No time for girl talk

Angel and Nikita meet for girls-only dinners now and then, the kind where they forget the men and trade lipstick gossip over wine. Tonight something shifts before the first course arrives. Nipples already stiff, they skip the small talk and start undoing buttons, palms sliding over the warm weight of each other’s breasts. Nikita leans in first, tongue tracing slow circles around a dusky peak while Angel’s hand slips between parted thighs, finding the soft seam already slick. Their dresses come off in short, careless pulls until nothing stands between skin and the cool restaurant leather. Angel’s mouth trails lower, lips parting against the inside of Nikita’s knee, higher, until she tastes the salt-sweet pull of desire. Nikita answers with a low laugh that breaks into a gasp, legs tightening, fingers tangled in soft curls as the table rocks with every languid, devoted lick.