Taste Me

Scarlett Alexis. Eliza Ibarra. Two bodies locked together, lights low, sheets already twisted. One pale and dark-haired, the other golden-skinned. They don’t ease into it. Scarlett shoves Eliza onto her back, tears lace panties down, and buries her mouth between her thighs. Eliza answers by dragging Scarlett’s hips over her face until wet heat meets wet tongue. Fingers slide in. Two. Then three. Knuckles pressed, curled just right, the rhythm quick and dirty. The 69 gives them both at once, neither willing to let the other breathe long. Scarlett’s tongue circles, flicks, sucks. Eliza’s mouth answers the same rough devotion. Moans turn guttural. Hips buck. Lingerie straps dig into skin. Sweat beads, drips, mixes. The room fills with the sound of lips and fingers working faster, harder, until every muscle tightens and the whole thing unravels in one long, shaking climax.