Girls In White 2011 Part 1, Scene 3

India watches Celeste's face. Something fragile flickers behind her eyes, that old ache of wanting without hope. India steps closer. She cups Celeste's jaw and tilts her face up. Her thumb drags across the pout of Celeste's bottom lip. "Poor thing," India murmurs. Then she kisses her, slow, open-mouthed, letting their tongues slide together until Celeste sighs and leans into it. India presses her against the wall. Hands wander. Fingers trace the soft underside of Celeste's breast through the thin fabric, feel the nipple tighten. She pinches, just enough to make Celeste gasp. India drops to her knees. She drags Celeste's dress up, bunches it at her hips, and peels the lace away. The scent of her hits India first, sweet, warm, already wet. She parts Celeste's folds with two fingers and studies the slick pink. Celeste's thighs tremble. India leans in and licks her, broad and unhurried, tasting every fold, circling the swollen clit until Celeste's hips buck. India sucks that little nub gently, then harder, while two fingers push inside, curling against the spot that makes Celeste cry out. She works her mouth and hand in rhythm, steady, relentless, until Celeste's hand fists in her hair and her whole body shudders hard, coming wet and loud against India's tongue. India keeps licking her through it, savoring the pulsing heat, until Celeste sinks down the wall, boneless and breathing like she's been running.