Girls Gotta Stick Together!

Brandi walks through the door and finds August on the couch, eyes red. She’s been holding back tears all afternoon. The words tumble out in a rush. Brandi’s husband—August’s boss—has been texting since morning. Promises about connections. Offers of modeling work if she’ll meet him at a hotel. August keeps her phone low so the baby doesn’t see the photos he keeps sending. Brandi reads each line, each blurry shot of cock and cash, and something in her face hardens. She believed he was working late. She was wrong. She touches August’s cheek. “You should’ve told me sooner.” August whispers she didn’t want to lose this job, this house, this baby. She didn’t want to lose Brandi, either. The kiss hits without warning. Mouths open, breath shaking. Fingers slide under silk blouses, finding warm skin and tight nipples. Brandi drops to her knees first, tugging August’s panties aside so she can press her tongue flat against a slick, throbbing clit. August moans and rocks into it, spreading wider, already soaked. They end up on the rug, thighs locked, cunts grinding—wet heat on wet heat—until August comes with a broken sound and Brandi follows, biting her own wrist to stay quiet.