Breakfast With My Friend - Part 1

Every Sunday they set the table for Lola and Pepper. Mimosas, fresh fruit, butter melting across warm toast. Mid-story Brigitte admits she saw her ex and kissed her, without thinking. Laughter rolls around the table until the plates are cleared and the front door clicks shut. Jenny waits until the silence lands heavy. Then her voice cuts low. “You kissed her.” Brigitte moves close, slips Jenny’s robe open with one finger. She palms the soft swell of Jenny’s breast, rubs the nipple until it tightens beneath her thumb, then drops to her knees. She lifts Jenny’s leg over her shoulder and buries her tongue between slick, swollen folds, licking a slow stripe from opening to clit. Jenny’s fingers clutch her hair. Each flat, hungry lap draws small wet sounds into the quiet room. Brigitte sucks the clit between her lips, works two fingers inside, curls them upward until she finds the spongy spot that makes Jenny gasp. The rhythm tightens—tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, knuckles glistening—until Jenny’s hips jerk, thighs clamping Brigitte’s cheeks. A raw, shattering cry breaks free and Jenny comes hard, pulsing around those fingers, slick coating Brigitte’s chin. They stay there breathing for a beat, the mess warm and sweet between them.