Waiting

Sophie sits in the kitchen, but she’s not reaching for snacks, coffee, or fruit. She’s after something her own hands will have to give. A silk thong peeks beneath the lace hem of her bra as she leans back in the chair, the kitchen light catching on the soft curve of her hips. She slips one thin strap from her shoulder and lets the fabric slide down, baring small, tight nipples to the cool air. Her fingers follow, rolling the peaks, teasing until her breath catches. She spreads her thighs wider, the thin lace between them already darkening. One fingertip slips underneath, drags through the warm slick she’s made, circles once, then presses in deeper. She bites her lip, sinks another finger, pumps slowly, watching the muscles in her forearm tighten with every stroke. The chair creaks under her shifting weight, but the only sound that matters is the soft, wet rhythm of her own need being answered, sharp and greedy, right there on the kitchen seat.