Backstage of Brunette lovers

Betty and Zafira lie sprawled on the couch. Betty's silk bra has slipped down one shoulder, exposing the swell of her breast while Zafira's fingers slip under the elastic of her own thong. Their skin is smooth, still carrying the faint scent of perfume. Zafira leans in, tongue tracing Betty's collarbone, slow and deliberate. Betty answers with two fingers sliding between Zafira's thighs, finding her already slick. They move like they have all night and no reason to rush. Every stroke is a promise they plan to keep.