We Like Girls - Syren & Dee

Dee and Syren met on set. Dee saw her enter the green room and thought—fuck, who is that? They clicked instantly. Within minutes something shifted, tight and undeniable, like a current running straight to the chest. Dee says her ex-husband never looked at her the way Syren does. Syren calls her “my first girl love,” hands pressed to her heart, cheeks glowing, words trembling on a smile. On camera their hands wander. Syren’s fingers trace the dip of Dee’s lower back. Dee pulls her closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Silk slips off bare shoulders. They kiss slow, tongues tasting each other, moaning softly. Syren spreads her thighs; Dee sinks between them, tongue flicking, lips slick. The air thickens. Wet sounds. Hips rolling. Dee pushes two fingers inside Syren, curls, finds that spot—Syren arches, gasps, cunt pulsing around her. They switch, Syren riding Dee’s thigh, grinding until her clit throbs. Their bodies slap together, soft and hungry. Sweat beads on skin. Syren’s nipples stiffen in Dee’s mouth, sucked and bitten. Dee flips her, eats her deeper, fingers pistoning until Syren comes hard, thighs shaking, juices coating Dee’s tongue. Then Dee mounts Syren’s face, rides until she shatters, hips bucking, moans loud enough to rattle the lights. They collapse tangled, fingers still inside each other, breathing ragged, hearts hammering against ribs. Afterwards they kiss—gentle now—cum and lipstick smeared across mouths. The heat between them lingers long after the cameras stop rolling.