Rear Entrance

Rachael comes home empty-handed. The key’s not in her bag. She pounds the front door. Nothing. Around back then. The sliding glass door gives when she tries it. Chloe sits at the kitchen table, headphones on, textbook open. Her ass sways in those tight shorts as she nods to the beat. Rachael’s stare lingers. She doesn’t hear the glass close behind her. Chloe catches her anyway. A smirk. “Enjoying the view?” Rachael tries to protest, but her face gives her away. Chloe laughs once, soft, pleased, and closes the gap between them. Mouths meet. Hands find skin. Minutes later Chloe is on the table, shorts peeled down, knees up and spread. Rachael’s tongue works between the cheeks, slow then fast, wet and relentless. Chloe moans loud, head thrown back. Furniture creaks with every thrust of hips, every grind against the other’s mouth. The book hits the floor. Neither woman reaches for it.