Leanna's legs

Leanna Sweet moves through the room with that quiet confidence redheads always seem to carry. Her breasts sit high and full, natural curves that catch the light, while her slim waist gives way to legs that stop conversations. She pauses. Looks down. Smiles at the sight of her own thighs, the way the muscle tapers into calves, the delicate arch of each foot. She runs one hand along her leg, slow and possessive, testing the softness of her own skin. The lace at her hip shifts. She spreads her knees just enough, settles back, and begins to touch herself with the same attention she just gave her legs. Her fingers trace higher, pressing, circling, drawing soft sounds from her throat. Every so often she glances down again, watching the way her toes curl and flex, admiring the view as much as the feeling. Pleasure builds in small, deliberate waves until her breath catches and her legs tense, the elegant line of them trembling under her own hand.