Caminah Smuts

Sunday Evenings

It's a normal, uneventful Sunday evening. One might even call it boring.

Okay, Camila would probably call it boring.

The thing is, though - Camila kind of likes nights like these; nights where she can sprawl out on Dinah's black sheets in her panties and sleep shirt and flip aimlessly through channels, where she doesn't have to stress about what to wear or what party to attend. Camila likes dressing up and likes going to parties; but she likes quiet nights at home with Dinah even more. They make her feel domestic, like she's settling into her life - a life with Dinah - and she likes those feelings. They make her chest feel full of - well, something Camila can't really name, exactly.

So she smiles to herself as she flips through the literally hundreds of stations on the television in Dinah's bedroom, and just basks in the peaceful normal boringness of her evening. She keeps the volume on the TV low, even though Dinah's parents' bedroom is on the other side of the house. Dinah's mother is sleeping - she'd mentioned an early morning work-related drive to Columbus to Camila at dinner - and Dinah's father is downstairs in his office, probably smoking a cigar and shuffling through paperwork. Dinah's in the shower (for forever, it seems); she likes to shower at night so her hair has time to dry before she has to style it in the morning. Camila doesn't really have a preferred showering time - she enjoys showers at all times of day, and likes to keep herself surprised by when she takes it.

The sound of the bedroom door opening draws Camila's attention away from the television, and her eyes slide over to watch as Dinah, dressed only in a very short towel, blonde hair still damp from her shower, struts into the room, swaying her hips subconsciously. Camila suddenly feels like she swallowed an entire cup of sand. She shifts on the bed, dragging her gaze along Dinah's long, legs that disappear under her fluffy gray towel, and her defined collarbones accented with several lingering drops of water - Camila wants to kiss them from her skin. She subconsciously licks her lips at the thought, and her gaze travels up Dinah's slender neck (where Camila wants to bury her face, wants to sink her teeth) and to her strong jaw (where Camila wants to nip and suck) and finally to her brown eyes - which are watching her with amusement.

Camila feels a blush creeping over her cheeks at having been caught staring, and she quickly turns back to the television, biting her lip. The cartoon she's currently watching doesn't aid in slowing down her pulse or her heartbeat, and she swallows, trying to get some moisture back into her mouth. She stares absently at the screen, completely forgetting what show is even on. When the bed dips beside her she barely has time to process it before Dinah, still clad in nothing but a towel, is straddling her bare thighs and pressing her full, plump lips to hers aggressively. Camila feels the weight of Dinah's arms drape across her shoulders, feels hands tangling in her brunette hair, nails scraping the base of her skull softly. She moans into Dinah's mouth and lets her hands fall to Dinah's toned thighs, groaning lowly at how soft and smooth they are. She rubs her palms soothingly over them, and Dinah presses closer, thrusting her tongue into Camila's mouth and biting Camila's lower lip teasingly.

When she pulls back, she's smirking, and Camila can only stare into Dinah's dark, smoldering eyes as she tries to catch her breath and grasp onto a coherent thought. Her brain is buzzing, her heart is jackhammering in her chest from Dinah's sudden close proximity, and she's overwhelmed with Dinah's heat and powerful scent of clean.

"Hi," Dinah purrs, massaging the base of Camila's skull. She presses another quick peck to Camila's lips.

Camila swallows, trying to find her voice. "Hi," she returns, sounding just a little bit scratchy.

Dinah's smirk grows wider as Camila's eyes drop automatically to where Dinah's towel has ridden up scandalously high, exposing the tops of her thighs, and she smoothes her hands up the silky skin before curving them around her thin waist. She slowly raises her gaze to where the towel is fastened, the corner tucked snugly into itself near Dinah's left breast. Her brown eyes trace over the edge of the towel, taking in the plump tops of Dinah's breasts, her collarbones, the base of her neck - and she can't help leaning forward to press her lips to the hollow of her throat.