Hand-over-hand. My grip found Vivienne's hipbone first, thumb digging into the rope-burned hollow, fingers spanning the emerald curve of her ass—possessive, bruising. Then Celeste, same side, my other hand clamping the soft flesh above her hip, index finger pressing into the dip beside her spine, feeling the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath sweaty skin.
My palms slid downward—slowly, deliberately—over the sweep of lower backs, down the sweaty channel of their spines, until both hands rested heavily on the upturned globes of their asses.
Thumb pressed hard into Vivienne's chocolate-stained crevice, splitting her cheeks; Celeste's pale flesh yielded instantly, honey dripping into the cleft.
My positioning was siege warfare as I stepped into the V of their bent bodies, cock raging, heavy and veined, slick with Vivienne's cooling release. The broad crown pressed first into Celeste's honeyed heat—not pushing in, but grinding against swollen, slick lips.
