Crossing The Finish Line

Nicole and Olivia actually slowed down during that brutal marathon just to keep Destiny from blowing up on the side of the road. Still glistening, legs shaky, Destiny crashes on their couch talking about how she can’t cool off. That’s all it takes—Nicole’s swapping a sweaty tank for a towel soaked in ice water, Olivia’s fanning her while they trade looks above Destiny’s head like they already share a secret. One deliberate stroke behind Destiny’s neck turns into two, then Nicole palms the inside of those runner thighs. Electricity jumps the gap. Destiny leans up on her elbows, half-smirking, half-panting. “Y’all saved me today. Lemme run a victory lap of my own.” Olvia’s shorts hit the floor first; Nicole answers by dropping to her knees between Destiny’s spread legs and dragging her tongue straight up that sticky slit in one slow, filthy stripe. Olivia’s already on the sofa arm with two fingers knuckle-deep in Destiny’s mouth, coaching her to suck and keep eye contact, the other hand stretching to pinch Destiny’s nipple when her hips buck. Sweat still clings to their skin, every move glossy and tight, and the apartment smells like hot bodies, silicone lube, and pent-up orgasm waiting to explode.