Backstage of A rainy afternoon

Rain drums on the windows. Sophie Moone stands by the glass, the pale light tracing the soft curve of her breasts. Her hair is still damp from the shower. Francesca steps in, quiet, bare feet on the wooden floor. They meet in a slow kiss that deepens fast, tongues sliding, hands already reaching. Francesca pulls at Sophie’s thin cotton shirt until the buttons give. Sophie’s nipples tighten in the cool air and she presses them into Francesca’s open mouth. Francesca sucks each peak, then drops to her knees. She parts Sophie’s thighs and runs her tongue straight between the smooth lips, tasting the salt of her. Sophie’s fingers knot in Francesca’s dark hair and her hips roll forward, seeking more. A low moan leaves her throat. She lifts one leg onto a chair so Francesca can bury her face deeper. The wet sounds mix with the rain. Francesca slides two fingers inside while her tongue circles Sophie’s swollen clit. Sophie shudders, breath quickening, until the first wave takes her—quick, hard, hips twitching. Francesca rises, kisses her again, lets her taste herself on her lips. Sophie turns her, bends her over the arm of the couch. She slides a hand between Francesca’s legs, finds her already slick, and pushes two fingers in with one steady stroke. Francesca gasps, pushes back against the hand, craving every inch. Sophie works her open, thumb rubbing the tender nub above. Francesca’s moans grow louder; her knees shake. Sophie adds a third finger, stretches her, fucks her steady until Francesca comes hard, body arching, voice breaking. They stay like that a moment, breathing, skin damp. Sophie pulls her up, turns her around, kisses her slow again. Their hands roam freely now—breasts, thighs, the heat between. Another kiss, another touch. The rain keeps falling. They have nowhere else to be.