Matchmaker Mix-Up: Part One

Two girls. One stupid mix-up that sparks something they never saw coming. Alli opens her laptop chasing a fantasy man, hits send on a blind date, and waits. What shows up knocks twice. Remy. Tight body, warm eyes, legs that look like trouble. Alli opens the door, pulse kicking, realizes every picture lied. She stammers an apology: “I thought you were a guy.” Remy smiles anyway. The hike was already packed, daylight wasting, so they go. Boots on dirt, sun sliding low, nerves stretching thinner with every step. They talk. Laugh. Knees brushing. By the time they crest the ridge, the view spreads out and neither of them pretends anymore. Remy’s stare lands on Alli like a match on dry grass. Alli’s never kissed a girl, never let soft hands wander where they want. That fact ends fast. Remy drops to her knees, tongue tasting, fingers parting, working Alli until her thighs shake and the hill echoes with the first real moan she’s ever let loose. Heat climbs. Clothes come off. Then they’re chest to chest, hips grinding, slick and desperate, tribbing till the sky turns purple and both of them break open, shaking against each other in the afterburn.