Just a touch

Two women lie together, skin to skin. Frida’s long blonde hair spills across the sheets as Serenity’s fingertips trace slow circles over her stomach. Their breath quickens. A single brush between parted thighs leaves them both slick. They move with quiet certainty. Lips meet, then linger, tasting one another. Hands slide lower. Each stroke draws a soft gasp. They press closer, legs entwined, hips rocking in a shared rhythm that never needs words.