No One Here But Lust

Freya Parker and Vanna Bardot stand alone, bodies pressing together with nothing but raw want between them. Vanna grips Freya’s hips, fingers digging in, and crushes her mouth to Freya’s. She’s already wet, heat pulsing, and she drags a hand up beneath Freya’s shirt, palm hot against bare skin. Freya answers with a hungry gasp, nails raking down Vanna’s spine, breath sharp. They stagger back until wood or stone catches them. Vanna shoves a knee between Freya’s thighs and rocks hard, needing friction. Shirts slide off, catching at elbows, then fly free. Vanna takes Freya’s nipple in her mouth, sucks rough, teeth scraping. Freya curses softly, yanking Vanna’s hair to keep her there. Skirts bunch at hips. Vanna’s fingers slip past thin lace, find slick folds and thrust deep, one, two, three—fast and filthy. Freya claws the wall for purchase, hips jerking, riding those fingers with a broken moan. Vanna licks a stripe up her throat, bites her jaw, and adds another finger, thumb rolling over her clit in tight circles. Neither girl slows. Sweat gleams on skin; every slick sound carries in the open air. Freya comes hard, cunt squeezing, mouth open in a silent shout. Vanna kisses her through it, then drops to her knees, hungry for more.