Room for More?

Room For More?

Shannon adjusted the hem of her top for the third time in as many minutes, glancing down the quiet hallway of the high-rise.

"You look perfect," Craig murmured, leaning in to kiss her temple.

She exhaled a laugh, half-nervous, half-buzzed from the energy of the city. "I know. I just want this to go well."

"It will. This is exactly what we talked about -- smart location, flexible setup, good price."

He said it like a checklist, but she heard the excitement underneath. He was trying to play it cool, but Shannon had watched him scroll through listings every night for weeks. This place was the first that felt real. That felt like a future.

They were three weeks into their relocation -- boxes still half-unpacked, IKEA tools scattered across the floor of their temporary sublet. Craig's new job in finance had kicked off fast, all early mornings and late commutes, but he was already buzzing with ideas and ambition. She admired that about him -- how he carried himself with purpose but never took himself too seriously.

When he'd suggested getting a flat share to save for a future home, Shannon had hesitated. She liked their privacy. Their rhythm. But she also liked the idea of building something together. Not just coasting, but

planning.

Besides, they were solid. Better than solid. Even now, waiting outside a stranger's apartment door, she felt the low hum of comfort in her chest -- that certainty you get when you're exactly where you're supposed to be, with exactly who you're meant to be with.

Craig looked down at her and smiled, and that was it -- that little smile that made her stomach flip even after three years. He'd been her first real partner. The first man who

saw

her -- not just her body or her beauty, but her softness, her fire, her flaws. He listened. He touched like he meant it. He made her cum with his mouth

and

made her tea after. Who the hell was that lucky?

Her eyes drifted to his jaw, to the light stubble he'd meant to shave this morning. He smelled like sandalwood and fresh laundry. Her fingers curled instinctively around his.

The hallway was quiet, all clean lines and gentle lighting -- modern but softened by age. Shannon liked the way their footsteps echoed, how the stillness made everything feel slightly more important. She could hear Craig rehearsing his charm in his head, even if he was playing it cool on the surface.

She glanced down at her reflection in the blackened glass of the window. Not fixing anything this time. Just seeing herself.

A cropped sweater over a lean waist, jeans that hugged hips she'd finally stopped criticising. Her body was a quiet contradiction -- soft in places, strong in others. Years of yoga gave her a long, supple silhouette, but she wasn't delicate. Her ass was full, thighs firm, belly gently curved. She carried herself with that particular kind of confidence that didn't come from approval, but from use -- like she

knew

her body, not just how it looked, but what it could do.

Her face was open, expressive -- dark hazel eyes that tilted upward slightly at the corners, a full mouth, and a kind of sun-warmed complexion that made her look permanently kissed by summer. Her hair was a cascade of thick, dark curls -- usually wild, tonight tamed into a loose bun she'd twisted without thinking.

Pretty, people told her. But Shannon never quite believed it until she saw the way Craig looked at her.

She didn't feel nervous. Just...

aware.

Aware of her skin, her breath, the little hum of excitement that came with new beginnings.

Craig reached out and knocked. A low, confident rhythm. Three beats.

"Stop checking your reflection in the window," he teased.

"I'm not!"

"You are. And again -- perfect."

Before she could argue, a sound stirred behind the door -- footsteps. Slow, heavy, deliberate. Not the scuff of sneakers or slippered feet. These landed with intention. Shannon's chest lifted as she inhaled.

The door opened.

At first, it was just space -- the tall, open frame of the entryway, the dark interior behind it. Then he stepped into view.

Ronald.

Shannon registered it all at once, like a heatwave -- his sheer size, the effortless coil of muscle beneath a black fitted tee, the slope of shoulders so wide they seemed to block the light behind him. His skin was deep, smooth, the kind of darkness that made you think of strength and stillness in equal measure. There was no smile at first, just calm -- a steady, centred presence that felt like gravity.

Then his mouth curved, slow and polite. "You must be Craig and Shannon."

His voice was lower than expected. Not loud, but

grounded

-- like it came from his chest, not his throat.

Craig stepped forward to shake hands, already turning on the charm. Shannon stayed back a beat longer than necessary, her gaze drifting across the frame of him. Not leering. Not

that.

Just... noting. How his forearms looked carved, veins rising under skin like subtle topography. How the fabric of his shirt hugged his chest in a way that suggested not vanity, but inevitability.

His body wasn't the only thing large.

Even the way he stood -- not puffed up, not dominant in the cliché sense -- just

there.

Quietly owning the space. Not demanding attention. Simply built for it.

When his eyes landed on her, it wasn't a stare. It was a glance. But it held, just a second longer than expected. His gaze didn't rake her. It acknowledged her. Saw her, fully, and then moved on without a word.

Shannon felt the breath rise in her chest again.

"Yeah," Craig was saying, grinning as he shook Ron's hand. "Thanks for having us."

Ron nodded, stepping back to let them in. "Of course. Come in, take a look. No pressure."

His voice didn't smile the way his mouth did. It was smooth. Measured. Assured. The kind of voice that didn't

need

to sell anything.

The moment they stepped inside, Shannon felt it -- the subtle hush of a space built with intention. The kind of quiet that didn't come from emptiness, but from design. Light poured in from wall-length windows, catching the soft sheen of polished floors and clean architectural lines. Everything about it felt... composed.

Ron walked ahead of them, barefoot, comfortable, his pace steady. "Place is fully furnished," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "But if you've got your own things, feel free to swap stuff out, decorate your room however you like. Make it yours."

Shannon appreciated that. She hated feeling like a guest in her own space.

He moved through the open-plan kitchen and living room, pointing casually as he went. "That's the main common area. I

often

work from home, but I tend to keep it low-volume during the day."

The kitchen made her stop in her tracks.

A massive marble island ran the length of the space, veined in gold and stormy grey, matte and cool beneath the fingers she couldn't resist brushing along the edge. Industrial light fixtures hung overhead -- matte black and brass -- and below them, a wide breakfast bar with sleek, high stools. Everything gleamed. Clean lines. Hidden appliances. Thoughtful touches.

The espresso machine caught her eye. Built-in. Real. Not the kind you impulse-buy and regret.

Ron led them into the hallway, gesturing to a room as they passed. "I converted that one into a bit of a gym-slash-office. Mostly mornings and evenings in there. You're welcome to use the equipment if you're into that kind of thing."

Shannon nodded, already picturing her yoga mat unrolled, her body moving through sun salutations with soft music playing while someone else -- someone quiet -- typed away at a nearby desk.

They reached the bedroom. Ron opened the door and stepped back.

"This would be yours."

Craig blinked. "Wait, this is the master suite?"

"One of them," Ron said with a small smile. "There are two. I've got the other."

Shannon glanced at Craig. His eyebrows had lifted. She stepped inside and felt the temperature shift -- not physically, but emotionally. It was so open. Airy. Not just space, but

light.

A king-sized bed, already dressed in crisp white linens, anchored the room. Across from it: a broad window spilling golden afternoon sun across hardwood floors. To the left, a walk-in closet. And beside it, a private en-suite that looked lifted from a spa -- slate tile, rainfall shower, warm backlit mirror.

She let out a soft sound in her throat. Not quite a laugh. Just... wonder.

Back in the living room, Ron motioned toward the entertainment setup. A sleek, wall-mounted TV glowed black above a built-in electric fireplace, its ember display flickering quietly like a slow heartbeat.

Craig let out a low whistle. "That's an OLED, right? I've always wanted one. Never seen one that big outside a showroom."

"Eighty-inch," Ron confirmed. "But yeah, it's a good screen. I use it mostly for movies."

"You've got the whole theatre vibe going," Craig added, visibly impressed.

Shannon barely registered the specs. Her attention was pulled elsewhere -- the fireplace below, the velvet reading chair angled just right beside it. She imagined herself curled up there with a blanket, a book, maybe tea. The thought wrapped around her like warmth.

Then the balcony.

Sliding glass doors opened onto a curved terrace that wrapped with the line of the building, opening into the skyline like a stage. The sun was dipping low, casting everything in copper and rose. The city stretched for miles, glass towers glowing, windows blinking on one by one.

At the far end of the balcony: the hot tub. Steam drifted lazily from the surface, even now in the daylight. It wasn't ostentatious. It looked... inviting.

"Evenings out here are my favourite part," Ron said softly. "The light, the breeze, the quiet. Sitting in the tub with a drink -- it's a good way to end the day."

Shannon stepped closer to the glass. The view was unreal. The kind of view people fought for. She could see herself out there. Book in hand. Steam curling in the air. A blanket draped over her legs. Her whole body at ease.

She looked at Craig again.

He smiled, wide-eyed and glowing.

This didn't feel like something they were applying for.

It felt like something they were already falling into.

Ron excused himself briefly, disappearing down the hallway toward the kitchen. "I'll grab us something to drink," he said easily. "Sparkling water okay?"

Shannon nodded, and the moment he turned the corner, Craig let out a low exhale, eyes wide with that same disbelieving smile he'd worn since they stepped through the door.

"Is this real life?" he muttered.

Shannon laughed, still standing at the edge of the balcony. The breeze brushed her skin, just enough to lift the fine hairs on her arms. The city stretched out like a living thing below them -- glass and steel and infinite movement, all quieted by distance.

"It's ridiculous," she said. "I mean... the kitchen? That tub?"

"And the fact that he's not charging double?" Craig added, turning to her with that playful incredulity he wore so well. "That's the part I don't get."

They drifted back into the living room, fingers brushing. Everything felt suspended -- too good to question, but almost unreal in its precision. Shannon looked around again, trying to picture it with their things layered in. Her books on the shelf. Craig's half-worn sneakers by the door. Her mug on the counter next to the espresso machine. It was easy to see.

Too

easy.

Ron returned, placing three glasses on the coffee table -- simple, crystal-cut tumblers, the water inside fizzing softly.

"This place is incredible," Craig said, settling onto the couch. "Honestly? You could charge double for it. Easy."

Ron shrugged, sinking into the opposite end of the couch with quiet ease. "It's not about squeezing someone for rent," he said. "It's about sharing space with the right people. Makes life a lot simpler when the energy's good."

Shannon found herself watching him again -- the way he sat, relaxed but alert, his long frame folded neatly into the plush cushion, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. There was something about how he took up space. Not aggressively. Just naturally. Like he belonged in every room he entered, and didn't need to prove it.

Craig nodded. "That's a good way to look at it. I'm guessing this place is yours, then?"

"Yeah. Bought it five years ago."

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

Ron took a sip, then set the glass down. "Private investments. A lot of it's remote now -- consulting, equity plays, that sort of thing."

Craig perked up. "No way -- I'm in finance too. Way lower down the ladder, obviously. Just started at a firm here in the city. But I've always been fascinated by that side of it -- private markets, building long-term wealth."

There it was -- the spark. Not fanboy awe, not obsequious. Just genuine admiration. The kind of connection Shannon recognised in Craig's voice when he found someone who could talk shop at a level he aspired to reach.

Ron didn't gloat. He just nodded, interested. "It's a good time to be getting in. You'll pick it up fast."

Shannon leaned back in her chair, watching the two of them. She liked this, actually. The ease of it. No weird tension. No awkward power dynamic. Just... chemistry. Not the kind you had to name. The kind that

settled.

Craig turned to her. "Tell him what you do."

Shannon smiled. "I work from home too. Mostly yoga classes over livestream, a bit of freelance design work, and I paint when I can afford to."

Ron's eyes lit slightly. "Painting? Oils or watercolour?"

"Mostly acrylic. A bit of mixed media."

"I'd love to see some of it sometime," he said simply. "I've got a few pieces from local artists. I think art keeps a space alive."

It was such a quiet thing to say, but Shannon felt it land. Not as a flirtation -- just a thought she didn't expect to hear from a man like him. That kind of contrast stuck in the mind.

Ron stood, collecting the glasses. "Well," he said, "if you two want the place, it's yours."

Craig blinked. "Just like that?"

"You're the right fit. I trust my gut."

Shannon looked at Craig, then back to Ron. Her chest lifted with something soft and warm -- like stepping into hot water. Like falling into luck.

"We'd love to," she said.

Craig squeezed her hand.

Ron smiled.

And deep in her belly -- low and silent -- something fluttered.

--------

The heat was different on the twenty-eighth floor.

Not the sweltering kind -- the building was air-conditioned, the windows triple-glazed -- but the kind that came from motion. From lifted boxes, from sweat on forearms, from men breathing through effort and smiling through it.

Craig hauled the final box through the front door, grunting as he shifted the weight to one side.

"You sure this one doesn't have your book collection in it?" he teased.

Shannon smirked. "It's yoga equipment. You'll thank me when your back gives out from lifting like that."

Ron, already inside, took the box from Craig with one smooth motion. No showboating. No flexing. Just strength that didn't ask for attention. He carried it into the master suite like it weighed nothing.

Craig blinked, still catching his breath. "Jesus," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "You ever slow down?"

Ron reappeared, relaxed, barely glistening. "Years of practice."

He wasn't even winded.

Shannon watched the two of them -- both shirtless now, both damp with sweat. Craig was lean, defined, his body shaped by years of running and weekend gym sessions. Ron was something else. Broader. Denser. Built like he could tear open the world if he wanted, but chose not to.

She pulled her eyes back to Craig and smiled. He was a catch. A real one. No doubt in her mind.

That evening, once the last box had been shoved into a corner and the cardboard grease-stained from empty pizza slices, the city began to glow beyond the tall apartment windows--rows of lights blinking into dusk like quiet applause. Craig reached for her without a word, his touch warm and certain, a gravity she didn't resist.

She climbed onto his lap atop the still-unfamiliar mattress, the sheets beneath them stiff and crinkling, holding the faint scent of plastic wrap and factory starch. Her knees bracketed his hips, and she leaned in, letting her weight settle, her palms against his chest as their mouths met. He kissed her the way he always did when exhaustion blurred into arousal--slowly, like he had all night, like she was something to savor. There was heat behind it, but something tender too--grateful, almost reverent.

Their bodies moved with the ease of well-learned rhythm, a quiet confidence forged in dim bedrooms and hurried mornings. His hands gripped her hips just firmly enough to make her feel claimed. And when he pressed into her--thick and hot and heavy--she gasped, the familiar stretch drawing her open in one slow, deliberate slide.

Seven inches, maybe a touch more--she'd measured him once, playfully, breathless between kisses--and every bit of him felt designed to fill her, to reach exactly where she needed. He moved with patience, with purpose, each roll of his hips drawing a little more sound from her throat, a little more tremble into her limbs. He watched her with that focused heat he always had, like her pleasure was something sacred. Her body responded without hesitation--arching, clenching, giving in--until her fingers curled around the headboard and her cries broke free, sharp and breathless, his name barely forming around them like a whispered prayer.

She came in a quake of sensation, her body fluttering around him as she pulsed through it, the aftershocks delicate but consuming. He didn't let up--not until he followed with a groan low and raw against her neck, his release slow and deep and drawn from somewhere wordless.

They collapsed into the silence that followed, the heat between their bodies mingling with the faint electric hum of their new space. Skin on skin. Breath on breath. The city pulsing quietly beyond the glass.

"You happy?" he murmured eventually, not bothering to open his eyes.

She smiled against his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles against his skin. "Completely."

And she meant it.

Her hand rested on his chest. His heartbeat was steady, warm. The air in the room smelled like skin and clean sheets and the faint spice of their new lives unfolding.

She let her eyes wander -- to the window, to the skyline, to the dark outline of the hot tub out on the balcony. The city was bigger than she'd imagined. But it didn't feel overwhelming. It felt... open.

She had Craig. He was everything she'd hoped for in a partner -- kind, sexy, solid, smart. He made her laugh. Made her come. Made her feel seen. What more could a woman ask for?

And the place... the place was perfect. Modern, soft, generous. And Ron -- well. They'd gotten lucky there too. A roommate who kept to himself, helped them move, didn't blink at heavy lifting or sweat. Someone easy to be around. Respectful.

She smiled to herself, curling deeper into Craig's side.

They were lucky.

She wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve all this, but she felt it settle in her bones like sunlight warming stone.

From the hallway, the faint sound of water running. A door shutting. Soft, even footsteps. Ron, probably heading to bed.

She closed her eyes again.

Happy.

Content.

But far from still.

Shannon hadn't meant to cook anything complicated. It was just going to be pasta -- quick, mindless. Something to fill the space while Craig worked late and she unwound after her final class. But something about the silence of the apartment, the glow of the evening light spilling across the marble countertops, the crisp comfort of her bare feet on hardwood... it pulled her into rhythm. Onion, garlic, olive oil. A glass of red wine. Music low on her phone. By the time she was slicing basil and simmering sauce, she was cooking, not just making food.