Dig Deep

Hazel and Wendy work the garden under sharp sunlight. Hands sink into warm earth, planting herbs, sliding fingers through soil. Their knuckles brush. Eyes catch. They kiss soft at first, mouths parting slowly. Hazel presses closer, grinding against Wendy's thigh. Fingers undo buttons, pull fabric aside. Wendy sinks between Hazel's thighs, tongue stroking, then higher, tasting her there too. Hazel answers with her own mouth on Wendy's skin, tracing every crease and ridge until both women shudder. Sweat glistens under arms. Tongues follow the salt. Later they stagger inside. Hazel pins Wendy to the bookshelf, hips snapping, the wood creaking with each thrust. On the rug they take turns, fingers deep, slick and frantic, riding the pulse until they break apart trembling.