Budapest #04

They knew it wasn't just friendship. One look too long, breath caught in the throat, and they stopped pretending. The bedroom door shut behind them. Sandra pushed Sophie against it first, fingers already tugging at her shirt. Buttons popped, fabric slipped, skin met skin. Sophie grabbed Sandra's hips, pulling her closer, harder. Their mouths crashed together, messy and desperate. No more careful touches—they tore at each other's clothes like they were racing time itself. Bras hit the floor. Pants shoved down. Sandra's hand slid between Sophie's legs, found her wet and ready, two fingers pushing inside while she bit her neck. Sophie's moan came out ragged. She spun Sandra around, dropped to her knees, tongue working slow and filthy over slick folds until Sandra's knees shook. Then she was on the bed, legs spread wide, Sophie on top of her, grinding down, slick heat sliding against slick heat. Fingers buried deep, hips bucking, the sheets tangled around them. They fucked like they were trying to break each other open—wet sounds, sharp breaths, names muttered like curses. Nothing held back. Nothing gentle.