Three nights after the evening that had unravelled Lily so completely, Jane opened her door to unexpectedly find Lily standing there, city lights glittering behind her like scattered diamonds.
It had been a brutal week for Lily, endless meetings, a partner who unrelentingly demanded perfection, even at 2 a.m. … performance demanding constant unflappable competence that Lily didn’t always feel. She was, though, determined they would never see her inner imposter.
By Friday evening, she was hollowed out, the armour she felt the need to wear each day, suddenly just too heavy for her to bear any longer.
She had texted Jane only an hour earlier, simple words that carried more weight than she intended:
Can I come over? I really need to see you.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t heard back, but she drove straight there anyway.
Now Lily stood in the hallway in the same charcoal suit she’d put on for the office in the dark that morning. Her hair was still pulled into its tight knot, and her briefcase, gosh, where was her briefcase? She sighed as she realised she didn’t need it and it was left in the car. Only the faint shadows beneath her dark eyes and the subtle tremor in her fingers betrayed the exhaustion.
Jane took one look and stepped aside without question. She was barefoot, in faded, old leggings and a soft white cotton shirt knotted loosely at the waist, red hair loose and a little wild from the ocean wind. Lily breathed deeply, back again in what more and more felt like her safe space. The apartment smelled of garlic and white wine, slowly reducing on the stove, something simple simmering. From the speakers drifted the low, lazy strum of acoustic guitar, Angus & Julia Stone, voices entwined and breathy, wrapping the room in a cosy, sun-warmed intimacy. Her senses relaxed. Lily closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaned back against it, and let her eyes close for a long moment.
Jane crossed the space slowly, stopping just short of touching. The air between them felt charged straight away, thick with salt-laden humidity and unspoken need. “Rough few days?”
Lily’s laugh was low, almost ragged., tinged with grimace. “You could say that.”
Jane reached up, her fingers deliberate as they loosened the knot of Lily’s hair, pulling out pins one by one until the heavy waves spilled free. She let the strands slide through her hands like silk, then rested her palms on Lily’s shoulders, thumbs pressing slow circles into the tension there. The touch was gentle, but Lily’s breath caught audibly. “You don’t have to hold everything up tonight,” Jane said quietly. “Not here. Never here.”
The words caught Lily deep in her core. The corners of her mouth relaxing just a little. She opened her eyes, met Jane’s steady green gaze, and felt the exhaustion wither in that instant. A slow-burning hunger began to push aside the tiredness, anxiety, and stress.
She had spent every spare moment, not that there had been many, of the last three days remembering Jane’s quiet authority. The exquisite release of her own surrender still surprised her. Tonight, though, was different. The hunger was reversing. She wanted Jane, no, she corrected herself, she needed Jane. Lily lifted her own hand, cupped Jane’s jaw, thumb tracing the faint freckles across her cheekbone with a torturing slowness. Jane’s lips parted with a soft inhale; the sound alone sent heat curling low in Lily’s belly.
“Tonight, I don’t want to hold anything together,” Lily murmured, voice roughened with want. “I want to take it all down. Slowly.”
Jane’s pupils flared. A quiet thrill rippled through her with the recognition of something. Something that caused her tummy to somersault, a turning tide. She had loved guiding Lily’s surrender, but now Lily’s raw, focused need pulled at something deeper, Jane’s natural inclination to yield, fit in and be good, laced now with the emerging and thrilling realisation that they would never be one paced, that they would move fluidly between their desires for each other. No boxes, no labels, just them together.
I want to feel her take me apart, Jane realised, the realisation sending a rush of warmth between her thighs. I need to give her everything she needs tonight. She tilted her head into Lily’s palm, lips brushing the inside of her wrist. “Take whatever you need,” Jane whispered, the words a soft offering. “I’m yours tonight.”
The permission hung in the air like a feather on a warm current. Lily kissed her then. So very slowly, teasing, torturing, claiming, tasting faint salt and red wine on Jane’s tongue. Jane melted instantly, her body softening against the door, a quiet, barely there whimper vibrating against Lily’s mouth. Lily’s hands slid into that gorgeous wild red hair, fingers tightening just enough to tilt Jane’s head back, deepening the kiss until Jane’s knees weakened and her hands clutched at Lily’s waist for balance.
They moved toward the kitchen without fully parting, mouths brushing, breaths mingling. Lily pressed Jane gently against the counter beside the stove, lips trailing down the thin column of her throat, lingering at the ever more frantic pulse point. Jane’s head fell back with a soft gasp, exposing more skin, inviting more. An invitation Lily took without hesitation, her teeth grazing lightly, tongue soothing until Jane’s hips rolled forward involuntarily, desperately seeking contact. Lily’s hands found the knot in the shirt at Jane’s waist and tugged it loose with deliberate patience. The cotton shirt parted slowly, inch by inch, revealing warm, sun-kissed skin.
Lily’s mouth followed the path her fingers forged, kissing along collarbones, tasting faint traces of ocean still clinging to the beautiful, freckled skin. When she brushed a thumb across one hardening nipple through thin fabric, Jane arched with a breathy sound that went straight to Lily’s core.
Jane realised she was still connected to her body, and her own hands moved to Lily’s jacket, pushing it from her shoulders and letting it drop. The silk blouse followed, buttons slipping free under shaky fingers. When Jane’s palms skimmed over the delicate, sheer ivory lace, Lily’s breath stuttered for a moment, almost giving in again, but she caught Jane’s wrists gently, guiding them back to the counter’s edge.
“Not yet,” Lily murmured against her ear, voice low and steady despite the heat flooding her. “Tonight I touch. You feel.”
Jane’s answer was both shiver and shudder combined and all too visible, her thighs pressing together as fresh arousal pulsed through her. The quiet command in Lily’s voice, gentle but so absolute, sent liquid heat coursing through her.
Yes, she thought almost but not entirely selfishly, this is exactly what I want tonight.
Lily guided her down the short hallway, mouths fused again, until moonlight spilled across the wide couch. She eased Jane down slowly, following, kneeling between parted thighs. Jane’s chest rose and fell faster now, green eyes dark with anticipation. “Stay just like that,” Lily said softly, the words laced with promise.
Jane’s smile was small, radiant, utterly trusting. She lifted her arms above her head without prompting, wrists crossing loosely, body offered. The vulnerability of the pose sent a fresh wave of heat through her; being laid open under Lily’s reverent gaze felt like diving into warm, endless water. Lily paused, drinking in the sight.
Jane lay in the moonlight, red hair fanned across cushions, thighs parted in an aching invitation. She traced one fingertip from Jane’s throat down the centre of her body, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. She watched Jane’s stomach quiver when the touch skimmed low but stopped just short of her need.
Jane’s hips lifted in a silent plea, a soft sound escaping her throat. Lily leaned in, mouth brushing Jane’s ear. “I’m going to take my time with you.” The promise drew a trembling exhale from Jane, her body already slick with anticipation. Only then did Lily peel away the remaining cotton, then the leggings, until Jane lay fully exposed, her skin glowing like liquid pearl. Every breath another small surrender. Lily’s hands mapped her slowly. Down outstretched arms, over sensitive ribs, across the soft plane of her stomach, along strong thighs that fell open wider without being asked. Each touch was reverent, deliberate, building tension until Jane was trembling with it.
When Lily’s fingers finally slid between her legs, she found Jane drenched, swollen, aching. Jane’s hips bucked at the first slow circle, a low moan spilling free. Lily held her gaze. “Look at me.”
Jane’s eyes fluttered open, glazed and unguarded, the trust in them searing. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Lily whispered against her lips. “So wet for me already. Letting me have you.”
She slid two fingers inside with agonising slowness, curling gently, thumb circling above in steady rhythm. Jane’s back arched sharply, thighs tightening around Lily’s hand, every breath a wanton plea. Lily drew it out, slowing when Jane neared the edge, speeding only to keep her suspended in that most exquisite tension, until Jane was writhing, whispering broken, unintelligible pleas against Lily’s mouth.
Only then did Lily let her fall, kissing her deeply as Jane’s orgasm crashed through her in long, shuddering waves, body clenching around her fingers, fingers digging into the cushion above her head.
Afterwards, Jane lay against the cushions, chest rising and falling in uneven waves, skin flushed and glistening under the moonlight that slanted through the open balcony doors. Her limbs felt heavy, liquid, as though the ocean itself had settled inside her bones. Every exhale carried a faint tremor; every inhale pulled fresh awareness to the places Lily’s fingers had just left, aching and sated. Lily watched her, really watched, taking in the way Jane’s throat worked on a swallow, the way her fingers still flexed faintly against the fabric above her head, as though remembering the instruction to stay.
Something fierce and tender twisted in Lily’s chest. She had never felt this before, the quiet power of seeing someone so utterly open, so trusting, and knowing she was the reason. It wasn’t conquest. It was custodianship. She shifted, still kneeling between Jane’s thighs, and gently caught Jane’s wrist. Jane’s hand was warm, trembling, fingers slick from her own release. Lily guided it slowly downward, pressing the palm flat against the black linen still clinging to her own hips.
“Touch me now,” Lily said, the words coming out rougher than she intended, edged with the need that had been building since Jane first yielded against the door. “Slowly. Show me how good you can be when you’re still shaking from cumming on my fingers.”
Jane’s eyes fluttered open, glazed, soft, unguarded. For a heartbeat, she simply breathed, letting the command settle inside her like warm sea water. Then her lips curved, small and private, and her fingers moved. They slipped beneath the hem of the dress with careful reverence, finding lace already damp, finding Lily swollen and pulsing beneath it. Jane exhaled shakily at the first contact; she felt proof of how much Lily had wanted this, too. Her own body still hummed with aftershocks; every small movement sent fresh sparks along her nerves.
Yet she focused. She let Lily’s quiet guidance move her: the subtle lift of hips, the soft catch of breath when Jane circled just right, the low murmur of “there like that” when she found the rhythm Lily needed. Sometimes a gentle tug of that glorious red hair.
Lily’s head tipped back, dark hair spilling over her shoulders in heavy waves. She threaded her fingers into Jane’s red curls, not pulling, simply holding, anchoring herself as pleasure coiled tighter. Jane felt the tremor in Lily’s thighs, felt the way her breath hitched and held, felt the exact instant Lily’s control began to fray. It was intoxicating knowing she could give this, knowing Lily trusted her to carry her over the edge even while Jane herself was still trembling.
When Lily came, it was sudden and almost furious, hips jerking once, twice, and again, a broken sound escaping her throat as her fingers tightened in Jane’s hair. Jane kept moving, gently now, drawing it out until Lily’s body softened again, until the last shudder passed and Lily’s forehead dropped to rest against Jane’s shoulder.
They stayed like that for long moments. Their breath mingling, skin cooling in the night air, the distant roll of waves the only sound besides their slowing heartbeats. Later, in Jane’s bed, moonlight silvering the tangled white sheets, Lily took her again. She eased Jane onto her back with the same deliberate care, kissing the salt from her throat, the memory of tremor still lingering in Jane’s limbs. When Lily settled between her thighs, Jane’s legs fell open without hesitation, instinct now, trust now.
Lily’s mouth was warm, unhurried, tongue tracing slow patterns that made Jane’s hips lift in silent, desperate plea. Hands slid up strong thighs, pinning them gently to the mattress, not to restrain, but to hold her steady while pleasure built again. Jane’s thoughts scattered like the sea foam she had watched from the wharf with her coffee that morning.
She felt everything. The cool sheets beneath her back, the heat of Lily’s mouth, the gentle pressure of fingers curling inside her once more. Each crest slower to build, but each higher, until the second release rolled through her in long, shuddering waves. Her back arched right off the sheets, fingers clutching at Lily’s hair, a soft, broken sound of Lily’s name spilling into the quiet room. Lily didn’t stop. She kissed the inside of Jane’s thigh, soothed the trembling muscle with her tongue, then returned, patient, relentless, coaxing.
Jane’s body answered before her mind could catch up, thighs tightening around Lily’s shoulders, breath coming in short, helpless gasps. The third time built like a slow tide, deep, strong and inevitable. When it broke, Jane’s cry was softer, more vulnerable, almost surprised at how completely she could still unravel.
Afterwards, when her need was sated, Lily crawled up her body, gathering Jane close, pressing kisses to damp temples, to the corner of her mouth, to the freckles scattered across her collarbone. Jane curled into her instinctively, face tucked against Lily’s neck, breathing in the faint scent of city polish and warm skin. Neither spoke for a long while. There was no need. Their bodies said everything. The way Jane’s hand rested over Lily’s heart, feeling it steady; the way Lily’s fingers traced idle circles on Jane’s back, soothing the last tremors away.
In the quiet, Jane thought, drowsy but certain, that this was what safety felt like. Not the absence of risk, but the presence of someone who would hold her through every surrender, every return. And Lily, feeling Jane’s heartbeat slow against her own, understood something new. Command, in her hands, was simply another way of saying I’ve got you. It was nothing like the brutality she experienced at work. They drifted toward sleep like that, tangled, moonlight fading as dawn crept pale, the ocean breathing its steady rhythm beyond the open windows.
As they woke with the breeze blowing a chill across their skin, Jane snuggled close into Lily’s shoulder. She was grinning, smirking, almost laughing all at once. Then she found her voice husky and exhausted. “I didn’t believe it could ever feel this good.”
Lily’s arm tightened around her. “I’ve never wanted to take anyone like I need to have you,” she admitted, “but with you… I can’t seem to stop.” Lily scanned the time and her memories of what she still needed to get done today for work confronted her. She smirked and dragged Jane to the shower.
The night had given them balance, an answer to the first surrender. And it felt, to both of them, like the tide had only just begun to turn.
