A Slice of Heaven

Uma and Lily have been attached at the hip since high school, a pair of laughter and secret glances. Years ago, during a game of truth-or-dare, they stole a kiss that stayed with them like heat under the skin. Now they’re pinning satin to other women and measuring waistlines for someone else’s aisle walk. They duck into the greenhouse where the white peonies wait, still wet from misting. Lily raises a rose to Uma’s lips, inviting her to smell instead of taste. Uma does both. Petals brush the corner of her mouth and Lily’s fingers follow, then linger. When Uma leans in, Lily is already parting her thighs just enough for the tulle underskirt to slip aside. Fingertips find heat beneath silk. The flower buckets tip. Uma drops to her knees first, tongue tracing the slick seam she knows so well. Lily’s hips jerk against the table edge. When she comes, the bouquet shakes apart above them. They trade places. Lily uses teeth on Uma’s clit, sucks until Uma’s knuckles whiten on the wooden countertop and her release leaves wet streaks down Lily’s chin. They stand afterward, heartbeats hammering through matching champagne-colored dresses, hands smoothing stray petals back into place. Outside, the photographer calls for the next shot.