At home

Alisa and Aliza linger in the quiet house. School’s done, morning light drifts through half-drawn curtains, and neither girl is rushed. They pick soft cotton shorts and thin tops, passing each garment between them with easy laughter. One strokes the brush through the other’s long blonde hair, then hands it back, repeating the slow motion until every strand lies smooth and shining. Time stretches, so they let it. They trade kisses that turn deeper, fingers slipping under elastic waistbands to cup small, firm breasts. Soon the clothes lie in a pale heap on the floor. Alisa’s mouth traces Aliza’s collarbone, then moves lower, tasting the swell of each breast before sliding down her stomach. Aliza sighs and opens her thighs; Alisa’s tongue follows the line of her hip, then finds the tight ring between her cheeks. She circles slowly, pressing, easing, until Aliza rocks back and lets her in. Fingers follow tongue, slick with spit, working deeper while Aliza’s hand reaches between Alisa’s legs to return the favor. They shift on the bed, mouths meeting again, tasting each other on each other’s lips. Hours pass. Bodies stay close, legs tangled, soft moans rising and falling like breath. Every stroke is unhurried, every gasp drawn out. When they finally rest, sunlight has moved across the sheets, and their skin carries the faint scent of sweat and sex.