Women in black

Two women wait in the dark, dressed in black. Sophie stands there with her golden hair loose, and Aisha leans beside her, dark hair falling across one shoulder. The light catches the silk of their dresses, how each one clings to the curve of a hip, the swell of a breast. No smiles for the camera now. They move together without hurry, mouths meeting first, slow, sure. Hands slip beneath fabric. Aisha's fingers trace the line of Sophie's thigh, then press higher. Sophie answers with a quiet sound, her head tilting back as Aisha's hand finds heat. They undress each other by inches. Bare skin meets bare skin, pale and olive. One moan, then another. Sophie drops to her knees, mouth open, hungry for the wet between Aisha's legs. Aisha's hand grips the back of her head, holding her there while her hips roll forward. When it's her turn, she takes her time, tongue circling, teasing, until Sophie's thighs begin to shake. They don't rush. Fingers slide in deep, curl, withdraw. Tongues follow. Bodies arch, press, grind. The sheets twist beneath them. Sweat glistens on skin. Every gasp fills the quiet room. They take each other apart with patience and hunger, until neither can hold back the final, shaking release.