Bring The Wood With Roxy And Alice

They huddle close while the cold bites at the windows. Roxy dumps the wood by the hearth and the flames crackle to life. Clothes drop fast. Alice spreads on the rug first, thighs open, breath sharp. Roxy’s tongue finds her without mercy—licking, sucking, drinking her in. The heat they chase now has nothing to do with the fire. Fingers dig, hips roll, wet sounds fill the room. They trade places, switch rhythms, eat until their lips shine and their pulses hammer. Night stretches and the only wood they need is the one that burns between their legs.