Bedtime moans

She sinks into the sheets wearing nothing but pale lace. Her fingers find their way between her legs, slow at first, then bolder, circling the heat she has carried all evening. A soft breath escapes her, turning into a low moan that fills the quiet room. The lace shifts with every movement, catching on her skin, revealing more than it hides. She spreads wider, pressing deeper, hips lifting as the pleasure builds. Her free hand glides over her breasts, pinching lightly, and another moan slips out—longer this time, needier. The tension coils tight, then breaks in waves that leave her trembling and breathless. When her hand finally stills, the only sound left is the steady thump of her heart against the mattress.