Teens at home

I was watering the plants when Zafira flipped through a magazine on the couch, the afternoon hanging heavy around us. I flicked some water her way. She glanced up, lips twitching. I flicked more. A few drops landed on her shirt, darkening the fabric against her skin. She laughed, stood, and peeled the wet cotton away. I helped, tugging her bra down her shoulders, slipping her panties off her hips. Skin met skin, warm and already damp. My hand slid lower, fingers pressing between her thighs, opening her slowly, then pushing deeper until my knuckles slipped past the tight ring and vanished inside her. She shuddered, breath catching, and I worked my fist gently, the wet heat gripping me with every slow turn of my wrist. Boredom was gone. The only sound left was her breathing and the wet pull of my hand inside her.