Run Away With Me

Mackenzie Moss was dozing when knuckles tapped glass. She blinked awake, startled, yet heat pooled low in her belly at the sight of Veronica Valentine pressed against the pane, backpack slung over one shoulder. Once inside, Veronica said the words straight: they should marry tonight. Mackenzie laughed at first—old pillow talk turned real. Then the laugh died. Leaving meant leaving everything, and her mind raced through family dinners, unfinished degrees, the life she might wreck by running. She said it plainly: fear that marrying too soon would rot what they had. Veronica caught her mouth before more doubts could form. Her tongue coaxed the fight from Mackenzie’s lips, and the younger girl swayed into the touch, legs parting without thought. Clothes fell in a loose pile. Veronica’s palms molded Mackenzie’s breasts, thumbs circling tightened peaks until every worry dissolved into shivering want. When she knelt and licked into her girlfriend’s cunt, Mackenzie’s hips jerked up to meet the steady strokes, thighs shaking, certainty snapping into place. They would leave. They would marry. Their bodies promised it with each slick kiss.