The Scent of Desire

Gal pushes the bedroom door open and finds Kenzie in nothing but lip gloss. Lipsticks lined the vanity. Kenzie twists another shade onto her fingertip, slow like she owns every second. “Still not dressed?” Gal asks, smirk cracking across her mouth. “You like watching,” Kenzie answers without turning around. Gal drops onto the edge of the bed, legs spread, elbows on knees, stare glued to the mirror. The fan hums above them, slicing the quiet. She pictures Kenzie bathed in neon, slow-mo, all lush hips and smoky eyes, misting perfume across her breasts so the droplets bead and catch the light. The bottle clicks. Kenzie finally sees the glaze in Gal’s eyes. “You’re imagining something filthy,” she says. Gal’s answer comes out husky: “We don’t have to go anywhere yet.” Kenzie’s lips pull into a wicked half-smile. This isn’t even the first time that look has undressed them both before they ever reached the door.