Vacation Time

Sierra Nicole drags herself out of court bone-tired, eyes on the red-eye waiting in the morning. One massage ought to take the edge off. Lana Rhoades leads her in, studies the slow slide of Sierra’s clothes hitting the floor, then laughs low, lips parted, liking every inch she sees. Her palms bear down, knuckles grinding through the knots across Sierra’s back. Then she works lower, palms riding the backs of Sierra’s thighs—closer, then closer still, brushing the soft swell just below the ass before pulling away. Sierra turns, lets the towel drop, tits bare, no shame, just heat. Lana strokes the inner thighs again, fingers slipping up till the back of her knuckle drags along slick lips, teasing, testing, until Sierra’s breathing hitches. Leaning in, Lana stops an inch from her mouth—close enough for shared air, nothing else—and Sierra’s chest lifts, chasing the kiss. Lana takes it. Tongues slide, hips grind; she pours more oil straight onto Sierra’s belly, slides slick fingers between her folds, finding the clit, circling until Sierra’s moaning around the kiss. Lana climbs the table, straddling now, mouth wet on Sierra’s chest, teeth catching a nipple, then two fingers shoved between Sierra’s lips for her to suck. They kiss harder, Lana’s hand still working between Sierra’s legs, rubbing tight circles until the orgasm locks Sierra’s thighs around her wrist. Lana slips down, tongue flat, licking the mess, drinking every pulse. Sierra flips her, pours oil on Lana’s ass, kneads deep till the flesh parts. Lana plants her knees on either side of Sierra’s head, lowers, grinds on her tongue, rocking until Sierra’s mouth is glossy. They trade fingers again, tongues tangling, then scissor—slick pussies sliding, hips snapping, breath hissing—until they come once more, legs shaking. Sierra says she needs another slot before boarding. Lana grins, already dripping, ready to pin her on the table tomorrow.