Colorful

She sits on the edge of the bed, the light catching the pale strands of her hair. One knee bent, the other leg stretched, Valerie pulls her dress higher, slow enough that every inch feels deliberate. Her fingers slip under the thin fabric and find the heat between her thighs. She touches herself with a patience that makes the moment stretch, circles drawn tight then loose again. Her free hand presses down on the mattress for balance. She breathes through parted lips, and her eyes stay low, almost hidden beneath her lashes. The motion builds. Her hips tilt forward, chasing the pressure of her own touch, and the soft sound that leaves her is caught between a sigh and a gasp. She never looks away from what she is doing, as if the act itself is the only truth she cares to show.