Nice and Slow

Clover and Sicilia can't keep their hands off each other. They cancel everything, clear the day, because once they start there's no rushing. Time belongs to them. They take turns—mouths open, breath slow—pressing lips and tongues against warm skin, tracing every inch like they're learning it again. A single feather drifts across Sicilia's inner thigh, so light it barely touches, yet Clover watches her skin tighten and her hips lift toward more. She repeats the motion just where Sicilia needs it, again and again, until the only sound is soft, shaking breaths. They switch without speaking, each giving the other exactly the same care, the same unhurried touch, until need becomes unbearable and the pace still stays sweet.