Picking and Packing

Carolina stood in front of the mirror wearing a fourth dress, then kicked it off like the others. "None of them feel right," she muttered, riffling through her suitcase again. Riley watched from the bed, legs crossed, half-annoyed, half-amused. "They all look hot. We should be on the road already." Carolina wasn’t listening. Her mind stayed on silk hems and lace straps, the perfect silhouette for every meal and dance floor she imagined. Riley rose quietly and slipped behind her, sliding warm palms down Carolina’s waist. "You could wear a paper bag and still ruin every man in the room," she whispered, pressing a slow kiss to the curve of Carolina’s neck. Carolina’s breath caught, and the argument dissolved between their mouths. Riley lifted the suitcase to the floor, careful with the folded clothes, then eased Carolina back onto the bed. Fingers hooked underwear; fabric whispered down thighs. They moved with unhurried hunger—Riley’s tongue parting slick folds, Carolina moaning into Riley’s open thighs when they flipped and locked into a sixty-nine. Hips rolled, clits dragged together, each wet slide sharper than the last. Their half-finished packing lay forgotten, while their vacation started between parted legs.