Home alone

Parents are out. My best friend gets the spare room, or so they think. The second the door closes we know exactly what we want. I grab her hand, pull her toward my bed. Her tongue finds me first—slow circles, then deeper—tracing every soft, wet fold until my thighs shake and I can’t keep quiet. She doesn’t stop until I’m trembling against her mouth, both of us flushed, hair tangled, still hungry for more. Tonight we keep the lights on and the silence broken.