Hot bath

Baths between Sandy and Mya never stay innocent. Sandy reaches first, drizzling warm oil across Mya's calves. It gleams on golden skin and drips down to her ankles. She grips one foot, thumbs pressing into the arch, then slides higher—past the calf, past the hollow behind the knee, until the pad of her thumb traces Mya's inner thigh. Mya answers with her own stream of oil, letting it spill over Sandy's shin before her hands follow the trail upward. Fingertips graze the curve of muscle, linger at the crease where leg meets hip. The water grows slick and heavy with scent. Sandy leans in, bare breasts brushing Mya's knee as she squeezes the other thigh; Mya spreads wider, inviting the slow glide of fingers that do not stop. Their breathing thickens. Oil slick bodies press closer, legs tangling, sliding, seeking purchase on every inch of oiled skin until neither can keep still.