Shhh... Let's Be Quiet

Kimora kisses her folks goodnight and slips into her room like butter on hot toast. She leaves one juicy detail out. Her girlfriend Kimmy is already creeping up the trellis. The second Kimmy’s sneaks through the window, Kimora hisses they’ll have to hush-hush—Mom’s still pacing downstairs like a caffeinated cat. Kimmy blinks. Wait, we’re doing this now? But Kimora’s already palming her tits through her thin tank, so the younger girl shrugs and nods. Fingers creep under hems. Thumbs circle nipples until both shirts ride up. Kimora drops to her knees, lips brushing Kimmy’s socked toes, tongue tasting cotton and warm skin. Kimmy bites her own wrist to kill a giggle. Panties slide down Kimmy’s thighs. Kimora’s mouth finds slick heat; she licks slow, savoring every muffled gasp. Kimmy’s hips twitch. Heat builds. Tongues, fingers, soft thighs squeeze together. Every wet sound feels loud as fireworks. They keep the rhythm low, frantic, trying not to rattle the bed frame. Pleasure keeps ratcheting higher—Kimmy’s thighs tremble, Kimora’s tongue doesn’t quit—and the risk of one tell-tale moan hangs right over them like a cartoon anvil. Can they bite back the noise, or will Mom’s footsteps on the stairs catch them mid-climax?