Get up!

Savannah wakes to Evelin's tongue moving lazily between her legs, slow and deliberate. She opens her eyes and reaches down. Her fingers slide into the older woman's hair and press harder. They trade the favor back and forth for a while—gentle hands becoming firmer, breath catching, moans caught in throats. Evelin doesn't hurry. She builds it, lets it crest, lets it ease, then pulls it higher again. By the time Savannah is wet enough to make a mark on the sheets, she's already given Evelin the same treatment, two fingers deep and curling just so while her mouth stays busy. Their bodies glow with sweat. They taste each other until the first weak sun reaches through the curtains and nothing feels imagined anymore.