Don't let me wait!

It's half past six and the guy still hasn't shown. She glances at the clock again. Waiting was never part of the plan, especially not when her thoughts keep circling back to the weight of him between her legs. She needs him. Needs the stretch, the thrust, the heat that burns away everything else. If he makes her wait any longer, she will have to handle it herself. Her hand slips down, fingers tracing the edge of her skirt, then underneath. She is already wet. The first stroke sends a shiver through her, then another. She settles back, blonde hair spilling over the pillows, and works herself open with slow, deliberate pressure. Her breath catches when her fingers find the right rhythm, and the wet sound of it fills the quiet room. She closes her eyes, legs parting wider, and keeps going, hips lifting to meet every circle and thrust of her hand. If he walks in now, he will see exactly what he missed.