It's Not Him, It's Me

Bunny De La Cruz is stretched out in the sun, soaking up the rays, when her son’s girlfriend, Alina Lopez, slips in looking lost. Alina asks if her boyfriend is around. Bunny tells her he’s out. Alina looks like she might bolt, but Bunny pats the spot beside her and asks what’s on her mind. Alina hesitates, then admits she’s got feelings for someone else and can’t keep stringing Bunny’s son along. Bunny presses, wanting a name. Alina swallows hard and whispers that the person is her—Bunny. Bunny’s eyebrows lift, then she laughs, low and warm. Alina starts to backpedal, but Bunny reaches out, fingers gliding along Alina’s forearm. She promises nothing has to happen that Alina doesn’t want. Alina’s breathing slows. She inches closer. Their mouths meet—soft, careful—then deepens. Tongues slide, hands start to wander. Alina’s palms fill with the heavy weight of Bunny’s breasts. She kisses the slope of them, traces the pale stretch marks, circles each stiff nipple until Bunny sighs. Then Alina moves lower, lips dragging over the gentle curve of Bunny’s belly, pausing just above the trimmed strip of hair. She settles between Bunny’s thighs and presses her tongue flat against wet folds. Bunny answers by pulling Alina around, so Alina’s knees plant on either side of her face. She grips Alina’s hips and draws her down until she can taste her too. They rock together, mouths busy, fingers buried. Alina moans into Bunny’s pussy, hips twitching every time Bunny curls two fingers deep inside her. Bunny’s free hand strokes up Alina’s back, urging her closer, keeping the rhythm steady until both women are trembling and slick.