No Rest

Hope and Angie tumble into bed still tasting vanilla and ghost-story nerves. Their legs tangle beneath cool sheets and then, almost without thinking, Hope slips her hand beneath Angie’s nightshirt and finds warm skin. Angie arches, breathless. Hope leans in, tongue sliding between Angie’s lips, the kiss tasting like sugar. Angie kicks the sheet away so she can spread her thighs; Hope settles between them and hooks her thumbs into the damp gusset of Angie’s cotton panties, pulling them down in one smooth tug. The fabric clings to slick folds before slipping free. Angie’s cunt glistens in the lamplight—pink, swollen, ready. Hope lowers her mouth and drags the flat of her tongue from slit to clit in one slow pass, then again, firmer, tasting the clean sweetness of her. Angie moans, hips rolling. Two fingers ease inside, curling, working that soft ridge of nerves while Hope’s tongue keeps a greedy rhythm. The wet sounds are loud in the quiet room—each lick and suck as clear as a bell. Angie grabs a fistful of Hope’s hair, thighs trembling around her ears. Every thrust of Hope’s hand draws a fresh rush of wetness, and Angie opens wider, begging for more without words. Hope twists her wrist, fucks her faster, tongue lapping the swollen bud until Angie’s whole body locks, comes in hard pulses against her mouth and hand. She rides it out with short, broken cries, then pulls Hope up for another kiss, tasting herself on Hope’s tongue. No sleep tonight.