Pink dreams

She slides the pink lace nightie over her skin and gives it a slow once-over in the mirror. The hem stops high on her thighs. She smiles, already thinking past it. Her hand drifts down, fingers slipping beneath the lace, brushing the warmth between her legs. She sinks onto the bed, legs parting. The fabric slips higher. She pushes it up to her waist, then off completely. Bare now, she lies back and lets her fingers find the soft, wet heat waiting for her. Slow strokes turn faster, tighter, until her hips rise to meet each push. Breath catches. Her free hand cups a breast, thumb circling the tight nipple. She presses deeper, faster, eyes half-closed. The room stays quiet, but her soft sounds keep time with her hand. She rocks against her fingers, chasing the rush. When it hits, her thighs tremble and she bites her lip to stay quiet. The nightie lies crumpled beside her. She stays still, breathing hard, skin flushed. The dream can wait. She just made one of her own.