet someone.’ Like it’s a job interview.”
Flora laughs softly. “She trying to set you up again?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, groaning. “Friend of a friend’s daughter. Likes hiking, poetry. And... knitting, I think?”
“She sounds... very you.”
He snorts. “She sounds like someone who’d be mortified if I showed up.”
Flora takes a sip. “You could surprise her.”
“With what? My sunny disposition?”
She smiles behind her bottle. “It’s in there. Deep, deep down.”
“Right. Somewhere under the sarcasm and the trauma.”
Silence settles again, not heavy yet—but not light either. She watches the way the sun slips lower on the floor, stretching their shadows.
“You happy?” Shane asks suddenly.
She looks up.
“Really happy?” he says, quieter this time.
Flora opens her mouth. Then closes it.
Then nods and smiles.
“Yeah. I am.”
Shane watches her too long to be casual. Then he nods back, slow. “Good.”
There’s nothing sarcastic about it. Nothing teasing. Just the word, laid flat on the table between them.
Good.
The oven beeps. Shane stands, chair thudding to all four legs.
“Dinner’s served,” he says, the smirk returning just enough to pull the tension back into something manageable.
They end up on the floor, backs against the couch, legs stretched out in front of them. The pizza’s half-eaten, the crusts stacked on a napkin. Shane’s cracked open the whiskey he brought—cheap, sharp and awful. Flora doesn’t protest when he pours her a glass.
The lights are low. No music. Just the hum of the fridge and the occasional groan of the old house settling.
Flora leans her head back against the cushion behind her and exhales slowly.
“You ever think,” she says, slow, like she’s testing the words before she speaks them, “about just leaving? Picking up and going somewhere else? New name. New place. Clean start.”
Shane’s glass dangles between two fingers. “Yeah,” he says. “I tried that once, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Pelican Town was the fresh start?”
He snorts. “Supposed to be. Didn’t stick.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs, then takes a slow sip. “Turns out, wherever you go and despite everything you’re still you.”
Flora glances sideways. “You’ve been reading bumper stickers again.”
“Nope. Heard something like it in a video game.”
A pause stretches between them, this one heavier.
Then—
“Truth or dare?” she asks, almost absently.
Shane turns his head to her, cocking an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Come on,” she says, nudging his leg with her toe. “You scared?”
His eyes narrow. “Of you? Never.”
“Then pick.”
“Truth.”
She taps her glass. “Do you actually like working at the ranch, or are you just sticking around for Jas?”
He considers it. Doesn’t flinch. “Both. I don’t hate it anymore. But I wouldn’t stay if it wasn’t for her.”
Flora nods. “Fair.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Your turn.”
“Truth.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “You ever faked it with Harvey?”
The question hits sharper than it should. Not because of the words—but because of the way he says it. Like it’s halfway a joke. Halfway not.
Flora’s mouth opens. Then closes. She takes a long drink instead.
Shane watches her, eyes narrowing just a little. “That a no?”
She blush, but stays quiet.
He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not judging,” he says, hands raised. “Just... surprised. Thought Doc would be the guy with diagrams and printouts. Color-coded orgasms.”
“He tries,” Flora mutters. Her face is hot. “It’s not like he’s bad. It’s just sometimes I’m tired. Or distracted. And it’s easier to—fuck, why am I explaining this to you?”
“It was you who wanted to play,” Shane says, smug.
She huffs. “Fine. Truth or dare?”
Shane swirls the whiskey in his glass.
Then, too casually.
“Did you ever fake it with me?”
She scoffs, sharp. “It’s not your turn to ask again, idiot.”
He grins like the devil himself. “Didn’t hear a no.”
Flora rolls her eyes and sets her glass down. Her hand lingers there, steadying herself.
“No,” she says.
His grin widens. Cocky doesn’t cover it—it’s full-blown satisfied.
“Didn’t think so,” he says, leaning back like he owns the room. “Knew there was no faking the way you used to fall apart.”
She lifts her chin, heart punching harder than she wants it to. “Still arrogant as hell.”
He smirks. “Only when I’m right.”
Flora shifts, tugging a pillow into her lap. Shane’s close. Closer than he needs to be. Not inappropriate. Just... close.
“You always were impossible,” she mutters, nudging him with her foot.
He raises his brows. “You weren’t exactly easy.”
“Please. I was a delight.”
“You were a menace. You bit me once.”
“You liked it.”
He laughs. Low and warm.
It hits her in the ribs—how familiar this feels. The rhythm. The way he looks at her when he’s teasing. The things she used to do just to get this exact grin.
“You’re impossible,” she says again.
“Dare say that one more time.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re imposs—”
He lunges—grabs her side and jabs.
She yelps, twisting away instinctively. “Shane!”
But he’s already going for her ribs again. Tickling. Poking. Laughing. She shrieks and kicks at him, trying to wriggle free, but he’s faster. Stronger. Mean in that playful, practiced way that used to drive her crazy.
“You asshole!” she gasps, breathless and laughing.
“I warned you!”
She’s half in his lap now, half sprawled sideways, laughing so hard she can’t breathe. His fingers skim under her shirt. She twists—and then stills.
His hand stays.
Her hair’s a mess. Her face is flushed. She’s straddling his thigh without thinking.
And he’s staring at her like he forgot how to look away. Neither of them moves.
“You’re... really close,” she says, but her voice doesn’t sound like hers. It’s too quiet. Too careful.
“Yeah,” Shane says, and his breath brushes her lips. “I noticed.”
The room doesn’t move around them. The world doesn’t move around them.
She kisses him.
His mouth responds. No hesitation. No doubt. His hand curls around her waist, pulls her flush against him. Her fingers go to his hair automatically. It’s messy, soft, familiar in a way that feels right.
It’s not polite. It’s not gentle. It’s years crashing down all at once.
Her back hits the floor before she realizes they’ve shifted. Shane’s body covers hers, solid and hot, one hand braced beside her head, the other already sliding beneath her shirt.
She moans into his mouth, then something snaps.
“Oh my god,” Flora gasps, shoving at his chest, scrambling out from under him like she’s touched an open flame. “Oh my god—shit—Shane.”
He blinks. “Flora. Wait—”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she says, already on her feet. Her hand goes to her mouth like she can wipe it away. “I kissed you. I fucking kissed you.”
“Yeah,” Shane says. “You did.”
She paces, barefoot on the wooden floor, sharp and frantic. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m marrying Harvey tomorrow!”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just watches her, shoulders tense, face unreadable.
Eventually, “It’s fine,” he says. Calm. Flat. “We’re drunk. It was a mistake.”
“Mistake?” she repeats, wheeling on him. “You think that didn’t mean anything?”
His jaw tightens. “I think you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
He raises his brows. “Then what was that?”
“I don’t know!” she snaps. “I don’t—fuck. I love Harvey.”
Shane nods once, quick. Relief or defense, she can’t tell. “Okay. Then that’s all it was. You’re overwhelmed. It was a mistake. We’ll forget it.”
Her stomach flips. “Forget it?”
“We can,” he says. Too calm. Too quiet. Like he’s convincing himself. “You’ll marry him tomorrow. I’ll go home. Nothing changes.”
Her heart’s pounding too loud. She shakes her head, takes a step back like she’s trying to physically escape what’s happening inside her. “I kissed you.”
“And it doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, faster now, voice tightening. “People panic before big moments. You said you love him. That’s enough. Just—just leave this. Let it go.”
Her throat closes. She looks at him, at the couch, at the half-empty whiskey glasses on the floor. She looks down at her hands like it will ground her.
They’re shaking.
“You don’t want to do this, Flora. Trust me. You don’t want this to be the thing that ruins everything.”
“I didn’t mean to—” She swallows hard. “I just—I needed—”
“You needed a moment,” Shane says, too quickly. “That’s all this is. It’s just nerves. You’re allowed to freak out. But don’t set fire to your whole life over one—”
“I don’t want to marry him.”
The words hit the room like a thrown brick.
Shane stops.
Flora covers her mouth instantly, as if that might pull the sentence back down her throat.
Shane’s face doesn’t move, but his whole posture shifts—trying not to breathe the wrong way.
She lowers her hand slowly, eyes wide, voice shaking. “I love him. I do. But—” She swallows. “But I don’t think I want this.”
There’s a silence. Heavy. Too full.
She backs toward the counter like the floor might collapse under her. “Fuck. Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
Shane doesn’t move.
She laughs—once. Sharp. Bitter. “God. What the hell am I doing?”
“You’re scared,” Shane says, cautious now. “And drunk. You’re talking shit because you’re spiraling.”
“No,” she says. “Yes. I don’t know.” Her hand grips the edge of the counter trying to keep herself upright. “I was fine. I was fine . I’ve spent months being fine.”
“And you’ll be fine again,” Shane says. “Tomorrow, when this calms down—”
“No,” Flora cuts him off. “I’ve been pretending. I keep telling myself this is what I want—what I should want—and I almost made it all the way. One more night, and it’d be locked in. But now I’m standing in my kitchen with you and everything feels—” Her voice cracks. “— real .”
Shane’s jaw tightens. His eyes are unreadable. “So this is real, but what you have with him isn’t?”
“I don’t know.” She grips the counter harder. “I just know I’m not panicking because I kissed you. I’m panicking because I don’t regret it.”
He just looks at her.
“I should regret it,” she whispers. “I should feel sick right now. I should be begging you to forget it happened. But all I want is to kiss you again.”
Shane pulls back like the words hit something soft in him. He paces once—sharp, tight steps—then stops, facing away from her. His shoulders are rigid. His hands curling into his hair.
“No,” he says. Voice low. Frayed. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
He turns—eyes sharp, chest rising hard. “Don’t say that. You don’t fucking mean it.”
“I do.”
“Don’t do this ,” he snaps. “Don’t stand there saying shit I’ve dreamed about hearing for years , when you’re getting married in less than twelve fucking hours.”
Her throat tightens. “I’m not trying to mess with you—”
“You think I haven’t imagined this?” he says, voice raw. “You. Looking at me like I still matter. Saying you want me. I’ve pictured it. Over and over. I’ve wanted it. I fucking still do .”
“Then why are you pushing me away?”
“Because we already did this once ,” he says, stepping toward her. “And I fucked it up. I broke it. I left . I don’t get to have it again. Not like this.”
Her voice cracks. “You didn’t even give me a chance to fight for us.”
“I didn’t know how,” he breathes. “I was a mess. I was ashamed. You were the best thing in my life, and I thought if I stayed, I’d ruin you.”
“You didn’t ruin me,” she says, stepping closer. “You broke my heart.”
He flinches. Hard.
She keeps going. “And I still wanted you. Even after. Even when I said I didn’t.”
“Then why the fuck did you say yes to him?”
Her voice drops. “Because he was good to me. Because he made sense. Because you left.”
Silence. A few seconds. Just their breathing and the buzzing in their chests.
“And now?” Shane asks. “What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know,” she says, tears welling. “I just know I don’t want to lie anymore.”
“You’re scared,” he says, quiet again. Controlled. “You’re panicking. You’re tired. You’re drunk. And you’re trying to rewrite history like we didn’t already try and fail.”
“We didn’t fail ,” she says. “You gave up.”
He doesn’t argue.
She stares at him. “And I’ve tried so hard to move on. To want everything I’m supposed to. And tonight, when I kissed you, it was the first time in a long fucking time that something felt real again.”
Shane looks at the floor. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“You will. ” His voice is breaking now. Not yelling. Just wrecked. “You’ll wake up and remember how fucking stable he is. And how I’m still working overtime at fucking Joja just to stay above water. You’ll look at me and wish you hadn’t said anything. Wish you’d kept it safe. Wish you’d kept me away.”
“Then say it,” she breathes. “Say you don’t want me.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Tell me you’ve moved on.”
Nothing.
“Tell me you don’t still think about me at night. That you don’t replay that last night in your head and wonder what would’ve happened if you’d just let yourself stay. ”
“Don’t,” he says, voice shredded.
“You can’t say you love me and still tell me not to choose you!”
He looks at her like she’s breaking him all over again.
“I’m not scared of the mess,” she whispers. “I want the mess. I want you. ”
Shane’s hands are shaking now. He says nothing.
“I’m not doing this to hurt him,” she says. “And I’m not doing this because I’m scared.”
She looks down at her hand.
At the ring.
She slides it off. Holds it up for a second—like she needs to say goodbye to it one last time.
Then drops it down onto the floor.
Shane looks at her dumbfounded.
She takes a step forward and grabs his shirt in both fists.
She kisses him like she’s starving.
Shane doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask again. His arms are around her in an instant, mouth crashing back into hers. His breath hitches, guttural, like it’s almost painful to feel this much.
She presses into him like she wants to burn through his skin. Her fingers fist in his hair, her body already arching up like she’s begging him to make good on every word, every wound, every year they lost to fear.
When they break for breath, his forehead rests against hers. His hands still gripping her waist like she’ll vanish if he lets go.
She whispers, “I’m sure.”
Shane exhales against her mouth like he’s finally letting go of a breath he’s been holding since the day she left.
And then he kisses her again.
Fingers digging into her hips. Mouth open and hot. He walks her back into the wall.
One of her legs wraps around his waist. She grinds against him once—slow and sharp—and his groan is ragged.
“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth still against hers. “You have no idea how many times I have imagined this.”
“Tell me,” she says, voice rough.
His eyes flick open, glassy. “You really want to know?”
“Say it.”
He laughs, kisses her neck as he talks. “You. Me. This goddamn kitchen. You in one of my shirts, barefoot, smug as hell, pretending you didn’t know Im staring at you.”
She moans.
“I used to jerk off just thinking about you like that,” he mutters, sliding a hand up under her shirt. “Coffee in your hand, nipples hard under my jersey.”
She yanks him by his waistband. “Did I look good?”
He looks at her ruined. “You looked like my last fucking chance at happiness.”
That’s it.
That’s the line that undoes her.
She kisses him again, and her hands are already at his belt, clumsy with urgency. When she palms him—thick, hot, ready —he chokes on a groan.
“Yoba, Flora—” He grabs her wrist, gasping. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“You deserve it,” she whispers against his jaw.
He leans in, mouth brushing her ear. “Careful what you say,” he exhales deep, “I want to fuck you so hard you forget how to say his name.”
She lets out a sound—half laugh , half sob —and pulls his jeans down for him to step out off. “Then shut the fuck up and do it.”
He lifts her.
Just grabs her.
Thighs tight around his hips and carries her to the kitchen table, pushing off everything from it without a second thought.
He mouths down her body, dragging her shirt up with each kiss. Her skin is goosebumps and fire. She’s shaking from need. From the shock of being wanted like this. Not politely. Not safely. Like she’s needed.
He slides her panties off, rough and reverent.
Then kneels between her legs.
“If you’re not serious,” Shane rasps, “if this isn’t real….”
She meets his eyes. Her chest heaves. No flinching.
“It’s real.”
And then she screams.
His mouth is on her—hot, slow, precise. Tongue dragging across her like he’s memorizing every damn nerve. She arches, hand in his hair, legs trembling already.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink. Just devours her.
“Fuck—Shane—” Her back lifts off the table. “Yoba—please—”
He pulls back, lips wet, voice wrecked. “Still so sensitive.”
“You’re smug.”
“I earned it.” He kisses the inside of her thigh, teeth grazing. “You’re soaked. I bet you’ve been soaked since you kissed me.”
“Shut up,” she gasps.
“Make me.”
She drags him up by the collar, kisses him messy, tasting herself on his tongue. He presses into her, hips grinding hard, and they both moan into the feeling. The contact. The pressure. The years of absence between this moment and the last time she felt his skin.
“I dreamed of this,” he says against her throat. “Every fucking night after I let you go.” he almost let something out that sounded like a sob. “I didn’t think I was allowed to keep something that good.”
She cups his face. “You are.”
His mouth crashes back onto hers—teeth, tongue, no room left between them.
“If I fuck you now,” he growls, “I’m not pretending. I’m not gentle. I’m not careful.”
“I don’t want careful.”
He slides her bra up, mouth immediately on her breast like he’s starving. She writhes beneath him, thighs still locked around his waist, hips rising into him.
She reaches down, frees him—thick and hard and already twitching in her hand. He groans into her skin, head falling to her shoulder.
“Condom?” she whispers.
He pauses. “Not on me. Didn’t exactly plan to—”
“I’m clean.”
His eyes find hers, wide. Vulnerable. “You sure?”
“Are you?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
A pause. His eyes search hers.
“Are you on the pill?”
She hesitates.
Then shakes her head. “No.”
Silence.
His breath catches.
“Flora—”
“I don’t care.”
He looks at her wild. “What do you mean that you don’t care?”
“I want you. I want all of you. No holding back. I don’t care what it means tomorrow. I need this. Now. ”
“Holy fuck,” he whispers.
He presses his forehead to hers. Lining himself up.
“Tell me again,” he begs. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want you.”
He drives into her, slow and deep at first. Just once. Just enough to let her feel the weight of him—and then pulls back, not out, just back , like a dare.
“You want it?” he asks, low against her throat. “Then fucking take it.”
He gives her a thrust that knocks the breath from her lungs.
She gasps. head thrown back, hands flying to his shoulders.
Another. Harder.
The table move under her.
“Shane— fuck —”
“Fuck I’ve missed you.” he growls, lips hot against her ear.
He groans and grits his teeth, pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in so hard she cries out.
“You missed my cock, baby?” he taunts, thrusting harder. “Or just how I fuck you like you’re not some delicate little thing that needs to be handled ?”
“I’ve missed you so much.” She gasps.
His hand slides between them, rough fingertips finding her clit, slick and already swollen from how fucking wrecked she is. He circles it fast, filthy, focused—like he knows every twitch, every weakness, every place to touch to make her fall.
She doesn’t stand a chance.
She comes again, shaking apart, mouth open in a silent cry, her body seizing around him with a wet, pulsing rhythm that drags a curse from his throat.
“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You’re fucking soaked. That pussy just clenched around me like she missed me too.”
“Don’t stop,” she gasps, panting hard, her hips already chasing his again. “Don’t stop— please —”
“Not gonna,” he grunts, grabbing her hips. “I’m gonna fuck you through every last one of these. Gonna see how many times I can make you come before I even think about finishing.”
He flips her—quick, commanding. Her knees almost hit the edge of the table, and he pulls her ass toward him, spreading her open.
She moans—loud, unfiltered—when he drives back in from behind, burying himself into her cunt in one brutal thrust. Her hands slam to the table, bracing herself.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Arch that back for me. Let me see how much you want it.”
She moans again—ragged, shaking.
“Every time I dreamed of you,” he pants, slamming into her, “I imagined this. You bent over something—bed, counter, hayball, fuck, didn’t matter—me fucking into you so hard you couldn’t think.”
He pulls her upright against him—one hand gripping her throat from behind, the other between her legs, fingers circling her clit again while he pounds into her, hard and fast and unrelenting.
She whimpers. “I—Shane—fuck—I can’t—”
“Yes you can, ” he snarls. “You will. Do it. Cum for me right fucking now.”
And she does.
Her whole body clenches, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as she spasms around him, so tight he can barely move.
But he doesn’t stop.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so goddamn perfect like this,” he moans. “So good for me. That pretty cunt just milking my cock.”
She collapses forward onto her elbows, trembling, sweat-slick and raw, but still trying to roll her hips back into his. Still wanting more.
“Again,” she whimpers. “Please—again—”
“You greedy little thing,” he grunts, biting down on her shoulder as he fucks her harder, each thrust a fucking claim . “You wanna come one last time before I fill you up?”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes—Please. I want it.”
Shane grins—fucked-out, sweat-dripping, vicious —and grabs her hair, yanks her head back just enough to kiss her messy and hard. She moans into it, lips bruised, teeth clashing, but doesn’t care. Doesn’t want to care.
He palms her breast roughly, kneading it, then rolls her nipple between two fingers—slow at first, then sharper. Tighter. Twisting just enough to draw a gasp from her mouth.
“Fuck—Shane—”
He grins against her neck, breath ragged. “Still so sensitive, huh?”
He drags his thumb over the swollen nub again—again— again —fucking her deep with each stroke until her thighs are shaking under him.
“You gonna come just from me playing with your tit?” he mutters. “You always loved it. Always moaned like this when I used to suck on you slow—fuck, I missed these—missed you— ”
“I’m gonna—oh god — Shane —I—”
“That’s it,” he growls, rutting into her harder now, his breath stuttering. “Come for me. Let me feel you milk my cock while I fuck you full.”
She screams. No words—just sound, cracked and sobbing, her body locking down around him so hard it nearly throws him off balance. She spasms, clenching, breaking open as that orgasm hits again, crashing into her like a goddamn wave.
And he’s right there with her.
“ Fuck—Flora— ” he groans, hips slamming home one last time as he lets go. He spills into her with a shudder that starts in his spine and doesn’t stop.
His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back into him as he comes. His cock twitching inside her as he groans her name. “Flora—fuck—I missed you. I missed you so much.
They don’t move for a long time.
Not because they can’t—but because neither of them wants to break the moment. Shane’s chest is pressed to her back, breath still ragged. He’s softening inside her now, spent and soaked and still buried deep. His arms wrap around her.
Her hands cover his.
They’re trembling.
He kisses her shoulder, softer this time. Reverent. His lips brush sweat and salt and skin he never thought he’d taste again.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
She nods against his cheek. “Yeah. I think I’m more than okay.”
He chuckles—but it’s tired. Quiet.
“God, I missed you,” he whispers.
Her fingers tighten over his.
“I missed you too,” she says, and her voice cracks on it.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just breathes. Holds her tighter.
Then he pulls back—slowly, gently—and turns her in his arms. Her legs feel like rubber, he helps her onto the table..
She looks at him, flushed and spent and beautiful.
“I love you,” she says, no hesitation.
His eyes search hers like he’s scared she might take it back.
“I never stopped,” she adds, softer now. “Even when you left. Even when I tried to move on. I kept finding you in every quiet place.”
Shane exhales like she just cut the last thread holding him up. His eyes shine. His jaw clenches.
“I love you too,” he says. “Fucking hell, Flora—I never stopped.”
She leans forward, forehead to his. Their noses brush. Their mouths hover.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” she whispers. “I don’t want to go back to pretending you weren’t everything.”
“You won’t,” he promises, voice shaking. “I swear to god, I won’t let go of you this time. Not even if you try to run.”
She chuckles. “I won’t.”
“You better not,” he breathes, and then he kisses her again, slowly this time.
When they finally pull back, she smiles. “Stay?” she asks.
He doesn’t even blink.
“Forever.”