We Should Talk About Last Night

Penelope Kay hits the bottom step and spots Nina Elle frozen on the couch. The air feels tight. Nina pats the cushion beside her, tells her to sit—they’ve got to talk about last night. Last night they kissed. Their first kiss. Tongues sliding, warm spit swapping, hands clutching whatever they could grab. Both of them tasted guilt all night and still want more. They swear they won’t do it again. Ten seconds later their mouths smash together harder than before, then jerk apart like they’d touched fire. They spit out every reason they can think of—age difference, the lie they’d have to tell Dad, the wrongness they’ve already crossed—but their thighs keep inching closer. Another kiss. Tongues lap deeper. Nina shoves Penelope back, mouth open, breathing hard, and the second promise cracks apart. Penelope’s legs spread. Nina’s hand disappears under the hem of her skirt, fingers finding wet cotton. Penelope whines into her mouth, hips bucking. She answers by yanking Nina’s blouse open, sucking a hard nipple. Two women tangled on the couch, clothes peeled, legs locked, tongues buried between each other’s legs. They keep promising themselves this will be the last taste. Then they fuck again, skin slick, moans bouncing off the walls, until every reason not to disappears under tongues and fingers and shaking thighs.