Every Minute We Have Left

Midnight crawls closer like a bad cop. Skye won’t buy it. Brooke lays it out flat—past, present, anything the system wants wiped gets wiped for good. Truth or lie, law doesn’t care. They’re running out of time, and not toward anything pretty. Skye strips first. Brooke’s hands, sure and rough-soft, peel everything else away. Skin meets skin like they know each other by heart. Mouths lock, then trade places—Brooke’s tongue finds Skye slick, greedy, urgent. Skye arches up, returns the favor, licking Brooke’s pussy in long, greedy strokes while the seconds crack away like dry leaves. They hold on, breathing the same breath, tasting loss with every flicker of tongue, but they won’t stop until the signal cuts the last wire. Clock’s turning black.