Bedtime stories

They started with a story. Blonde hair brushing the redhead’s bare shoulder as the book lay open between them. The words said kisses, love, heat. The girls took the hint. Clothes dropped to the floor in quiet little heaps. Knees touched. Then thighs. Then fingers slipped lower, curious and greedy. The blonde spread first, a soft sound slipping out when the redhead leaned in and looked. Really looked. She touched, parted, ran two fingers through the slick warmth she found there. The redhead wasn’t shy. She pulled her own legs wide, let the blonde see every pink inch, every twitch. They tasted each other after that, slow, deliberate licks that turned hungry fast. No one was going to sleep. Not with mouths busy, not with hips rolling, not with soft, wet sounds filling the dark room.