Sexy soccer

She sits on the edge of the bed. Blonde hair spills over bare shoulders. The match glows on the screen behind her, but her eyes never leave her own fingers. They drift between her legs, slow at first, then sure. She parts her thighs, opens herself, presses two fingertips against slick skin. A soft sound leaves her throat each time the players shout outside. The room smells like sweat and sweet lotion. Her hips rock in tiny circles, matching the rhythm of the game. She teases, stops, breathes, teases again. Every few seconds her free hand squeezes one breast, rolls the nipple until it stands tight and pink. When the crowd roars she slips a finger inside, bites her lip, then adds a second. She fucks herself without hurry, letting the pleasure build in small, steady pulses. Her legs tremble, toes curl into the sheets. She leans back, knees wide, wrist working. The orgasm creeps closer with each stroke. She doesn't rush it. She rides it out, breath catching, back arching, until her whole body jerks and the release rolls through her in long, hot waves.