Horny Karla Trusts Again

Karla runs her mouth about some vacation fling that sounds dull as hell. Tilda’s trying to tune in, lips twitching into a nod here and there, but really all she can think is how she wants Karla straddling her lap already. Conversation sours when Karla admits she’s scared shitless of getting burned again. “Trusting someone?” she mutters. “Hard pass.” Tilda grins, cheeks flushed. “Yet here you are eye-fucking me like you’re starving.” Karla laughs, blunt, shaky—then her grin cracks open wide. “Maybe I’m hungry for something bigger than fear tonight.” Clothes tumble fast; Tilda pushes Karla back onto the couch, tongue gliding down her chest while Karla spreads her legs without an ounce of shyness. She gets it, fingers slick inside Karla, curls sucking—Karla’s breath punches out short rasps and slick heat coats Tilda’s knuckles. Karla reaches back, guiding Tilda’s hips, two sets of fingers sliding in rhythm. She circles their wet slits with pointed purpose—needy, indulgent, cocky as hell. Hips buck up with the pulse of every stroke. Quiet filthy sounds fill the space: fabric creaking beneath them, soft wet noise, slick slapping. When Karla’s thighs clamp tight around Tilda’s hand she speaks half-laughing, voice catching—“Don’t you dare stop unless I come first.” Tilda presses harder, thumb brushing Karla’s clit in tight delicious circles, and Karla returns the favor until their gasps tumble into matching cries—shoulders locked, legs shaking, wetting their thumbs right up to the wrist in slick release.