Pink Velvet - Part 3

She watched the room clear. Just the two of them and the quiet sound of breath falling back to normal. She stepped closer, slipped two fingers past the waistband of the shorts still damp from practice, and met slick heat. Her knuckles pressed, curled. The other girl’s head tipped back against the studio wall as those fingers worked her open, slow at first, then steady. Wetness clung to every stroke, every circle traced around the clit that had already started to swell. She dropped to her knees, peeled the shorts down, and pressed her mouth where her hand had been—tongue flat, patient, tasting salt and skin while two fingers kept their rhythm inside. The other girl’s thighs twitched; she threaded her hand through the hair at the nape and held her there. They swapped places without a word. Shorts tangled around ankles, one leg hooked over a shoulder. Fingers dipped, retreated, pushed back in. The scent of sweat and arousal hung between them. When one gasped, the other caught the sound with her own mouth, tongues meeting between parted lips while their hands stayed busy, slick and insistent.