Simply lovely

Eveline Neill moves like a woman who knows what she’s worth. Dark hair, full mouth, the kind of body that fills lingerie the way silk likes to be filled. She takes her time. The bra comes off first, slow enough to feel the shift of weight against her palms, then the panties. She parts her thighs on the sheets and the air touches skin already slick, already ready. One hand slips between her legs, two fingers sliding through the wet heat, circling, pressing, teasing the small, swollen point that makes her breath catch. The toy waits beside her. She reaches for it without hurry, coats the tip, and eases it in until only the base shows. Her hips lift, fall, lift again. The rhythm finds itself. Eyes half-closed, she works the toy deeper, pulls it back, grinds against her own hand when the toy alone isn’t enough. Soft sounds escape her—quiet, greedy. The orgasm comes in a long, rolling pull that leaves her thighs shaking and her fingers still moving, slower now, almost tender. She stays open, glistening, breathing through the aftershocks like someone who has all afternoon and intends to use it.