Leaving Nothing to Chance

Chloe Cherry and Jane Wilde sit on the floor. A green glass bottle spins between them. Chloe stares at it, restless. "Why are we doing this?" she asks, voice tight. Jane shoots back that they're going to a party and this is how people get loose. Chloe's mouth twists. She can't see herself kissing strangers all night. Jane laughs, sharp, like the idea is funny and obvious. Chloe's eyes drop. "I've only ever kissed you." Jane tells her to loosen up, they deserve a wild night, plenty of soft lips at that party. They spin again. The bottle slows, points, the silence stretches. Chloe blurts it out: she hates imagining Jane touching other girls. Jane's answer lands cold. Chloe better get used to the fact they've both been with other people. She leans in close. What makes kissing me different, she asks. Chloe's voice cracks, steady, soft, you make me ache in ways nobody else touches. Jane studies her, almost tender, almost cruel. Do you think that's magic no one else can do? Chloe swallows, scared to lie. Feels that way. Jane reaches out. Eyes closed, she orders. Chloe obeys. One kiss, slow. When Jane pulls back, she whispers: it could have been anyone. The kisses stay longer each time. Fingers move under clothes. Jane keeps Chloe's eyes shut while her mouth moves over breasts, tongue tracing nipples until they're stiff, then down to lick between spread thighs, slow, then hungry. Chloe bucks, legs open. They switch fast now, hands and mouths trading, two tongues working wet and hot, finding the right rhythm until breath stutters. Fingers go deep, pulling slick sounds from both of them. Bodies slide against each other, clit to clit, grinding hard. Tension breaks with shaky cries. Chloe's eyes open, glazed, wide open with new hunger. Whatever tonight throws at them, she's ready now.