Dance With Me

Emma Hix and Skylar Snow are ready for their senior prom in matching dresses, cheeks flushed with excitement, fingers laced together. Emma hesitates at the door. "Aren’t you worried what people will say if we walk in as girlfriends?" Skylar only shrugs, confident, but the reassurance evaporates the moment Emma’s phone buzzes. A text from the principal lands: a couple, he writes, means one boy, one girl. Two girls don’t qualify. The denial stings. The night they hoped would announce them to the whole school slips away before it begins. Skylar’s eyes spark. She tugs Emma outside to the empty pool deck where string lights crawl the water. Here, away from that ugly verdict, their own prom can unfold. Emma laughs, already queing a low-lit playlist. They sway, hips pressed, skin warm where the fabric splits open at the back. Tongues flick over lips. The need sharpens fast. Minutes later they are stretched across a pool lounger, sliding dresses off shoulders. Skylar’s mouth finds Emma’s nipple while Emma parts Skylar’s thighs and dives in, tongue tasting the wet heat waiting for her. They trade places, neither pausing until each girl comes once, the way teen girls do when they have nowhere else they’d rather be. In stolen silk and spilled pleasure, they claim the night that school tried to steal.