Lonely hours

Nicola stretches across cool sheets, the house quiet except for the steady beat between her legs. She slips two fingers between her thighs and meets slick heat. Her shaved lips part easily under her touch, and she presses deeper, slow circles turning faster. Blonde hair spills across the pillow while her free hand traces the lace edge of her bra. She bites her lip, hips lifting, and lets the afternoon melt into the wet rhythm of her own fingers working her to the edge.