Rimming Time

Anya Krey and Viol can't keep their hands—or tongues—off each other. One moment they're kissing like they need to share the same breath, the next they're spread open on the sheets, chasing that slick heat with eager fingers. Every plunge draws wet sounds that make them moan louder. Tongues flick, drag, bury themselves, tasting slick and salt. They rock their hips like they've forgotten anything else exists, driving deeper until thighs start to shake. Then they switch, whoever just came dragging the other face-down so she can return the favor. It's raw, fast, constant—fingers curling, lips sealing tight, each of them chasing the other's climax like she can't stand the wait.