Bookworm babes

Aliza pins Yolly against the bookshelves, her mouth already on her throat. Yolly arches, breath catching, fingers twisting in Aliza’s shirt as their bodies slam together. Aliza’s tongue finds hers, wet and hungry, the kiss all heat and teeth. Hands slide under clothes, palms on skin, pulling, gripping, tugging fabric higher. They break long enough to smile at each other, then Yolly drops her lips to Aliza’s collarbone, biting lightly, sucking the mark she leaves behind. The shelf rattles. Pages scatter across the floor. They drop with them—Aliza straddling Yolly now, skirt bunched around her hips, mouths trading slow, filthy kisses as their hands wander wherever they want. Breasts against breasts. Thighs parting thighs. Nothing but warmth, softness, and the slick slide of lips meeting lips again, deeper each time, until thinking is impossible and touch is everything.