Web Exclusive 297 Leah Livingston & June Summers

June Summers hears the front door and freezes, spoon in hand, whipped cream still dotted across her breasts. Leah steps into the kitchen and stops dead. June’s body catches every scrap of afternoon light—hips full and soft, nipples tightening in the cool air. Leah’s gaze trails down like a thumb stroking skin. June lifts her chin. “Caught staring,” she says, voice low. Leah swallows. Her bag hits the floor. June steps closer, bare feet silent. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” Leah’s answer comes as her palm cups June’s waist, then slides lower. June presses forward, claiming Leah’s mouth, tongue sliding slow and sure. The fridge hums. Leah’s fingers dip between warm thighs, exploring slick heat while June bites her lower lip to stay quiet. Bent over the island, June spreads for her, breath catching as Leah kneels and tastes. Tonguing slow at first, then faster, hungrier. June’s fingers tangle in Leah’s hair, hips rolling with each stroke until the world narrows to the slide of tongue and the low, broken sounds they make together.