Fortune cookie

Lara takes one look at the menu and tosses it aside. Cookie is right there, smooth skin, soft mouth, better than any delivery. They meet in a kiss that lingers, tongues slow and curious. Lara’s hands slide under Cookie’s shirt, find the curve of her small breast, thumb circling the tight nipple until Cookie sighs. Clothes come off in pieces. Cookie drops to her knees, parts Lara’s thighs, and leans in. Her tongue is wet and certain, flicking over Lara’s clit in short, greedy strokes. Lara’s head tips back, blond hair spilling across the couch. She reaches down, holds Cookie’s face to her cunt, hips rolling. Then Lara pulls her up, lays her out on the cushions, and returns the favor—spreading Cookie open, tasting her deep, two fingers sliding in while her mouth works the swollen bud above them. Their moans braid together, low and constant. When Cookie comes, her thighs tremble around Lara’s head; moments later Lara follows, body shaking, breath caught. Afterward they stay tangled, skin flushed, still tasting each other on their lips.