My choice

Sophie Moone wears white lace that barely covers anything. The bra pushes her breasts high, sheer panties cling to smooth skin. She stands at the edge of a bed, thumbs hooked in the waistband, and smiles like she already knows what you want. She lies back. One leg stretches, then bends. Her hand slides down her stomach, fingers pressing the fabric. She circles, slow at first, then harder. The lace dampens. She pulls the panties aside, lets two fingers slip inside. Her hips lift off the sheets. She bites her lip, eyes half-closed, breath short. The room is quiet except for soft, wet sounds and the low catch in her throat. She comes with a sharp gasp, back arched, fingers buried deep. When it passes she stays open, thighs still trembling, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.