Virgin white

The smell of fresh bedlinen gets me every time. I crawl in, already tingling, rolling in that virgin white softness until it wraps around my legs. I tell myself I am being good, preparing for sleep, but my hand slips between my thighs and betrays me. The cotton is still cool, so I rub myself warmer, slow circles over the thin strip of panties I never meant to keep on. My breathing grows shorter. I press harder, arching into my own touch, the sheets twisting around me as I chase the heat I was supposed to ignore. A soft moan escapes. I am nowhere near ready for sleep.