Overtime

It's 3pm and Luca flips the sign, locks the door while Violette rubs her aching shoulders behind the counter. "Here, let me see," Luca says. Soon she's kneading Violette's neck, then her back, working lower until she cups those warm, heavy tits and gives them a friendly squeeze. Violette laughs, then moans. Shirts hit the floor. Fingers find slick heat between thick curls, pumping hard while lips suck a puckered nipple. Luca buries her face in sweat damp bush, licking folds, tonguing that clit like she's starving. Violette grips a shelf and spreads wider. Sweat drips. She lifts an arm so Luca can drag her tongue slow through the damp hair there, tasting salt. The register beeps, counting down time they don't have, while knuckles bury deep, curling just right. It's messy, fast, hands and mouths trading places every other breath, fun as hell and twice as sticky.