Kitchen babes

They skipped cooking. Neilla caught Eliska against the counter and their mouths met, wet, open, urgent. Hands pushed clothes down. Eliska took one nipple between her lips, Neilla moaned, sucked on the other, hands cupped, pinched, bit softly at the curve where breast met rib. They traded places, tasting sweat and skin, chasing each little stiff peak until both were flushed and breathing hard. Eliska bent Neilla back across the marble and spread her open. Her tongue slipped along smooth, bare lips, slick and warm, until juice ran down her chin. Neilla held Eliska’s hair, rocked against that seeking mouth. When Eliska sucked harder, Neilla swore, hips jerking, a long, shaky gasp tearing free. They flipped. The cucumber, cool and heavy, slid into Eliska’s wet heat while Neilla watched. She drove it deep, angling just so, until the counter creaked beneath them. Then she peeled the banana, slow strokes turned frantic, pushing the fruit in alongside the green shaft until every thick thrust soaked both hands and thighs in sweet, salty mess. No pots needed tonight.