Last-Minute Christmas

Kenna watches fat snowflakes drift past the glass while Tiffany bitches about the cold. Stuck inside for Christmas, they’re both sulking on the bed until Kenna says screw the pity party. Tiffany jumps up like she just won the lottery, yelling they need a holiday miracle, and drags Kenna along for the ride. The girls crank the fake fireplace channel on TV, toast marshmallows with lighters, string lights across the headboard, and toss ornaments wherever they stick. By the time they’re eating microwave dinners on the floor, everything feels almost right—except the mistletoe. Tiffany bolts out, comes back waving a stalk of broccoli like it’s holy, and declares it’s their new rule. They lean in under the green, lips brushing, then pressing harder, heat flicking on like a switch. Broccoli hits the floor. Hands roam. Mouths follow—tongues tracing stiff nipples, sliding lower to lick and suck slick, shaved pussies. Kenna’s blonde hair spills across Tiffany’s thighs while the brunette arches and moans, fingers buried knuckle-deep. They trade places, trading spit and soft, wet sounds, every stroke and swirl wiping out any thought of being stranded. By the time they’re gasping through matching orgasms, the snow outside can go fuck itself; they’ve got each other right here, skin on skin, no gift wrap required.