Genteel afternoon

She clicks the last deadbolt into place and lets the house go quiet around her. The afternoon light falls across the sofa in soft gold bands. Her hands drift to her blouse first, unbuttoning slowly so the fabric parts over the heavy swell of her breasts. Nipples already stiff, she cups each one, rolling the tender flesh, feeling its weight and heat against her palms. She shrugs the blouse off her shoulders, lets it fall, and slides her skirt down next. Nothing left but bare skin and the hush of the empty house. She settles back against the cushions, legs parting. Her right hand slips between her thighs and finds the slick heat already waiting. Two fingers glide over her clit in lazy circles, then press and rub. Her breath shortens. With her left hand she pinches a nipple, twisting gently, and the sensation shoots straight down to the quick pulse between her legs. She pushes two fingers inside, draws them out coated and shining, then pushes back in harder. The wet sounds she makes fill the quiet room. Her hips lift from the sofa with each thrust. She fucks herself steadily, thumb working her clit in time, every stroke firmer than the last. Her breath breaks into short moans. She comes with her fingers buried deep, thighs trembling, back arched, the sudden rush of wetness covering her hand. When the tremors finally fade she stays where she is, fingers still resting inside, the only sound left the soft drag of her breathing.