Lesperansa can't wait any longer

Lesperansa’s day dragged like wet silk. Bob should’ve been back by now, but the house stayed quiet. She peeled her clothes away, the air cool against her skin. Each slow motion of her hands made the waiting sharper. She sank onto the couch, legs parting as her fingers found the heat between them. Soft strokes grew firmer, slick and insistent, and the dull afternoon melted into something urgent. Her breath hitched, hips lifting, the rhythm settling into an easy claim of pleasure that needed no company but her own.