Delicious Curves

Dido Angel moves and the room notices. Her body isn’t built for hiding—soft swell of breast, the gentle flare of hip, a waist that gives the eye a place to rest. Everything sits exactly where it should. She knows it. That’s why she’s here, alone, taking her time. She slides her hand under the hem of her top, lets her fingers drift up until the fabric lifts and her breasts come free. The nipples are already tight. She cups one, rolls the tip between thumb and finger, and a low sound slips from her throat. The pleasure runs straight down. She pushes her shorts off next, sits back with knees open, and slips two fingers between her legs. She’s slick already, heat blooming under every slow circle she draws over her clit. She watches her own hand move, hips lifting to meet it, chasing the edge with easy, practiced strokes. The rhythm builds. Her breath shortens. Then it hits—sharp, bright, rolling through her in tight little pulses. She rides it out, fingers still pressed close, letting every last shiver work its way through those perfect curves.