Addicted2Girls
Abigail Mac, Bailey Bae Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting warm stripes across the rumpled sheets where she lay waiting, the scent of her perfume—jasmine and sandalwood—hanging heavy in the quiet room. Her gaze was fixed on the doorway, a slow, liquid heat pooling in her belly as she heard the soft pad of bare feet on the hardwood floor. Then she was there, silhouetted agat the hall light, her form a familiar and longed-for curve that made breath catch in a throat. Without a word, she crossed the space, the mattress dipping under her weight as she settled beside her, a cool hand coming to rest on a sun-warmed thigh. Fingertips traced a languid path upward, skating over sensitive skin, each touch a tiny, electric promise that sparked a shiver down a spine. A sigh escaped, part surrender and part invitation, as those knowing fingers slipped beneath the edge of cotton underwear, finding the damp heat waiting beneath. Lips met in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of mint and longing, a silent conversation of tongues that spoke of afternoons just like this one. Hips began to move in a gentle, tinctual rhythm, pressing into the touch, the world narrowing to the space where their bodies joined. The only sound was the shared, ragged breathing and the soft, wet evidence of their mounting pleasure, a private symphony in the golden light.
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