Golden girl

Golden strands tumble down my back while my full tits strain against soft lace. I slip out of everything but the matching bra and panties—crimson against creamy skin. My nipples stiffen at the brush of cool air, already tender. I trail my fingers down the center of my chest, then cup and lift each heavy breast, letting my thumbs flick the tight peaks. My breath quickens. One hand slides lower, dips beneath the waistband, and I find the slick heat waiting between my thighs. Two fingers push in, curling just right, while the heel of my palm grinds against my clit. My hips start to roll. The silk clings to my knuckles, soaking through, but the fabric never comes off. I rock harder, grinding until every muscle tightens, then hold the edge—teasing, dragging it out—until the orgasm finally breaks and my thighs tremble against the sheets.