Jo's surprise

Jo showed up with a fresh shade—dark, rich brunette instead of her usual blonde. It suits her, the way it frames her face, draws out the mischief already in her eyes. I have to find out if the color changes anything else. The lace of her lingerie catches the light, ivory against skin, a quiet promise she intends to keep. When my hand slides over her thigh she presses closer, guiding me exactly where she wants to be touched. Mouths meet, slow at first, then hungrier. I peel the straps from her shoulders and watch the fabric fall; the new brunette hair spills across the pillow, darker than anything I expected. She arches when my fingers slip beneath silk, wet already, hips moving with each stroke. I lower my head, taste her, tongue tracing lazy circles that make her thighs tremble around my ears. She pulls me up, flips us, tongue demanding its turn, and soon we’re tangled, legs hooked, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. Her fingers work inside me, curling just right, and I ride the rhythm until the first sharp wave breaks. Then again. She smiles against my neck, satisfied that nothing about her has changed except the hair—and that I like it.