My Stories

Natalie Lynn


Maya stood barefoot on the tile, bathed in the cool silver of the open fridge and the dim under-cabinet lights. Her sleep shirt clung to her thighs, hem twisted from restless tossing. She was reaching for the strawberries when she heard footsteps behind her — slow, quiet, but deliberate.

“I knew I wasn’t imagining things,” said a voice, roughened by sleep and something else. Jo.

Maya turned, half-startled, half-relieved. Jo’s hair was a mess, curls tumbling in defiance of the night, and her t-shirt was so worn it almost looked translucent in the glow of the fridge. She leaned against the doorframe with the kind of lazy confidence that made Maya’s chest ache.

“You always sneak fruit at night?” Jo asked, voice dipped in amusement.

“Only when I can’t sleep,” Maya said, holding up the bowl of strawberries. “Want one?”

Jo crossed the kitchen in three slow steps. Close. Closer. She took a berry from the bowl — but didn’t eat it. She held it between her fingers, gaze locked on Maya’s mouth.

“You’ve got something right here,” Jo whispered, brushing the corner of Maya’s lips with her thumb. There was nothing there, of course. Maya knew it. Jo knew it. That wasn’t the point.

Jo finally bit into the strawberry. Her lips glistened, and Maya couldn’t look away.

“You do this on purpose,” Maya breathed.

“What?”

“Come into the kitchen. At midnight. Looking like… that.”

Jo smiled around the last bite of the strawberry, then leaned in so close Maya could feel the heat of her body, smell the faint scent of cedar and sleep on her skin.

“I think we both know who’s really causing trouble.”

It didn’t take much. A tilt of a chin, the flutter of an eyelash, the tremble of breath — and then Maya kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t delicate.

It was months of maybe crashing into one perfect _yes_.

Jo’s hands found Maya’s hips. Maya’s fingers tangled in Jo’s curls. The bowl of strawberries clattered to the floor, forgotten. Nothing but the sound of breath and skin and that heartbeat rhythm of wanting filled the kitchen now.

They kissed like the world was spinning too fast and this — this was the only way to hold on.

And when Jo pulled back, just slightly, enough to let the night settle around them again, she whispered against Maya’s lips, “You still can’t sleep?”

Maya smiled. “Not even a little.”


A sensual late-night encounter between two women unfolds in the quiet glow of a kitchen — where sleep is elusive and something deeper stirs between them.

In the Kitchen, After Midnight


Riley never liked storms. Not for the thunder or the rain — she actually found those kind of soothing — but for the way they messed with the old wiring in her apartment building.

By the time the lights flickered out entirely, she was halfway through a glass of cheap merlot, barefoot, and wearing nothing but an oversized Bowie t-shirt. She cursed softly, lit the emergency candle from the kitchen drawer, and padded out into the hallway. The air was heavy, charged — not just with electricity, but with something less explainable.

She wasn't expecting anyone to be out. So when she saw _her_ — standing at the far end of the hall, barefoot like Riley, holding a cigarette and backlit by flashes of lightning — she stopped breathing for a moment.

"You’re not supposed to smoke in here," Riley said, leaning against the doorframe to seem more casual than she felt.

The woman turned. Sharp jaw. Dark eyes. A small, amused smirk that made Riley's stomach flip in a way she didn’t entirely appreciate.

"I like rules I can break quietly," the woman said. Her voice was low, velvet over gravel.

Riley tilted her head. "You live on this floor?"

"Just moved into 3F. Boxes everywhere. No candles. Thought I’d explore during the blackout." She stepped closer. The smell of rain clung to her skin. “You?”

“3C.” Riley hesitated. “I’m Riley.”

The woman offered a hand. “Sasha.”

Their fingers touched for barely a second — but the heat lingered.

A rumble of thunder shook the walls.

“You always wander the halls in a storm?” Sasha asked.

“Only when I’m not invited into stranger’s apartments,” Riley replied, raising an eyebrow.

Sasha laughed. “That sounds like a challenge.”

---

Riley didn’t entirely remember saying yes, but suddenly they were in 3F. Boxes were piled against the walls. The candle Sasha had found was nearly dead, casting the room in a flickering orange haze.

“You're not afraid of the dark, are you?” Sasha asked, reaching into a cabinet.

“Only when I don’t know who’s standing next to me.”

“Then it’s good you’re getting to know me,” Sasha said. “Though you strike me as someone who doesn’t scare easy.”

Riley sat on the countertop. “You don’t strike me as someone who just moved in.”

That paused Sasha. A flicker of something unreadable passed across her face.

“I’ve lived a lot of places. Moving starts to feel like standing still after a while.”

“And you don’t unpack?”

Sasha leaned back against the sink. “Depends how long I plan to stay.”

Another crack of thunder. The candle blew out. Riley stiffened.

“Relax,” Sasha murmured. “Still here.”

Riley tried to play it cool, but her pulse was ticking up — not from fear. Not entirely.

“I used to date a guy who loved storms,” she said suddenly. “He’d sit on the porch like it was a show. Drove me nuts.”

“Let me guess — the next one was a girl who hated them?”

Riley smiled in the dark. “You’re quick.”

“You’re interesting.”

A beat of silence. Then, Sasha’s hand brushed against her knee. Light. Testing.

Riley didn’t move away.

“You’ve got this energy,” Sasha said softly. “Like you’re half-daring me to get closer, but also wondering if I’ll bite.”

“Would you?”

Sasha leaned in, voice a whisper against her jaw. “Only if you asked nicely.”

Riley’s breath caught.

But before she could answer — a thud. From the hall.

They both froze.

“Did you hear that?” Riley asked.

Sasha was already moving. Quietly, quickly, toward the door. She opened it just a sliver and peered out.

“Nothing there,” she said after a moment.

But something in her voice had changed. Just slightly.

“Maybe it was just the building,” Riley offered, climbing off the counter.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

The power flickered back on with a snap. Light flooded the apartment. And in it, Riley saw something she hadn’t before — a small envelope, tucked beneath Sasha’s keys. Her name was written on it.

_Riley._

She blinked. “What is that?”

Sasha’s expression didn’t shift. But her voice dropped.

“Something I meant to give you. Eventually.”

Riley’s heart stuttered. She moved toward the envelope, but Sasha stepped between her and the counter.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” she said. “Just for a little while longer.”

And for reasons Riley couldn’t explain — maybe the wine, maybe the storm, maybe the way Sasha looked at her like she’d been waiting years — she did.

She let it go.

For now.


When Riley meets a mysterious woman during a stormy night in her apartment building, a simple power outage turns into a charged encounter — where secrets linger just beyond the hallway shadows.

My Stories

In the Kitchen, After Midnight

The Woman on the Third Floor