Paper Hearts

Cadence gets home, dragging her feet after the kind of day that bites back. Then she spots a paper heart on the kitchen counter: “Follow me.” Signed with the kind of little heart only Alexis draws. Okay, this day just got interesting. A second heart waits on the first stair. Cadence climbs, finds another on the banister, another on the doorknob. She’s grinning by the time she hits the bedroom. Alexis sprawls naked across the sheets, dark curls spilling like ink. She lifts one toe, points to the final paper heart at the foot of the bed. It reads: “Start here.” Cadence obeys—kneeling, tugging Alexis’ foot close. Her lips slide along the arch, her tongue flicks between the toes, sucking slowly, wet and warm. Alexis sighs, hips already restless. Cadence trails upward: calf, thigh, a flash of teeth at the hipbone. She tastes everything, stops only when Alexis pulls her in by the hair and kisses her deep, then deeper still. Sheets bunch, legs tangle. Their mouths keep meeting—wet, messy, playful—until the teasing burns off and they’re rocking together in sync, each gasp speaking for the other. Bodies locked, slick, moving easy. Sweet at first, then urgent, until the whole room smells like cotton, sweat, and skin.