Cherry juice

Cherry Pink sprawls across the sheets and peels her panties down just far enough to work them inside. Her fingers press the soft fabric deep, stretching the lace tight against her folds. She pulls the damp cotton back out, then pushes it in again, deeper each time, until her breath catches in quick, nervous gasps. The thin material clings wet to her fingertips as she draws it free, shiny and fragrant with the heat of her own skin. Her hips lift and roll, chasing that pressure, until she lets the panties slip free and lies open, flushed and trembling, the scent of her still clinging to the fabric in her hand.