Holy Matri-Moly: Stuck With Bad Luck

Lacy waits by the door in her thin robe, pulse jumping at the thought of finally seeing the ring. Olive arrives with the box and hands it over. Lacy beams, then watches her maid of honor duck into the bathroom. She pops the lid, lifts the ring free, and the damn thing slips from her fingers. It hits the floor, bounces, disappears under the couch. Lacy drops fast, knees on hardwood, arm stretched beneath the frame. The robe parts, cool air on her bare skin, ass high and open. Her fingers graze carpet, nothing else. The bathroom door opens. Olive stands in the hall and laughs low. Instead of pulling Lacy out, she kneels behind that offered curve and slides one palm over the rounded cheek, slow, deliberate. Lacy freezes. Olive leans in, voice soft against the shell of her ear. “I’ll get you unstuck,” she murmurs, “after we play.” Her fingers dip lower, parting Lacy without hurry, finding the slick heat between her thighs. The first slow stroke sends a shiver up Lacy’s spine and straight to the base of her skull. Trapped under the couch, robe fallen, legs spread, Lacy gives in. The wedding stress drains away, replaced by the steady rhythm of Olive’s hand working between her legs. Maybe luck is finally shifting.