The taste of Summer

Autumn’s here, but Kata’s sheets stay hot. She has a girl to roll into when the nights turn cold. That girl still tastes like summer. Kata parts her knees, leans down, and drags her tongue across that silky cleft—soft, careful at first, then deeper. A slow push inside. The girl gasps, hips tilting up, hands already threading through Kata’s hair, pulling her closer. Kata sucks, licks, loses herself until her own body tightens. She turns quickly, swinging a leg, and the girl meets her halfway. Tongue finds clít, wet and wanting, and both of them move with the same easy rhythm. Smooth thighs, pink folds, sharp little cries. They stay there until the night takes the heat from the room and leaves only sweat and salt.