Just A Squirt Of Oil

Ameena and Scarlette stand at the edge of the bed in matching strings. The light cuts across their skin and shows the curve of hip where the fabric ends. They turn to each other, uncap the oil, and pour it in slow lines across shoulders, down breasts, over the tight swell of ass. Fingers slide without hurry, then press harder when thighs shift open on their own. A thumb brushes a stiff nipple, then pulls it. Breaths hitch. They watch the wet shine on dark skin turn slicker where it matters. The suits come off in one motion. No words. They drop to the sheets. Mouths lock, knees part, and oil-slick fingers find the wet heat waiting underneath. The outside stays behind the blinds.