Fresh strawberry

Two girls move together on the bed. One is blonde, the other brunette. The blonde opens a small bowl of strawberries, picks one up, and drags the fruit slowly across her girlfriend's lower lip. The brunette smiles, bites into it. Red juice stains her mouth. They kiss. The taste of fruit and cream passes between their tongues. The blonde dips another strawberry into whipped cream and traces a line from the brunette's collarbone down to her nipple. The brunette sighs, arches her back. Her nipple hardens. The blonde licks the cream away in one slow stroke, then again, flicking her tongue. Juice runs down the brunette's breast. The blonde catches every drop with her mouth. She presses the next strawberry between her own breasts and slides it lower, between her legs. The brunette watches. Her eyes darken. She leans in, takes the berry with her teeth, and lets it pop inside her mouth. Their legs tangle. Hands move. The blonde slips two fingers between the brunette's thighs while the brunette sucks cream off another berry and feeds it to her. They take turns. Taste each other. The sound of soft breathing and wet mouths fills the room. Neither rushes. Every lick is deliberate. Every bite leaves a mark. Their skin grows flushed. Strawberry juice and cream cover their fingers, their lips, the sheets. They never stop moving closer.