Pyjama party

That old line about pyjama parties being all whispers and face masks is a polite lie. When the lights went down, Tiffany and Candy got to the real business. Candy lay back against the headboard with her thighs parted while Tiffany crouched between them, fingers slick and moving with patient purpose. She circled Candy’s clit until it tightened under her touch, then slid two fingers inside and worked her steady. The sheets bunched at Candy’s hips as she rocked down, breath catching, nails biting the mattress edge. Tiffany watched her face, lips parted, twisting and stroking, knuckles shining in the low light. Candy’s legs started to tremble, her heels sliding over Tiffany’s back; Tiffany didn’t rush her, just pressed deeper, thumb circling, until Candy broke into a quiet, shaking moan and came around her hand. Tiffany kept moving, drawing the aftershocks out until Candy slumped, damp and laughing, and pulled her up for a hungry kiss that tasted like the night still ahead.