Spicy ginger

Ginger steps in and the room tightens. Heat rolls off her skin in waves. She peels her black lace lingerie down one shoulder, then the other, letting the straps slide over her breasts until her nipples stiffen in the cooler air. She sits back on the sofa, thighs spread, and runs her fingers slowly over her slit—light at first, then firmer, circling her clit until it swells. Her foot lifts, arches, toes pointing. She presses the sole against the edge of the coffee table, stretching the arch, showing every curve. Eyes half-closed, she slides two fingers inside, pumps them deep, and sighs. The brunette curls at her temples cling to damp skin. She slows, draws the fingers out glistening, lifts the foot again, and trails wet fingertips along the sole, leaving a faint sheen. The scent of her arousal hangs in the air as she brings herself closer, breathing sharper, hips lifting with each stroke until the first tremor hits, then the next, and she rides it out with a soft, satisfied moan.