Red and black

Red against black. Blonde against brunette. They stood facing each other like opposite mirrors. Their legs, though—one shared language. Long, muscled, hungry. The blonde rolled her stockings down one inch at a time, letting the fabric whisper over her skin. The brunette crossed to the table, planted her palms, and lifted one heel onto a chair so the slit in her dress parted all the way to the crease where thigh met cheek. Light caught the sheen on her inner calf. She turned her ankle once, slow, as if offering something warm and private to whoever cared to look.