Bachelorette Bet

Holly straightens streamers while Emma wipes the last wineglass dry. “You really pulled it off,” Holly says. Emma lifts an eyebrow. “Did I? The stripper was a mess.” Holly laughs, short and surprised. “She wasn’t that bad.” Emma snorts, half-smile flashing. “Please. I could’ve danced circles around her.” They trade jabs until Emma steps closer, voice low. “Bet I can prove it. One lap dance. If I get you wetter than she did, you give me an orgasm.” Holly’s mouth opens, closes. The wedding band feels heavy on her finger, yet the quiet dare pulls at her. She sinks into the chair, legs parted, eyes locked on Emma. Emma moves with purpose—hips rolling slow, red hair falling across Holly’s collarbone. Full, natural tits brush the bride-to-be’s cheek, nipples tightening. Thighs brush inner thighs; Emma grinds down, fabric whispering. Holly’s breath stutters. Fingers dig into chair arms. Emma slides lower, tongue tracing Holly’s earlobe, then trails back up to press a slick kiss just below the jaw. By the time Emma straightens, Holly’s thighs are trembling, lips parted, pupils wide. She stands, fingers already at her waistband, and draws Emma toward the sofa. “You win,” she murmurs, voice husky. Holly drops to her knees, spreads Emma open, and slips two fingers inside the redhead’s heat. Emma’s back arches; Holly’s mouth follows, tongue circling, sucking. They shift—Holly swinging a leg over Emma’s face—until they’re tangled in a sixty-nine, moans muffled against slick skin. Emma’s tongue works fast, Holly’s fingers curl deep, and neither woman holds back until the bet is paid in full.