Miyani and Kiyani had been inseparable since pledging the same sorority house three years ago, their rooms across the hall from each other, late-night study sessions turning into whispered confessions under shared blankets. Now, both rising fashion runway models, they were in Los Angeles for Fashion Week, sharing a whirlwind that left them exhausted, exhilarated, and aching in ways that had nothing to do with sore feet. The past three days had been a blur of lights, cameras, and barely-there fabric. On Monday, Miyani, tall, statuesque, with rich dark skin that glowed under the spotlights, her tight black curls cascading down her back, had opened a winter collection. She strutted in a structured white wool coat that flared dramatically over a sheer black bodysuit, the coat’s high collar framing her sharp cheekbones and full lips. The audience gasped as she paused, one hand on her hip, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the curve of her breasts and the long lines of her legs. Kiyani followed, her lighter caramel skin and long wavy dark hair catching every flash. She wore a matching ensemble in deep crimson, the coat cinched at her narrow waist before falling open over a lace-trimmed camisole that clung to her full breasts and the soft plane of her stomach. Backstage Miyani and Kiyani laughed together as they peeled off the heavy layers, their bodies brushing in the cramped space, the residual heat of the runway still magnetic between them. Tuesday brought the swimwear shows. Miyani modeled a series of micro-bikinis, tiny triangles of metallic gold that barely contained her heavy, round breasts, barely covered her dark sexy nipples, the bottoms a thin strip that disappeared between the firm cheeks of her ass. The stage lights made her skin gleam like polished mahogany. Kiyani took the same runway in a pale lavender set, the tops so minimal they were little more than strings and small cups that let the dark buds of her nipples press clearly against the fabric when she moved. The bottoms sat high on her hips, the front panel a teasing V that framed the smooth mound of her pussy. Between changes Miyani and Kiyani shared a dressing room, helping each other adjust straps, fingers lingering a few seconds too long on warm skin. Wednesday was pure lingerie, delicate, scandalous pieces that left almost nothing to the imagination. Miyani walked in a black lace teddy so sheer her dark areolas and the soft folds of her sex were visible through the openwork. A garter belt held sheer stockings to her long thighs. Kiyani wore white, almost bridal in its innocence, yet the cups of the bra stopped just beneath her nipples and the thong was a single strand of pearls that nestled against her clit with every step, rubbing her wet right there on the runway. The applause had been thunderous. That night in their hotel they laid side by side, still in the residual scent of perfume and stage makeup, talking about the shows until the conversation trailed off into heavy silence and restless shifting of sheets. By Thursday afternoon, the heat of the city and the accumulated tension had driven them to the beach. The stretch of white sand near their hotel was crowded with other models still riding the high of Fashion Week, lean bodies in scraps of fabric, laughing, posing for Instagram selfies, glistening with sunscreen and ocean spray. Miyani wore a white bikini patterned with bold red hibiscus flowers. The triangle top was barely large enough to contain her full, heavy breasts; the thin straps dug slightly into her shoulders and the ties at her back and neck left the sides of her soft mounds exposed. The matching bottoms were high-cut, the front panel dipping low enough to show the upper curve of her mound, the sides tied in bows that begged to be pulled. A silver heart pendant rested in the deep valley between her breasts. Heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose, and a green festival wristband circled one wrist. Kiyani’s bikini was a riot of soft rainbow stripes: peach, coral, yellow, pale green, and pink that clung to every curve. The triangle cups lifted and separated her full breasts, the thin fabric stretching tight across her nipples. A silver heart charm dangled from her navel piercing, catching the light each time she moved. The bottoms were equally minimal, the side ties resting against the smooth hollows of her hips, the back disappearing between the firm, rounded cheeks of her ass. A pink wristband matched Miyani’s green one. Both women were barefoot, sand clinging to their polished toes, their bodies still carrying the residual heat of three days of being watched, desired, and dressed in next to nothing. Miyani and Kiyani stood close on the shoreline, the turquoise water lapping at their ankles, other models nearby in equally tiny suits, string thongs, micro-tops, bodies oiled and laughing. The sight of so much bare skin, the memory of every runway, the way the ocean breeze tightened their nipples against the thin fabric, had both of them throbbing, literally soaking wet. Miyani’s dark eyes met Kiyani’s over the rims of her heart-shaped glasses. She licked her full lower lip. “I can’t take it anymore,” Miyani said, voice low and rough. “Come back to my room with me, Kiyani.” Kiyani’s smile was slow and hungry. She had been waiting to hear those words since Monday. Kiyani didn’t answer with words. She simply bit her bottom lip a little and nodded yes while smiling. Miyani took Kiyani’s hand, their fingers linking. The two bikini-clad unbelievably sexy girls walked off the sand, past the other models, past the umbrellas and the low murmur of conversation. The hotel lobby was cool and modern, all glass and pale stone. Miyani and Kiyani moved through it, hand-in-hand, their bikinis wet with sweat and their own juices, sand dusting their calves, bodies on full display. Miyani’s floral print hugged the heavy sway of her breasts and the tight curves of her hips; the side ties of her bottoms brushed her thighs with every step. Kiyani’s striped suit rode high, the soft fabric of the top shifting with each breath so that the upper curves of her breasts were constantly revealed and then covered again. Heads turned. Soft conversations paused. Their intertwined fingers only tightened their grip with each step, thighs brushing, the air between them electric. In the elevator, the doors had barely closed before Miyani backed Kiyani against the mirrored wall. Their mouths met hard, tongues sliding, tasting salt and sunscreen. Miyani’s hand slipped between Kiyani’s legs, cupping the warm, damp fabric of her bikini bottoms, pressing her palm against the swollen mound beneath. Kiyani moaned into the kiss and reached for Miyani’s breast, squeezing the soft weight through the floral triangles, thumb circling the stiff peak of her dark nipple. The elevator climbed. They ground against each other, the thin fabric of their suits the only barrier, the possibility of the doors opening on another floor making every touch sharper, wetter. The hallway was empty when they spilled out. They didn’t wait. Miyani pushed Kiyani against the wall beside her door, dropped to her knees on the carpet, and pulled the side ties of Kiyani’s bottoms free. The striped fabric fell away. Miyani’s tongue found her immediately, hot, open-mouthed kisses along the smooth outer lips, then a long, slow licks through the slick folds, gathering the taste of her. Kiyani’s head fell back against the wall, one hand in Miyani’s curls, the other covering her own mouth to stifle the moans she couldn’t hold in. Miyani sucked Kiyani’s clit between soft lips, flicked it with the tip of her tongue, then pushed two fingers into the tight, clenching wetness of Kiyani’s pussy, curling them until Kiyani’s thighs trembled. A distant door opened somewhere down the corridor. They both froze for a heartbeat, then Miyani stood, yanked Kiyani’s bottoms back into place with shaking hands, and fumbled the key card. The second the door of the suite closed behind them they were on each other again. Miyani’s floral top came off first. Her heavy breasts spilled free, dark nipples already so hard. Kiyani’s mouth closed over one, sucking hard while her hands shoved the matching bottoms down Miyani’s long legs. Then they were on the wide bed, naked except for the heart pendants and the wristbands, bodies sliding together in the cool air-conditioned room. Miyani settled between Kiyani’s spread thighs and licked her open, slow and thorough. She dragged her tongue from the tight pucker of Kiyani’s ass up through the wet slit, circling the swollen clit, then pushing inside as deep as she could. Kiyani’s hips rolled, her hands fisting the sheets, soft cries spilling out. When Miyani sealed her lips around the little pearl of her clit and sucked in rhythm with two fingers thrusting deep, Kiyani came hard, thighs clamping around Miyani’s head, pussy pulsing and flooding Miyani’s mouth. They switched. Kiyani climbed over Miyani’s face and lowered herself, grinding her still-sensitive folds against Miyani’s tongue while she bent forward to return the favor. The 69 was messy and desperate, wet sounds, soft moans, the taste of each other thick on their tongues. Miyani’s hips bucked as Kiyani’s fingers stretched her open and her mouth worked her clit; she came with a low, shuddering moan, flooding Kiyani’s chin. They didn’t stop. Miyani reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the thick black strap-on she had packed “just in case”. The harness settled around her hips, the heavy shaft jutting from her pelvis. Kiyani watched with dark, hungry eyes, then turned onto her hands and knees, presenting the firm, rounded curve of her ass and the glistening pink of her pussy. Miyani knelt behind her, guided the thick head to Kiyani’s entrance, and pushed in slowly, stretching her open inch by inch until she was buried to the base. Kiyani’s moans were long and shaky. Miyani gripped her hips and began to fuck her, deep, steady strokes that made the bed creak and Kiyani’s breasts sway beneath her. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Miyani leaned over her, one hand reaching around to rub Kiyani’s clit while she thrust harder, the dildo filling her completely with every drive of her hips. “I love you,” Miyani whispered against the back of Kiyani’s neck, the words hot on Kiyani’s skin. “I’ve loved you for so long,” Kiyani whispered back, turning her head, eyes wet, smile trembling. “God, I love you,” Miyani said as her pounding of Kiyani’s beautiful wet pussy didn’t skip a beat. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Miyani said between sighs of passion. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Kiyani replied. The admission cracked something open between them. Miyani fucked Kiyani harder, deeper, the thick black cock disappearing into Kiyani’s tight beautiful wet pussy over and over. Kiyani pushed back to meet every thrust, crying out as another orgasm tore through her, pussy clenching hard around the big black shaft. Miyani followed her over the edge a moment later, grinding deep, her own clit grinding against the base of the harness until pleasure white-hot and sharp ripped through her. The girls collapsed together afterward, the strap-on still buried inside Kiyani, bodies slick and trembling. Miyani carefully withdrew and unbuckled the harness, then pulled Kiyani into her arms. They kissed slowly now, tasting salt and each other, hands stroking soft skin, the frantic hunger easing into something deeper and warmer. Outside, the late-afternoon sun still shone on the crowded beach, but inside the quiet hotel room the two models, sorority sisters, lovers, something new and permanent, held each other close. The Fashion Week shows would continue. The tiny bikinis and lacy lingerie would still be worn. But for the first time in three days, neither of them felt the restless ache of wanting. They had found exactly what they needed in each other’s arms…
