Lexi stands in the doorway, black lace hugging her curves. Reagan still holds the card in her hands, reading the same sentence twice. Her husband’s words sit there, permission spelled out in neat black ink. Across the room Ken leans back, eyes steady, ready to watch every move. Reagan steps forward. Their mouths meet, slow at first, then deeper. Lexi’s tongue slides over Reagan’s lower lip, tasting the faint sweetness of champagne. Reagan’s fingers find the swell of Lexi’s breasts, squeezing the heavy lace cups until a soft nipple hardens under her palm. Lexi’s breath catches, low and sharp. They sink onto the bed. Lexi peels the straps from Reagan’s shoulders, freeing full, pale breasts. She leans in, takes one nipple between her lips, sucks until Reagan arches. At the same time Lexi’s hand slips between Reagan’s thighs, finding heat through thin panties. Two fingers press the fabric inward, rubbing the wet seam until Reagan’s hips tilt. Reagan tugs the lace down Lexi’s waist. The fabric pools at her knees. She bends, mouth open, tongue tracing the line where thigh meets hip. Lexi moans, fingers threading through Reagan’s dark hair. They shift, legs parting, bodies aligning head to toe. Lexi’s tongue parts Reagan’s folds, slow and deliberate. Reagan answers with the same slow lick, tasting Lexi while her own hips rock against the steady pressure of Lexi’s mouth. Ken stays quiet, one hand resting on his thigh, eyes fixed on the wet shine between the women’s legs. Lexi slides two fingers inside Reagan, curling them upward with each stroke. Reagan answers with the same rhythm, tongue flicking faster. The bed creaks under their shifting weight. Sweat beads along Reagan’s spine. Lexi’s free hand grips Reagan’s ass, pulling her closer, tongue never leaving the swollen clit. They move together, breath ragged, thighs trembling, the room thick with the sound of slick skin and low, hungry moans. Ken watches, the only witness, as both women come undone under each other’s mouths and hands.
Lexi stands in the doorway, black lace hugging her curves. Reagan still holds the card in her hands, reading the same sentence twice. Her husband’s words sit there, permission spelled out in neat black ink. Across the room Ken leans back, eyes steady, ready to watch every move. Reagan steps forward. Their mouths meet, slow at first, then deeper. Lexi’s tongue slides over Reagan’s lower lip, tasting the faint sweetness of champagne. Reagan’s fingers find the swell of Lexi’s breasts, squeezing the heavy lace cups until a soft nipple hardens under her palm. Lexi’s breath catches, low and sharp. They sink onto the bed. Lexi peels the straps from Reagan’s shoulders, freeing full, pale breasts. She leans in, takes one nipple between her lips, sucks until Reagan arches. At the same time Lexi’s hand slips between Reagan’s thighs, finding heat through thin panties. Two fingers press the fabric inward, rubbing the wet seam until Reagan’s hips tilt. Reagan tugs the lace down Lexi’s waist. The fabric pools at her knees. She bends, mouth open, tongue tracing the line where thigh meets hip. Lexi moans, fingers threading through Reagan’s dark hair. They shift, legs parting, bodies aligning head to toe. Lexi’s tongue parts Reagan’s folds, slow and deliberate. Reagan answers with the same slow lick, tasting Lexi while her own hips rock against the steady pressure of Lexi’s mouth. Ken stays quiet, one hand resting on his thigh, eyes fixed on the wet shine between the women’s legs. Lexi slides two fingers inside Reagan, curling them upward with each stroke. Reagan answers with the same rhythm, tongue flicking faster. The bed creaks under their shifting weight. Sweat beads along Reagan’s spine. Lexi’s free hand grips Reagan’s ass, pulling her closer, tongue never leaving the swollen clit. They move together, breath ragged, thighs trembling, the room thick with the sound of slick skin and low, hungry moans. Ken watches, the only witness, as both women come undone under each other’s mouths and hands.