Summertime

Summertime tastes sweetest when a girl like Wivien has a smoking-hot friend to share it with. Heat clings to skin the way cotton candy sticks to fingers. Sunlight slips through the windows and spreads over the two of them, turning bare shoulders gold. A lazy kiss deepens, slow and wet, like the first lick of an ice-cream cone on a scorching day. One girl’s blonde hair slides across the other’s thigh, soft and ticklish. Fingers press inside eager heat, coaxing soft gasps that rise and fall like cicadas. They taste each other, tongues busy, breath coming faster, hips rolling in a rhythm the summer afternoon seems to conduct. Sweat glistens, legs tremble, and every touch feels exactly right under that endless, heavy sun.