Shiver

Heat clings to every inch of her skin. Sweat beads between her breasts and trails down her stomach in thin, glistening lines. She shifts on the bed, restless, and the friction alone makes her breath catch. A slow pulse builds low in her belly—steady, insistent, impossible to ignore. Fingers drift between her thighs before she even decides to touch herself. The first stroke is light, testing. The second drags a soft sound from her throat. She presses harder, circles, finds the rhythm that makes her hips lift off the sheets. Heat pools deeper with every pass of her hand. Her thighs tense, then spread wider. A second shiver runs through her, sharper this time, electric, and she chases it with quick, sure strokes. The air feels thick. She bites her lip, rocks into her own touch, and the room seems to shrink around the slick sound of skin on skin. Nothing else matters now. Just the heat. Just the hunger. Just the way her body keeps asking for more.