Showcase: Emily Willis

Scarlett Sage sprawls across her bed when knuckles tap the glass. She yanks the window open and Emily Willis tumbles inside, all breath and urgency. "My mom and I had it out—big time. Can I crash here a couple nights?" Scarlett hesitates; they’re nineteen, not kids sneaking past curfew. Emily lowers her voice. Their moms talk. Better if Scarlett’s mother never sees her. Scarlett sighs, agrees, but has to leave for work. "Stay in here," she warns. Emily promises. The door clicks shut. Hours stretch. Emily slips into Scarlett’s closet, modeling tiny dresses in the mirror, posing, pouting, until boredom nudges her toward the laptop on the nightstand. She scrolls, clicks—and her mouth parts. DMs. Filthy ones. Scarlett wanting her. A voice from the doorway: "What the fuck are you doing?" Emily turns, wicked grin in place. "Found your messages. You want to fuck me, apparently." Scarlett licks her bottom lip, tries to deny it, fails. Emily moves closer, palm sliding up Scarlett’s thigh. "You want it. And it’s the least I can do." Her lips graze Scarlett’s, soft then open. Scarlett shivers, nods, lets Emily tug her top away. Perky breasts spill out. Emily’s tongue traces a tight pink nipple and Scarlett arches with a low moan. Shorts peel down; Emily sinks between parted legs, mouth lowering to glistening heat. Those messages were never meant to surface—but right now Scarlett doesn’t care.