You've Got Mail

Avalon A swipes open the delivery app just in time to see a new message flash: 'Surprise surprise - your book's en route.' But the real surprise steps onto her porch - Brigitte A, all smirks and hips. Avalon swallows hard, eyes fixed on the stranger's grin while her key unlocks the door. Inside it's warm, low lights, her big double-bed already screaming for company. Three steps later they're vertical without thinking, breathing skin instead of words. Wooden frames creak as Brigitte pushes forward, thumb deft between blankets until she finds silk crotch already damp. Avalon takes the quest further, greedy mouth sliding against Brigitte's open thighs. Their world narrows to heartbeat rhythm - fingers everywhere. Brushes turn greedy laps, hands fisting hair, mutual thighs parting wider. It's hot, slick. Fleshy wet friction fills the room. A hard flick and Brigitte loses the rhythm, fountains of clear salt-splash blanketing herself and Avalon's knees in shiny arcs. Pulses drop finally; the room settles. Someone laughs against a rib, sticky fingerprints drying when they roll sideways into orderless rest like two old cheats plotting next game.