Resolution

Midnight tastes like warm skin and hunger. Laney wants to stay raw the whole year—just mouths, fingers, and come. Olive wants to give herself nothing, tease until her cunt aches and her thighs shake. Twenty-nine minutes left. They peel off black silk and spread wide on the hotel duvet, faces between parted legs, tongues dragging through thick, dark curls already slick and clinging. The wet sounds fill the room. Laney grinds down hard, coming against Olive’s mouth in sudden shudders, and Olive lets the ache build without touching it. When her own orgasm breaks, it’s rough and sudden, spilling over Laney’s tongue in hot, clear pulses that stripe her chin and throat. They trade places again, bodies slick, the clock forgotten.