Ladies' night

She'd invited the others for one of those girl nights where things loosen up fast. Someone brought wine, someone else bought lube, and the unspoken rule was that clothes came off if the energy felt right. One by one they dropped out. Work. A boyfriend. A sudden case of nerves. In the end it was just me and her at the apartment, lights low, the couch already covered with an old silk sheet that meant business. We poured the first glass and let the silence stretch. Her knee brushed mine, stayed there. I took it as permission and slid my hand along the inside of her thigh, finding the hem of her short dress. She leaned in, mouth open against mine, and her tongue tasted like berries and heat. Two quick tugs and the dress slipped to the floor; underneath she was bare, skin warm, nipples already tight. My fingers found her wet and ready, and she pushed down onto them with a low sound that made the room feel smaller. She got my shirt open, nails dragging over my breasts, then reached between my legs. Her touch was sure, practiced. We moved together without talking, breathing hard, slick sounds filling the quiet. Her thighs trembled around my wrist. My own orgasm followed close, sharp and fast, hips bucking against her palm. Later, tangled on the sheet, sweat cooling on our skin, she grinned at the half-empty bottle on the table. "Still think three’s a crowd?" she asked, voice low. I laughed against her neck and let my hand drift lower again.