Paper Hearts

Cadence comes home, shoulders tight, ready to kick something. A paper heart on the entry table stops her cold. Alexis’s handwriting curves across it: follow me. Another heart lies on the first stair. She climbs. They guide her, one after the next, straight to the bedroom door. Alexis is already naked, spine arched against the pillows. Cadence leans in for a kiss, but Alexis lifts a finger, points to the last heart resting on the sheet. “Feet first,” it says. Cadence smiles, drops to her knees at the foot of the bed. She presses her lips to the arch, draws each toe into her mouth, tongue gliding between them until Alexis’s breath catches. Slow kisses trace up smooth calves, the dip behind each knee, the soft skin of inner thighs. Blond hair brushes brown as Cadence reaches the center, then higher—lips on ribs, on small breasts, until mouths finally meet. They move together like they’ve done this a hundred times, easy rhythm, sweet sounds, bodies folding into a lazy sixty-nine until everything melts into heat and the wet press of tongues.