Backstage of Forever friends

I’ve known Dorina forever. What gets me every time is how she feels everything—her moods hit like weather, quick and honest. Then there’s that long blonde hair, smooth as cream, falling over her shoulders whenever she moves. Backstage, with the noise outside still buzzing, she pulls me close. Our kisses turn greedy fast. My hands sink into the soft swell of her ass, pulling her tighter, feeling heat through thin fabric. She sighs into my mouth, hips rolling, that blonde curtain sliding across both of us like silk. The kiss deepens; tongues slide, wet and sure. She tastes faintly sweet, like the gloss she just reapplied. My fingers trace the curve under her skirt, push the fabric higher until bare skin meets my palm. She gasps, parts her legs just enough. I slide two fingers between them, find her slick and already eager. Her breathing hitches. She grinds down, greedy for more, hair spilling over my shoulder in a warm, golden wave. Each slow stroke pulls a soft whimper from her throat. She nips my lip, then soothes it with her tongue. We’re tangled, bodies pressed tight, lost in the quick rhythm of fingers and breath and the soft rustle of her hair every time she moves.