Girls in White #06

Magdalene’s mind slips sideways. She’s stretched out on silk, surrounded by women in white dresses cut so thin you can see the shadows of nipples and the curve of ass. One kneels above her, thighs spread, the dress riding high on lean hips so Magdalene can see the pink glint between her legs. Another is bent over the marble edge of a fountain, white fabric wet and plastered to the cleft of her cheeks, fabric clinging like a second skin. Magdalene’s hand moves; she wraps her fingers around a wrist, dragging a girl closer until warm breath ghosts across her throat. She can smell the warm linen and a hint of musk rising off bare skin. Cala is there but distant, watching from shadow. Magdalene tilts her head back, breathes deep, bares her throat like a dare. The girl on her lap rocks once, slow, deliberate, and Magdalene feels the slide of heat through the slick fabric. She groans, low and feral, then arches up to bite the girl’s collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. The other woman turns from the fountain, dress falling off one shoulder, nipple dark through the cotton. Magdalene reaches for both of them at once, voice rough as she whispers Cala’s name into the crush of white-clad bodies. The motion of hips, the press of thighs, the wet sound of skin on skin—everything slides together under that hazy light, fantasy sharpened to a single point of need.