The Blind Date

April walks in and curses under her breath. Every table’s taken. Charlotte catches the words and slides her chair out. "There’s room here," she says. April studies her face, then sits. On her phone a new message appears—no arrival time, just some sorry excuse. Charlotte’s eyes skim the black silk hugging April’s thighs. "That dress looks expensive on you," she murmurs. April glances up, catches the stare, smiles slow. "Yours isn’t bad either. That slit is criminal." Charlotte shrugs, tells her the date canceled last minute; now she’s drinking alone. April laughs once, sharp. "Looks like we both picked losers tonight." The air between them tightens. Charlotte tips her glass. "Might as well enjoy the reservation." Twenty minutes later April’s key is in the lock and Charlotte’s tongue is already in her mouth. They stagger down the hall, shoes kicked off, zippers giving way. On the bed April shoves fabric aside, spreads Charlotte open, licks her in long, deliberate strokes until Charlotte’s thighs start to shake. A quick turn, hips lifted, and April’s tongue finds the tight ring of her ass; Charlotte comes with a low, helpless sound. She flips April onto her back, returns the favor, two fingers curling while her mouth sucks April’s clit until April arches, gasps, and spills across her tongue. They twist into a sixty-nine, frantic, wet, swallowing each other. Later they lock legs, slick cunts sliding together, grinding hard, coming again and again until the sheets are damp and the afternoon light has shifted to gold.