Have A Break

Ripley planes the last edge of the little footstool meant to change angles in bed. It still needs paint and a cushion. No splinters allowed. Her mind drifts to the way Felicity will moan when her knees rest on that higher angle. She sighs, sets the wood aside for later. Felicity is not waiting. She appears in the doorway half undressed, panties already damp, nipples tight against thin cotton. “You can finish it after,” she says, voice low. Ripley starts to object, but Felicity is already in her space, fingers working the buttons of Ripley’s shirt. Tools hit the floor. Felicity’s mouth finds the hollow of Ripley’s throat, teeth grazing skin, and suddenly the unfinished stool doesn’t matter. Ripley turns them both, presses Felicity’s back against the workbench. Her hand slips inside soft cotton, finds slick heat. Felicity gasps, legs opening on instinct. They trade places fast. Felicity pushes Ripley down onto the bench edge, kneels between her spread thighs, tongue tracing the length of her cunt with one slow stroke. Ripley’s fingers tighten in her hair. The room fills with wet sounds and short, sharp breaths. Felicity pushes two fingers inside while sucking Ripley’s clit, then pulls back, climbs up, straddles. They grind together, clits sliding, slick mixing. Neither lasts long. Felicity comes first, thighs shaking around Ripley’s leg. Ripley follows, back arching hard against the bench, a strangled moan breaking free. They stay close afterward, sweat cooling, wood shavings stuck to damp skin. The stool waits beside them, unfinished and forgotten for now.