Snacks

Hazel plays host in the empty house. Lilly steps inside, warm and restless. “Want something to drink?” Hazel asks, opening the fridge. “Biscuits too.” Lilly smiles, eyes never leaving her. “I want to munch,” she says, “just not biscuits.” The next breath is a kiss. Hands slide under cotton. Hazel tastes sweeter than anything on the shelf, lips parting, tongue meeting tongue. Red hair brushes a bare shoulder. Hazel’s fingers trace the small of Lilly’s back, then lower, cupping her ass, pulling her close. Heat rises. They drop to the kitchen floor, skirts pushed up, panties tugged aside. Lilly’s mouth finds Hazel’s cunt first—wet, open, aching—and she licks like she’s starved. Hazel gasps, hips lifting, fingers tangled in red curls. She tastes every fold, every throb. When she can’t stand it, she rolls Lilly beneath her, spreads her thighs, returns the favor. Tongues, fingers, breathless moans fill the kitchen. They come quick and hard, still half-dressed, flushed and laughing, the snacks left untouched on the counter.