Cherry's pajama party

Cherry Pink sends the invite in her quiet way. Amabelle shows up after midnight carrying a bottle of wine, nothing else. Both of them keep the lights low and slip into the kind of things that barely count as clothes—black lace stretched over hips, pearl satin whispering against skin, heels still on to make the legs look longer. They move toward each other on purpose. Fingers trail up an inner thigh, a thumb brushes the inside of a cup, a sharp inhale follows. Cherry pulls Amabelle closer by the satin waistband until their breasts nearly touch. Amabelle answers by sliding a hand between cherry-pink folds and finding her already slick. They take turns giving the kind of attention that leaves small wet prints on the sheets. Each moan is shorter than the one before it until nothing is left but breathing and the slow, steady pace of two women who know every rhythm that belongs to pleasure.