Can't Resist Creeping

Mary Moody and Abigail Mac lie tangled on the bed, an ice-cream tub and crumpled tissues between them. Abigail’s cheeks are still damp from crying over her ex. Mary leans closer, offers a film. A few minutes later the laptop hums on Abigail’s stomach, her lashes low, breath steady. Mary eases the screen shut. She tries to slip away, but Abigail reaches out, sleepy-voiced, asking her to stay. Mary smiles, slides under the sheet, and the warmth of Abigail’s curves presses against her in a way that makes her pulse jump. They drift. Mary wakes first. She inches free, stands, then freezes. The sheet has slipped. Abigail’s full, bare ass faces her, soft and pale in the low light. Mary’s mouth goes dry. She can’t look away. Her hand slips inside her own waistband, fingers seeking heat, stroking in time with the rise of each breath she shouldn’t be watching. Pleasure coils fast. A small, helpless sound escapes her. Abigail’s eyes flutter open. She turns, sees Mary’s flushed face and the guilty hand still tucked between her thighs. Silence holds for one beat, then Abigail’s voice is low, steady: “Were you…?” Mary swallows, tries a lie, gives it up. “I couldn’t stop looking. You’re beautiful.” Surprise flickers, then Abigail answers with her body, leaning in until their mouths meet, deep and hungry. The sheet slides farther. Big, natural breasts press together as Abigail pulls Mary down, thighs parting, the night stretching open with everything they’ve both been wanting.