Valentine's day gift

Valentine’s Day hits different when you’ve been waiting for him all night. The apartment is quiet. A single lamp glows beside the bed, painting warm light across her skin. She stands in front of the mirror, adjusting the thin straps of her new lace set—tiny black bows and sheer panels that barely cover anything. The panties ride high on her ass, framing every soft curve like they were made for her. She turns sideways, watches the way the fabric pulls tight, and smiles to herself. She knows he’ll love it. She knows she’ll let him take it off slowly. But right now he’s not here. So she sits on the edge of the bed, legs parted just enough. Her hand slips beneath the lace. Fingers move in small circles, slow and teasing, then faster when the ache builds. She bites her lip, hips rolling against her own touch, blonde hair falling over one shoulder. Every breath comes quicker. She lifts the bra, lets her breasts spill free, nipples already tight. She pinches one, then the other, and the soft sound she makes is all the proof she needs—she’s close. Her thighs tremble. The fabric between her legs is soaked. She keeps rubbing, chasing the edge, chasing the moment she’ll finally come apart for him. Because tonight she’s his gift, wrapped in black lace, unwrapping herself just to be ready.