Sweet Valentine

Breana arrived at Lucille's door just after ten. They had nothing planned except each other. Lucille answered wearing only an open robe, and Breana pushed the fabric off her shoulders without a word. The two women stood pressed together in the hallway, mouths sliding slow and wet. Breana dropped to her knees first. She parted Lucille's thighs with both hands, leaned in, and licked once, slow from entrance to clit, tasting the heat already there. Lucille hissed, fingers tangling in Breana's hair, hips tilting for more. Breana took her time—long, firm licks interrupted by quick flicks of tongue—until Lucille's legs shook and her breath came ragged. Then she guided Breana onto the rug, peeled her open the same way, and returned every stroke, every circle, every slick thrust of tongue until both of them trembled, slick and spent, laughing softly against each other's thighs.