I'm Allergic To Clothes

India steps into the room and drops her purse by the bed. Gianna’s sitting there scratching like crazy, bitching about an itch that won’t quit. India scrolls, spots the same rumor on every site: clothes might be the culprit. The fix? Strip and stay bare. Gianna blushes, reminds her the two of them have only known each other three years, so this isn’t some childhood thing. India smiles, says the itch won’t stop unless the clothes do, and offers to peel off too so nobody’s left feeling silly. They both lose the fabric. Gianna shivers, naked and cold. India grabs for a blanket, but stops—fabric might spark the itch again. So she pulls her step-daughter close instead, big spoon warming little spoon. Still chilly. India slides a hand down, fingers tracing wet heat. Gianna moans loud, body catching fire fast. India keeps stroking, pushing deeper, adding every dirty trick she knows. By the time she’s done, Gianna’s forgotten the itch, the clothes, and damn near everything else.