Leveling Up Our Friendship

Alison asked Gizelle to stop by for a massage, shoulders tight from another long week. Gizelle knew her hands. Once Alison peeled off her clothes and lay face-down, those hands slowed, then lingered on the curve of Alison’s bare ass. “God, your buns are insane,” Gizelle murmured. Alison flushed, buried her laugh in the sheet. Gizelle’s thumbs pressed deep, rolling muscle and skin together. Heat crept through Alison’s belly before the first proper stroke finished. When Gizelle finally urged her to roll over, the oiled palms slid upward, scooped her breasts, and stayed there a beat too long. “We could keep pretending,” Gizelle said quietly, “or we could stop pretending.” Alison answered by sliding a hand behind Gizelle’s neck and pulling her down. The kiss was slow at first, tongue tasting the corner of Gizelle’s mouth, then hungrier. Oil-slicked fingers found nipples, pulled, pinched, and the two women shifted until Gizelle’s thigh pressed hard between Alison’s. They moved with it—Alison rocking up, Gizelle grinding down—moans pressed into each other’s throats. Alison tasted sweat on Gizelle’s collarbone, then lower, lips sliding over the swell of her breast while her slick fingers circled and dipped between Gizelle’s legs. Gizelle answered by easing two fingers inside Alison and curling them in slow, deliberate strokes until Alison’s hips lifted off the table. Every push of tongue and thrust of knuckle carried the same rhythm: deliberate, wet, impossible to mistake.