Red and blue

Red clings to Sandra like a second skin, blue wraps Biancka like smoke. Same heat. Same hunger. Sandra's fingers find the lace at Biancka's hip and tug. Biancka answers by sliding one thigh between Sandra's legs until lace rubs lace, until wetness speaks through fabric. They move in rhythm, hips rolling slow at first, then faster, chasing the point where friction turns into slick, open-mouthed heat. Sandra's mouth lands on Biancka's throat; she bites, sucks, leaves a mark that will darken by morning. Biancka answers with teeth on Sandra's shoulder and a hand pressed hard between her legs, working the soaked crotch of her panties until Sandra gasps and rocks against it. No words now. Just breath and the wet sounds they make against each other, knees planted, backs arched, lingerie pushed aside only when fingers need bare skin. They grind until the first tremor hits, then ride it out, hips stuttering, thighs trembling, mouths crushed together like they could swallow each other's climax whole.