Splash

Peaches climbs in and runs her fingers right between her legs. The water barely covers the motion of her hand working her clit. She leans back, legs parted, blonde hair damp at the edges. Her breathing grows ragged. Each stroke pulls her closer, and soon the first tremors hit. She shudders hard, thighs tensing under the surface. Warmth spills from her in quick, unstoppable pulses that cloud the water. She keeps rubbing through it, chasing the second wave. When it breaks, her hips buck and her mouth opens in a silent cry, a darker-haired teen watching from the tiled edge, cheeks flushed, one hand already slipping beneath her own waistband.