Matchmaker Mix-Up: Part Two

One year and still they can’t get enough. Alli and Remy circle one another beside the low crackle of the fireplace, skin flushed from more than the heat. Alli slips a delicate bracelet onto Remy’s wrist, metal cool against the pulse. Remy answers with her own gift—a box holding a green lace set the color of Alli’s eyes. Desire hits fast. Alli peels off her clothes in slow inches, turning so Remy sees every line of her back, the sway of her bare breasts already warm and heavy. Remy’s hands itch, but she waits. When Alli is naked, she returns the favor, easing Remy out of the red dress, lips brushing over the hard peaks of Remy’s nipples before tugging the last scrap of black lace down those smooth thighs. Alli stretches out on the rug, knees parted, cunt already open and slick. Remy starts outside the wet fabric, kissing where the cloth clings, coaxing more heat, more wetness, until the cloth is translucent. Fingers follow, sliding beneath, finding the tight clench and stroking until Alli’s hips jerk and her breath shatters. They trade places, spines arching, thighs locked, riding the steady grind until every sharp gasp and quiet cry sounds like celebration.