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Makayla’s dress. Her fingers glide lightly over the fabric, meandering around in no confident path, following the inside edge to her silky thigh but then moving upward toward that space where thighs converge. Makayla reaches for Kennedy’s free hand. For a moment her fingers are poised just above the wrist, not touching skin. But then she does make contact, ever so softly, tracing the lines that Kennedy’s raised veins compose.
    Makayla’s other hand goes to Kennedy’s shoulder. She draws a line down along her forearm, going unhurriedly, and then back up, head cocked to the side comfortably, observing Kennedy, and Michael, who continues to stand by the wall. They make eye contact—Michael and Makayla—and she gives him an affectionate smile that he returns.
    Kennedy’s hand is in Makayla’s lap. It is warm, soft, and she rakes several fingers along Makayla’s abdomen, feeling her navel. She moves her fingers upward, leisurely, not in any rush, listening to the sound of Makayla’s breathing, which has its own tempo and rhythm. Makayla’s fingers have moved laterally—she holds her hand flat as she touches the side of Kennedy’s breast. Her digits glide from smooth, mocha skin to black fabric and back to smooth, mocha flesh again, experiencing the rise of Kennedy’s nipple as she makes contact.
    Kennedy’s stare goes to Makayla’s. She leans forward, and Makayla comes off the chaise lounge, meeting her in the space between. Their mouths touch, and they kiss, softly at first, as Kennedy’s hand comes up to stroke Makayla’s face—soft, moist lips pressing against one another. Makayla opens her mouth, and Kennedy slips her tongue inside.
    The feeling is extraordinary. Her warm breath is in Kennedy’s face. Their cheeks are touching. Makayla’s tongue unites with Kennedy’s as they press against one another. Their tongues are accommodating; they glide along each other, slowly flicking against the fleshy surfaces as their bodies drive together. They continue the dance with their mouths, their lips, their tongues, exploring one another as Kennedy takes Makayla’s upper lip into her mouth, tugging lightly on the flesh between her teeth. Makayla responds: a quick guttural moan as her bottom lip is devoured. Lips are consumed like flavorsome meat, cooked to perfection, a savory filet.
    Makayla’s hands go to Kennedy, wrapping around her neck as the two women continue to kiss. They are hungry, Michael can see. Their moans become louder, their movements more frantic. Kennedy reaches for the top of Makayla’s dress and pulls it down her chest. Her breasts come into view, dark emergent nipples that Kennedy rushes to. Makayla is pushed back into the precincts of the chaise lounge as Kennedy licks at Makayla’s flesh, long full strokes of her tongue around dark patches of areola, twirling each nipple between her fingers, pulling them taut. Kennedy puts one breast in her mouth, then another, sucking on them madly as Makayla grabs her head in her hands. Her legs come off the chaise and wrap themselves around Kennedy’s waist as Makayla bares Kennedy’s breasts. Then it’s Makayla’s turn to feast, and she does so with a vigor that causes Kennedy to cry out in a way that makes Michael ache with desire.
    Michael watches intently, hand snaking down to feel himself growing hard under his suit pants. He moves to the bed and sits down, removes his shoes and gets comfortable, observing Kennedy reach under Makayla’s short dress. Her legs part as Kennedy’s fingers find their mark, feeling her moist sex beneath her panties. Makayla emits a low groan of satisfaction.
    “Oh my God,” she utters as Kennedy massages the wet spot, slithering down until her knees are on the carpet, her near-perfect ass cheeks rising from her minidress. She grasps Makayla’s panties and slips them down her legs. When they are off, she tosses them in the direction of Michael, who catches them easily, staring absorbedly at the scene before