Golden girls

The suite feels too big with nothing but marble and sunlight. Then two girls slip inside. Blonde hair spills over the brunette’s shoulder as their mouths meet—wet, open, hungry. Fingers slide under soft tops and push them higher, exposing smooth skin that tightens under each stroke. The blonde drops to her knees on the thick carpet, tugging denim down until the brunette steps free. She parts those thighs and leans in, tongue gliding over slick heat while the brunette’s hands knot in blonde curls. Breath turns ragged. Hips rock. Every low sound echoes off the tall windows. They switch places without speaking, bodies still trembling, and the brunette buries her face between pale thighs, licking slowly, deliberately, until the blonde arches and cries out. Their lips meet again, tasting each other, chasing another wave before the afternoon light fades.