Sex Sells!

Christie and Emma stood by the empty driveway, signs drooping in their hands. No one had stopped. Emma sighed. Christie narrowed her eyes, then smiled like she'd found the winning hand. "Signs aren’t cutting it," she said. "They need to watch us work." Emma glanced at her stepmother’s car. "You want us to wash it now?" Christie nodded. Water hit metal. Suds climbed. Still no takers. Christie studied the wet paint, the way it caught the light on Emma’s thighs. "Let’s give them a reason to stare." She headed inside. Emma followed. Minutes later they reappeared in scraps of fabric meant to tease, not to hide. Christie’s eyes dragged over Emma. Emma’s eyes dragged right back. They liked the view. They returned to the car with purpose. Sponges stroked in slow arcs. Christie arched, pressing her breasts to glass while her ass lifted for an unseen audience. Emma bent lower, hips rolling as she chased a streak of dirt. Suds slid down bare skin. Giggles broke the quiet. The air thickened. Each stretch, each laugh, fed the pull between them until the space felt smaller, tighter. A car slowed, then another. Later they stepped into the house, cash stuffed into a jar. The numbers mattered less than the ache left by hours of showing off. Christie set the jar down. Emma turned. Their mouths met, wet and open, and the kiss left nothing undecided. The day’s wet game had only been rehearsal. Now the real game began, and both women intended to drown in it.