Aunt's Gonna Catch Us!

At the dining table, India, Adriana, and Christie let wine loosen their shoulders while years catch up over plates gone cold. Christie's voice drops when she mentions her husband — weeks sliding into months without touch. India offers a sympathetic murmur. Adriana blurts out a slumber-party plan, and under the table India kicks her daughter sharply. Guest room might suit an aunt better. Three women in one bed could get cramped. Christie shrugs it off; the more the merrier. Dessert arrives, and India calls Adriana into the kitchen to help. The moment they're alone, India slides a hand under the apron, pulls Adriana close, and kisses her until Christie's question from the next room splits them apart. Back at the table, India drops her napkin. Beneath the linen she buries her face between Adriana's thighs; the daughter bites her tongue so hard it nearly bleeds. When India surfaces, lips slick, she smiles at Christie's praise for the chocolate cake. Later, with one bed between the three of them and Christie softly snoring, India turns on her side, fingers slipping inside Adriana. The daughter's breaths quicken; each slick circle of India's thumb winds her tighter. Just before the wave crests, Christie mutters in half-sleep. They freeze. Then Adriana breaks, moans loud, and Christie's eyes snap open. Shock flares, but India leans closer, voice low and coaxing, fingertips already brushing the swell of Christie's breast. Tonight, closeness travels further than blood.