They locked eyes as their hips met, already slick, already heated. No warm-up. No games. Just skin against skin, each grinding with purpose. Neither woman came to lose. This wasn’t about pleasure—not really. It was about control. About making the other break first.
She clenched her jaw, trying to focus through the fire building between them. Every thrust was a test. Every moan she held back felt like a tiny win. Don’t give her the satisfaction. Keep going. Make her slip first.
But the pressure was building fast. Her thighs burned. Her core ached. Still, she pushed. Felt the other falter, just for a second. A small stutter in rhythm. There it is. Push harder.
The shift was subtle, but it tipped the balance. The woman beneath her gasped, her grind faltering. Fingers clutched helplessly. That was the moment. She tightened her grip, locked in her hips, and rode through the resistance. The other woman whimpered, body shuddering, climax spilling out of her like surrender.
But the winner didn’t stop.
Her own orgasm was rising—deep, full, unstoppable. She ground harder, chasing it, claiming it. When it hit, her whole body shook. She groaned low, powerful, as her release soaked them both.
After, they lay tangled, breathless.
She rolled off and looked down. The floor gleamed between them, soaked and messy.
The loser chuckled weakly. “We flooded the damn room.”
The winner glanced over, still catching her breath. “Yeah... but I know I gave more.”
