On my favorite rug

Aspen and Sinovia have been each other's shadow since forever. School. Track practice. Even dinner at both houses runs on the same clock. Their parents just smile and think best friends should stick close. They never guess what the girls keep behind closed doors. Tonight the parents are gone until late, so the two claim the living room. The fuzzy white rug waits under their feet. Aspen pushes Sinovia down first. They kiss hard, tongues tangling, breath getting quick. Sinovia’s shirt comes off, then Aspen’s bra lands beside it. They roll until Aspen straddles her friend, grinding slow against the seam of her shorts, feeling the heat grow wet underneath. Sinovia opens Aspen’s jeans, slips fingers inside, finds the soft skin already slick. Aspen rocks down harder while two fingers slide deep and curl. Her moans hit the quiet house. She leans forward, bites Sinovia’s lip, pulls the girl’s own shorts down and off in one move. Legs lock. Aspen licks up Sinovia’s thigh, tastes salt and soap, then seals her mouth over the soft folds and sucks. Sinovia’s hips jerk, one hand gripping Aspen’s hair while the other claws at the rug. Fingers keep working in time with Aspen’s tongue. Sweat sticks strands of hair to their necks. They move from one rhythm to the next, licking, sucking, thrusting until both legs shake and the rug catches their shared release, leaving damp patches that cool against skin.