She’s biting her lip, eyes half-lidded like she knows someone’s watching. Curvy thighs squeeze together before parting again, slow and deliberate—fingers already slick from rubbing herself raw. A hand grabs hold of something thick between those plump legs, stroking hard enough to make her gasp mid-motion. No warning. No buildup. Just the wet sounds of fingers circling that swollen clit while another palm works fast over whatever’s buried in there. Her hips jerk up off the bed every time the strokes get rougher, breath hitching like she can’t decide if she wants it gentle or brutal next. This isn’t practice—this is pure instinct.
