My Lil' Step-cousin

Penny shuts her textbook. Homesick, she phones Jade. The call lasts seconds—her step cousin wants her on the first train. No one else will be home all weekend. They spend the afternoon on the back patio. Jade’s toes are already drying when she reaches for Penny’s foot, brush in hand. Polish flicks between toes while they talk about childhood beds and shared baths. Love rises easily between them, thick from years of being each other’s first home. Jade asks about Penny’s massage course. Penny answers by pulling the ottoman closer. Jade stretches out naked on a towel, skin flushed from the late sun. Penny’s hands move in smooth, exact strokes: base of the skull, the long muscles beside the spine, the dimples above her ass. Oil glistens. Every glide pulls a quiet sound from Jade’s throat. Fingers slide lower. Penny finds wetness that has nothing to do with lotion. She circles once, then pushes inside. Jade’s hips answer, slow and certain. When Jade comes, her moan is soft but the pulse around Penny’s fingers is hard, rhythmic, impossible to miss. Later, tangled on the same towel, they taste each other’s mouths like they’ve been starving. The quiet house holds every wet sound, every catch of breath, until the sun drops and they forget they ever felt homesick at all.