Road Queen #13

She settles against the headboard on that cold December morning, the room still dim. Her nightshirt brushes high on her bare thighs. One hand slides down, lazy at first, then steady. She finds the damp heat between her legs and parts herself with two fingers, spreading the slickness up and over the swollen nub. A slow circle becomes faster, the rhythm tightening as pleasure sharpens. She bites her lower lip, breath short, hips rising to meet each stroke. The mattress creaks once. A sharp gasp breaks free. She presses harder, chasing the edge until her thighs tense and the release breaks over her—sudden, hot, and wet. She stays like that for a moment, fingers glistening, breath ragged, the quiet morning light creeping across the sheets.