Curly hair

She runs her fingers through those wild curls, watches them spring back into place. A romantic at heart, she likes to take her time. Lets her dress fall open, traces the line of her collarbone down to the swell of her breast, circles her nipple until it tightens. She stretches out across the bed and slides one hand between her thighs, parts the soft folds with two fingers and finds herself already wet. The slow circles she draws grow tighter, wetter. She presses deeper, hips lifting off the sheets, curls damp against her cheek. Each stroke draws a quiet moan from her lips as she works herself open, chasing the release that builds and builds until her whole body tightens and breaks, leaving her flushed, breathless, and smiling at the ceiling.