Squirting for Ivy

Ivy wants her. Right now. Tina admitted she squirts when she comes, and Ivy has never felt that kind of release against her own skin, so everything else falls away. They tangle on the bed, mouths and fingers everywhere. Tina slips two fingers between Ivy’s legs and keeps them moving until Ivy’s hips buck and she bites her shoulder. Ivy returns the favor, curling inside Tina until the sheets grow slick. They trade back and forth, each rush of wetness drawing the next, until Ivy’s hand is dripping and Tina is panting her name. Ivy reaches for the toy she favors: sleek, curved, made to press exactly where it counts. She slides it in slowly, watching Tina’s face, then works it with steady, firm strokes. Tina’s thighs tense. Her breath breaks. When the climax hits, it pours out of her in hot, sudden pulses, soaking Ivy’s wrist and the sheet beneath them. Ivy keeps the toy moving through every wave, drawing out every last tremor until Tina lies open, spent, and still trembling.