Storms

Fewthistle

A bright strobe of lightning illuminated the bedroom, like a ten second frame of film, throwing into stark relief the intertwined limbs, the blonde hair, the tangled sheets.

The next flash, this one closer, longer, its forked tongue seeming to lap the ground right outside the window, lit up the night like the sun. The midnight rays lingered on satin skin, glistening with sweat.

"God, so close," Kelly whispered huskily, back arched, hands grasping damp sheets for purchase.

"You or the storm?" Serena teased from between silken thighs, her own tongue striking with the same precision as Mother Nature's.

"Both," Kelly moaned, as the full fury of the tempest broke.