Cat girls

Amanda and Nikita press close, bodies aligned, thighs brushing. Their tails coil and twitch against bare skin. They laugh low, small sounds quick and hot. Fur along their ears trembles when breath catches. Amanda’s hand slips down Nikita’s back, fingers spread, then curl into warm flesh. Nikita answers with teeth at the shoulder, not hard, just enough to mark. They roll together on the sheets, knees parting, hips settling in measured weight. The purr starts deep in Nikita’s throat; it travels straight through their joined skin. Amanda opens wider, ankle hooking behind Nikita’s calf, and that wet contact comes with a sound both slick and obscene. Nikita rocks forward, deliberate, and Amanda tilts to meet it, the rhythm lazy, filthy, unhurried. Sweat beads at Amanda’s collarbone; Nikita licks it away. Neither hurries. They take what they want with the kind of ease that says they already know every weakness and every way to press it.