Girls Kissing Girls #25

Jackie wakes alone in a stranger's bed, sheets still damp from sweat and god-knows-what-else. She sits up fast, head pounding, scanning the empty room for any trace of the woman she'd come home with. Her phone screams—her fiancé's name flashing—and she fumbles to answer. He's pissed. Says he's been calling all night, demands to know why the hell she ghosted him. She mumbles something about dead battery, rain, lost reception, anything to shut him up. The bathroom door opens. Veronica steps out naked, golden hair still wet, carrying two coffees and a paper bag of croissants. She grins like she owns the morning. Jackie smiles back, shaky, clueless, trying to piece together last night while the lie to her fiancé dies on her tongue. She hangs up. Veronica sits close, thighs touching. Passes her the coffee. "Thanks for last night," she says, eyes glinting. Jackie admits she can't remember a damn thing. Veronica leans in, slow, and kisses her—tongue sliding deep, wet, deliberate. Jackie's brain snaps. Every filthy second floods back. The taxi ride home with Veronica's hand under her dress. The two of them barely making it to this bed before clothes flew. Jackie's thighs clamped around Veronica's head, that tongue working her over until she came so hard she forgot her own name. Jackie groans into the kiss now, remembering exactly how good it felt and exactly how fucked she is.