Behave Yourself

Angela steps through Jenny’s door like she owns it, music rattling the walls. She’s half dressed, sweat on her collarbone. Jenny’s splayed across her bed, thighs open, lips parted like an invitation. Angela snaps, cuts the track, and that fast the fight starts. Words sting, skin flashes hot. Angela shoves, Jenny grabs a fistful of hair; they crash into the closet door and a drawer spits panties across the floor. Breath meets breath. Suddenly the air changes. Jenny’s nails sink in, drag down Angela’s lower back, a slow burn under sweat-slick skin. Angela answers by twisting the girl’s nipple, hard enough to make her moan. Clothes get ripped off, not folded. Jenny’s hand slides south, finds Angela soaked and greedy. She pushes two fingers deep, curls, pumps. Angela bites Jenny’s throat, sucks a mark while grinding down. Their legs lock. Jenny flips them, rides Angela’s face, dripping on her tongue while she rocks against the needy heat between her thighs. Angela licks until Jenny’s curses break apart; then she pins the girl beneath her, spreads her wider, drives her tongue inside until Jenny begs. Sweat and spit and slick cover the sheets. The room stinks of need, moans guttering into broken breath. Each filthy slap of skin presses them closer, turns every bruise into heat, every half-spoken name into a dare. They come hard, bodies arched, swallowing each other’s sounds until only ragged breathing fills the sudden quiet. No more music. Just skin against skin and that dangerous new hush.