No Time To Ourselves

Aria Banks bolts into Rachael Cavalli’s bedroom, buzzing about their show. She stops cold. Rachael’s spread on the bed, hand buried in her panties, slick and working. The older woman yanks it free, cheeks burning. Aria stares, eyes wide, soaking in every wet finger and quick breath. Rachael stammers—she was just... taking care of herself. Her husband’s never around; work swallowed their sex life. Aria frowns, genuine worry cutting through. She offers to finish what her stepmom started. Rachael freezes. The girl means it. Heat twists low in her gut—wrong, hot, impossible to ignore. She could never say no to Aria anyway. Not when the girl’s the only person who still shows up, still cares. So Rachael spreads again, slower this time, letting those small hands replace her own. The TV drones on in the background while forbidden touches start, steady, shameless, louder than any dialogue on-screen.