Carolina jade
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Her fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the hollow of her throat, a prelude to the heat pooling low in her belly. The air around her grew thick with the scent of her own longing, a perfume of salt and skin that made her breath catch. She let her palm rest on the curve of her hip, feeling the firm, yielding flesh beneath her touch, a silent conversation with her own body. A single fingertip found the slick, secret entrance to her pleasure, and the world outside her dimmed to a distant hum. The pressure was a question, answered by a shudder that rippled through her thighs like a tremor of pure anticipation. She imagined a gaze upon her, a phantom lover’s desire tracing every arch and swell, intensifying the electric current of her solitary passion. Her movements became a rhythm, a tide of sensation that swelled and receded, drawing her closer to a precipice she knew intimately yet still feared. A wave of exquisite tension coiled tight in her core, and she surrendered to the beautiful, aching pressure building there. Then, with a gasp that was half surprise, half relief, the pleasure broke over her, a cascade of warmth that left her trembling and utterly connected to herself. In the afterglow, her pulse slowed, and she smiled at the lingering, delicious ache, a secret known only to her and the shadows in the room.
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