Hot chocolate

Jane waits on the bed in black lace. The dark lingerie frames pale skin and long hair. She shifts, hips tilting, lace brushing her thigh. One hand slips inside her bra, finding a nipple and tugging. The other slides lower, fingers tracing lace before pushing it aside. She parts her legs and lets her fingertips glide over wet folds. Her breathing changes, quickens. Two fingers sink in and curl, stroking inside while her thumb presses the spot that makes her toes curl. Her hips lift. A soft sound slips out. She pulls the fingers back, shiny with her own slick, then pushes them in again, deeper. The slow rhythm builds. Each stroke draws another breath, another moan, until her body tightens and shudders. She keeps rubbing, riding it out, mouth open, eyes half-closed, legs trembling around her hand.