After The Last Dance

Kasey Kei stepped inside, one last toe-point still hanging in her ankles. Sweat stuck the bodysuit to her ribs and she didn’t pull it free. Kimmy Kimm shut the door and slid her palm up the zipper at the back. “Proud as hell, baby,” Kimmy said, low, “but you still can’t stand the zipper going down.” Kasey pressed closer, breath hot against Kimmy’s cheek. “If the suit comes off, it’s really finished.” Kimmy’s fingers paused at the metal tab, then moved slower. “Let me change your mind.” She tugged, and Kasey’s spine loosened the same way the teeth parted. Sweat-wet nylon slipped off one shoulder, then the other. Kimmy’s mouth followed the stretch of exposed skin, tasting salt and adrenaline. Kasey’s hands rose like they were still waiting for the next cue, then settled on Kimmy’s hips instead. They sank onto the bed without needing light. Kimmy licked lower, and Kasey’s thighs opened the way a curtain lifts. Her wife took her time, tasting, spreading her wider, tongue flat and then sharp. When Kasey moaned she lifted her hips in the same motion she used to catch a lift onstage. Kimmy filled her in one slow thrust, fingers curling, pulse synced to the small cries that left Kasey’s throat. Every small wet sound rode higher until Kasey clenched and broke open, nails marking Kimmy’s shoulders like an ending bow. Afterward they lay tangled, the discarded leotard shining faintly on the floor. Kasey trailed fingers over Kimmy’s wrist, breathing steady. Whatever came next would be softer, but right now the air tasted like the edge of something new.