Wellness

Amelia comes home with her arms full of groceries. Maple watches her from the floor, chewing the last of her greens. When Amelia bends to unload the bag, her ass fills Maple’s view. Maple rises, paws, grabs, sinks her fingers deep into the soft curve. Amelia straightens, spins, and meets her halfway. Their mouths lock; the kiss tastes of salt and sunlight. Maple lifts her onto the counter. Clothes come away in quick tugs. She spreads Amelia open, runs her tongue along the wet seam, then picks up a thick, cool carrot and presses it inside. The thrusts build, wet and steady. Amelia’s thighs shake. She comes with a short cry, then slides down, hungry to return the favor. They move across the kitchen in a rush—Amelia on her knees under the table, then bent over the sink, then Maple riding her fingers on the low stool. Heat, skin, the sound of wood scraping tile. When they finish, they stay close, breathing hard, both of them slick and spent against the sunlit floor.