Milky

Olive G stood at the counter pouring strawberries into the blender when the door swung open. Aria Eden walked in flushed and slick from her workout. Sweat clung to her collarbones and the hollow of her throat. She caught Olive staring and grinned, letting the door click shut behind her. “Smells incredible in here,” Aria said, voice a little rough. Olive leaned closer, nostrils flaring. “You smell better,” she answered, then ran her tongue lightly along Aria’s neck. Salt. Heat. A faint trace of her own perfume. Aria set her gym bag down. Olive tugged the damp tank top over Aria’s head. Underneath, skin glistened. Olive sank to her knees, peeling Aria’s leggings lower until she could press her mouth to the inside of a trembling thigh. The aroma thickened—musk, sweat, arousal. She breathed deep and drew her tongue upward, slow and deliberate. Aria hissed. Her hands slid into Olive’s hair. “More,” Aria murmured. Olive answered by sealing her lips around her clit and sucking in a slow, rhythmic pull. Aria’s knees buckled. She steadied herself on the counter, hips pushing forward. Olive cupped her ass, fingers digging in, urging her closer while her tongue flicked and circled. The smell, the taste, the heat against her face made her head swim. “Get up here,” Aria demanded after a moment. She pulled Olive to her feet, spun her around, and dropped to her knees in return. The marble countertop felt cool against Olive’s hips; Aria’s tongue felt scalding. Two slick fingers slipped inside her and curled. Olive moaned, grabbing the edge of the counter, legs already shaking. The smoothie sat forgotten. Olive pushed back against Aria’s mouth and fingers, chasing the stretch and the pressure. When Aria added her tongue back on her clit, Olive felt the first tremor ripple through her pelvis, then the second, deeper and harder. She came with a cry, forehead pressed to the cool stone, thighs clamped around Aria’s head. Aria stood, licked her lips, and lifted Olive onto the counter. Legs splayed, Olive hooked her heels behind Aria’s ass and drew her in. Aria slid two fingers back inside and added a third, working slowly at first, then faster, curling, pressing. Olive reached down and circled her own clit while they kissed, tasting herself on Aria’s tongue. Every thrust knocked little choked sounds out of her throat. Her second orgasm tore through her, sharper than the first, leaving her trembling and wet around Aria’s fingers. Aria pulled free. Olive slipped to the floor, caught her breath, then coaxed Aria down onto the kitchen rug. Olive parted her legs and buried her face between them. Aria arched, swearing softly, one heel digging into Olive’s shoulder. Olive flicked and sucked while her fingers pumped in short, firm strokes. Aria’s voice broke. Her stomach tightened, hips lifted, and she came hard, legs jerking, breath shattering. She tried to close her thighs. Olive pinned one open and coaxed a second peak out of her with quick, precise strokes of her tongue until Aria went boneless, panting, flushed all over. They lay there until the blender beeped to signal it was done. Olive fetched two glasses anyway. When she poured the thick strawberry shake, the glasses fogged with cold. She handed one to Aria, who sipped, eyelids heavy. “Sweet,” Aria said. Olive kissed the corner of her mouth. “You too,” she answered. “Round two after we drink this.”