Playmate

Presley probably expected polite reciprocity. Instead I’d sent Lea to wreck her. Lea’s mouth latched between the other woman’s legs with single-minded appetite, tongue working slowly, then faster, until Presley clutched at the sheets and swore out loud. My girl stopped only long enough to grin, then slipped two fingers in and curled them until Presley gasped and arched like she’d been shocked. She kept going—steady, filthy, relentless. By the time she finally pulled her tongue away, Presley was trembling, flushed, trying to catch a breath that wouldn’t quite come. Lea looked up at me with a satisfied smirk, lips glistening. Presley’s gaze followed, already hungry for another invitation.