I'd Rather Stay Home And Fuck

Ellison picked out the dress herself—deep red silk that clung where it counted. Lina stepped into heels that made her legs go on forever. Ready in every sense. They caught each other’s eyes in the hallway mirror and something shifted. No words. Just the sound of zippers undoing in reverse and the soft scrape of fabric hitting the floor. Lina pushed Ellison against the wall, mouth hot on her neck, hands sliding beneath the straps of her bra. Ellison met her with equal hunger—thumb circling a hard nipple, hips grinding slow and deliberate. They didn’t make it past the living room. Lina dropped to her knees and pulled Ellison’s thong aside, tongue finding heat fast and wet. Ellison’s fingers tangled in her hair, urging her deeper. Heat bloomed. Thighs shook. When Ellison came, it was sharp, a cry caught between teeth. Then she pulled Lina up, flipped their positions on the couch, and buried two fingers inside her until Lina’s back arched and she sobbed out her release. Afterwards, the untouched wine breathed on the counter. Their heels stayed scattered where they’d fallen.