Bachelorette Bet

Holly and Emma are cleaning the glitter-streaked mess left by the bachelorette party. Holly keeps thanking her best friend for throwing such an unforgettable night. Emma raises an eyebrow. "You really liked that?" Holly blinks. "Of course I did." "Even the stripper?" "She wasn’t that bad," Holly defends. Emma snorts, hips tilting in mockery. "She barely moved. I could’ve done it better with both hands tied." They go back and forth until Emma ups the ante. "Want proof? Sit down. I’ll give you a real lap dance. If I turn you on more than she did, you give me an orgasm. Deal?" Holly’s cheeks flush, her engagement ring flashing under the lights. Still, she pictures that clumsy dancer and feels smug. "You’re on." She drops into the chair, skirt riding up her thighs. Emma wastes no time straddling her, rolling slow circles that press heat through thin lace. Fingers curl over Holly’s shoulders; breath brushes her ear. Thighs spread wider. Emma grinds down harder, the silky slide of her panties dragging across Holly’s. The friction sparks. Holly’s pulse kicks. Her hips twitch upward, chasing the pressure. By the final sway, Emma’s nipples are tight against her bra and Holly’s breathing is short. When the song ends, neither woman moves. Holly looks up, lips parted, resolve gone. "You won." She sinks to her knees, fingers already hooking into Emma’s waistband, eager to pay her debt.