Moving In

Katy’s been sleeping in the back seat for weeks. The passenger side mirror is cracked, taped up with duct tape that won’t hold. Jane cracks her front door like she already regrets the ad. The room is hers if she wants it—simple, almost bare. All Jane wants in return is five minutes of hot water and soap. Steam clouds the mirror while Katy peels yesterday’s clothes from her skin. Jane lingers in the doorway, pretending she came to collect towels. One glance too long and the distance closes. Katy pulls her in, water running off both of them. Jane’s cotton robe soaks through, heavy and clinging. Fingers slick with soap trail over ribs, the dip of a waist, the wet heat between parted thighs. They fuck against the tiled wall first, Katy’s hand working fast and sure, two fingers buried deep while Jane bites her own forearm to stay quiet. Then the floor—Jane on her back, legs spread, hips lifting each time Katy grinds down. The shower keeps running. Water pools around them. Jane comes once, shaking, then again when Katy mouths her clit and doesn’t let up. Later, in the hallway, damp footprints mark the path to the spare bed where Jane finally opens her thighs without being asked.