Girl things

Yulia and I were supposed to get ready for a party. I slip into the bath while she sits nearby, carefully painting her toenails a deep shade of red. The steam rises around me, and my hands move slowly over my skin. She watches. A brush pauses in her hand. Soon enough the bottle is set aside, her toes forgotten, because her eyes have found a different focus. She steps closer, drawn in by every movement I make. Her fingers trail along the edge of the tub, then across my wet shoulder. Before I know it her mouth replaces her touch, warm and insistent. Her kisses drop lower. My legs part instinctively. She climbs in with me, still half-dressed, the water splashing as she kneels between my thighs. Her tongue finds its way with steady hunger. We never leave for the party. Instead the floor tiles cool our bodies when we spill out of the tub. Her black hair falls across my stomach as she licks deeper, tasting me while I thread my fingers through the strands. The air fills with soft moans and the wet sounds of her mouth working. Fingers slip inside, curling, finding the spot that makes my hips jerk. She moans with me, drunk on it, her own legs spreading wider against the tile. Blonde hair plastered to my face, I pull her up and kiss her hard, tasting myself on her lips. The two of us roll across the bathroom floor, legs tangled, breasts pressed close. Her mouth returns again and again, greedy for more, until the party is just a distant thought and all that matters is the slow, relentless rhythm of her tongue and the way my body answers it.