Showing Her A Few Steps

Zariah’s moving slow circles by herself in the empty room, humming off-key, counting beats she can barely feel. Wedding jitters have her practicing alone when Dee strolls in with that teasing smirk. “Room for one more, sweetheart?” She can’t say no fast enough. Too many nerves, not enough rhythm. Dee steps close, one hand warm at the small of her back, the other guiding Zariah’s fingers into place. They start in slow sweeps across the floor, shoes brushing, skirts whispering. Heat sneaks in with every turn. Zariah catches Dee’s perfume, feels the press of soft breasts against her own whenever the spin brings them tight. Fingers slip a little lower. Breath hitches. Neither steps back. Dee’s laugh turns husky. “This… maybe needs more rehearsal.” Zariah bites her lip, nods once, heart tripping. They keep dancing, but every sway drags them nearer until the pretense snaps like thread. Hands slide lower, lips graze an ear, thighs press together, and a shaky little yes floats between them. The next dip turns into a drawn-out grind. Fingers dip under fabric, curl over bare hips, questing. Dee murmurs dirty encouragements in Zariah’s ear while thumbs trace the waistband of her panties. Zariah answers by tugging Dee closer, feeling slick warmth through thin material, and that single, shared gasp seals the decision: get it out of their systems now or explode before the cake is cut. Kisses turn urgent, teeth catch lips, tongues meet sloppy and hungry. Dee’s thigh slips between Zariah’s, rubbing deliberate circles; Zariah rocks down, breathless, wetness blooming. The dance morphs into slow grind that just won’t quit until fingers find their way inside, knuckles flush, hips chasing every stroke.