Lynn's POV
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of the distant commercial buildings went out one by one, and a few of them were framed in the square windows, like broken stars, blazing in the night.
Lascivious and ambiguous licking and kissing sounds filled the living room. I rubbed Marilyn's buttocks, licked the shiny liquid off my thighs, and lifted my head from underneath her with a sense of satisfaction.
My eyes crossed over her flat, white stomach and red-streaked breasts, and I saw Marilyn's eyes half-lidded, her brow languid, surveying me with an inquisitive gaze.
Eyes burning, ears inexplicably hot, I was stunned and unconsciously stopped moving my hand.
"Where did you learn that?" Marilyn suddenly asked, her voice soft and muffled, her body trembling slightly, still not calmed from the aftermath of her orgasm.
It was as if she were grilling me about the source of my sudden abundance of tricks. "Who taught you to play with flowers like that, hmm? Tell sis—."
