Soft Lips

Caprice and Chrissy circle each other on the white sheets. Their breathing already syncs. Slow strokes replace words as fingertips trace bare thighs. Caprice parts Chrissy’s legs, eyes fixed on the smooth pink heat between them. She leans in, tongue warm, and traces one deliberate line from wetness to clit. A low moan escapes. Chrissy answers by rolling to all fours, burying her face where Caprice’s heat meets the silk. Both women feast, soft lips meeting softer lips. Tongues press, circle, withdraw in rhythm. Breasts sway against bellies, nipples graze soft skin. They grind closer until hips rock to the same pulse, until the only sound in the room is the wet give and take of two bodies learning exactly where the other comes apart.