Please Make Me Lesbian #03

Syren lets Hayden’s smirk draw her in—those dimples, the easy sway of her hips, the loose collar sliding off one shoulder. The fruit stand sits forgotten. Hayden steps closer, palms offering peaches, but her eyes promise something juicier. Her tongue flicks across her lower lip. Syren’s fingers curl around the girl’s waist, pulling her into the dim shade of the stall. Hayden laughs low, then drops to her knees in the dry grass. She nuzzles against the front of Syren’s skirt, breath warm through thin cotton. No ceremony. Just eager fingers tugging fabric aside, tongue meeting wet heat in one sure stroke. Syren bites her lip to swallow a moan. Sunlight slips between the slats and paints streaks across Hayden’s cheek, her lashes, the soft curves of her mouth working open and hungry. Juice drips from an abandoned peach above them, each drop tapping the wooden slats in rhythm with Hayden’s slow, obscene feast.