Eat Me Out

Demonika could have cooked for Juliette. Something sweet and slow, maybe. But the fridge barely hummed and the cupboards stood dry. They stripped the bed instead. Juliette lay back while Demonika kissed her way down, found the soft heat between her thighs, and licked her open. Wet sounds filled the quiet. Juliette held her head, pulled her closer, rocked against her tongue until her thighs shook and her breath broke. Then she flipped Demonika, buried her mouth low, and drank her down. Every thrust of their hips left the sheets hotter and wetter. Sweat gathered under their breasts. Fingers slid inside, two or three at once, and the night tasted like skin and salt and everything the pantry lacked.