Bookworm babes

Boroka raised her eyebrows at the dirty magazines scattered across my bed. No shame in me. I picked one up, flipped it open, and let her read the nastiest paragraph. The words sank in fast. Her cheeks flushed. Then she grabbed another book, legs shifting on the mattress, thighs pressing together. I read the next line out loud. She laughed once, low, then leaned closer. The paper crackled when she turned the page. Her free hand drifted to my knee. I kept reading. She kept listening. Heat filled the room. By the time the last sentence landed, she was biting her lip and reaching for me instead of the books.