Beachcombers

Sylvia Rose and Trixie splashed in the blue waves wearing barely-there bikinis. Summer heat made their skin glisten. Kisses turned urgent right there in the shallows. Soon the water felt cold against flushed skin. Inside their beach house, bodies slid together across crisp white sheets. Sylvia Rose pushed two fingers into Trixie and watched her ride them. Trixie's hips rolled hard, then slow, then desperate again. Their reflection stared back from the mirror above the bed. Trixie moaned at the sight. Sylvia Rose reached around, slicked her own tight hole, and eased her finger inside. She kept that rhythm even while Trixie's knuckles stroked deep against her swollen front wall. Wet sounds filled the room. Sylvia Rose's juices coated Trixie's hand, clear and shining. She lay back, breasts heavy and flushed. Trixie crawled between her thighs and didn't stop until Sylvia Rose was crying out—back arching, thighs trembling, voice gone hoarse with pleasure.