Lesbian Triangles #18

He lets the silk fall. Cool air finds her nipples and raises them. She touches him through the fabric of his trousers, slow enough that every inch counts. He says her name once and means it. Their mouths meet again, and he tastes salt on her upper lip. She spreads for him, knees bent, one heel digging into the mattress. He traces the soft crease inside her thigh until she lifts her hips in invitation, breathing his name against his neck. The lace of her underwear stretches when he pushes it aside, and two fingers slide in where she's already wet. She works the belt open herself, knuckles brushing his stomach. When she pulls him free he's hot and hard in her hand. She strokes once, twice, steady pressure from the base to the head. He answers with his thumb on her clit, circling in time. They find the same rhythm without needing words. She rolls onto him, takes him deep in one deliberate movement. Her palms rest flat on his chest for balance, nails grazing skin. Every rise and fall is measured, controlled until neither wants control anymore.