Rekindling

Karla hadn't laid eyes on Jill in over a decade. Same roof once, blood not shared, but whatever made them stepsisters never stuck. Different paths after their folks split. So when the message popped up—late, out of nowhere—she stared at it for three solid minutes. Couldn't decide if she felt curious or sick. Jill showed up at the door wearing a smirk that looked older than she remembered. Tighter jaw. Fuller mouth. Karla almost laughed out of nerves, except the laugh died when she noticed the way her pulse jumped. They didn't bother with small talk at first, just stood there checking each other out like they were settling an old score. Inside, drinks came fast. Music stayed low. They sat close without noticing they'd drifted that way. Words turned into quick touches—shoulder, wrist, knee—and each touch lingered longer than the last. Karla caught herself staring at Jill's throat when she tipped her head back to finish a glass. Jill caught her staring. Neither of them looked away. Then the talking stopped completely. Karla leaned in without thinking; Jill met her halfway, hot breath, teeth grazing a lip. The first kiss tasted like ten years of things left unsaid. The second was messier. Hands moved on their own—under cotton, over skin that felt familiar and brand new at the same time. Karla pulled Jill down onto the couch, clothes peeling off between frantic kisses. Jill straddled her, hips grinding through thin underwear until the friction forced both of them to moan. Fingers pushed aside soaked fabric, slid into wet heat. Karla thrust upward, desperate, matching every curl of Jill's hand inside her. They fucked like they'd been holding the same breath for years, legs tangled, teeth marking collarbones, slick sounds filling the room until both of them came, shaking, cursing, faces buried in each other's necks.