The sound of music

Her skin already knew what was coming before the rest of her did. She sat cross-legged on the bed, naked except for the thin gold chain at her waist, music pulsing through her earbuds like warm liquor. A slow string of hands—not quite touching her yet—skated over her back, skimming too lightly to break the delicate line of goosebumps. They slid higher, threaded through the hair at her nape, twisted gently, making her head tip back in one obedient move. A second palm flattened between her breasts, moved down, cupped her cunt and held her there as if testing temperature. The heel of that hand rocked once, slow and deliberate, grinding right against the wet heat beginning to throb. Her thighs tensed. The same palm rose, traced up over her sternum, claimed each nipple in turn—tugged, rolled, let go. Her left hand still gripped the bedsheet; the other hovered in the air, unsure whether to touch back or stay still. The song swelled. The pair of hands anchored her hips now, spreading her thighs wider across the mattress, arranging her like someone might a trussed-up dessert. One finger skimmed inside, just the tip, just enough to make her breath catch against it. She felt weight shift, warmth settling in behind her, chest at her back, thighs bracketing hers. The fingers worked deeper—two now, curling with purpose, unhurried. A thumb brushed her clit each time they withdrew, slick making little sounds that matched the heavier beat. She rolled her hips once, tried to push back, and was stopped by a firm palm at her lower belly. The hold was gentle. The message wasn’t. The fingers drove up again, curling harder, stroking something tight and alive and aching. Sunny swallowed, teeth catching on her bottom lip, pulse thick in her cunt. Somewhere in the back of the song the chorus cracked wide open, and so did she—heat flooding outward, her knees wobbling inward until the body behind her wedged them back apart. Fingers eased through each tremor, coaxing, coaxing until the last flutters died. Only then did they slide free, slick to the knuckle, palm smoothing over her inner thigh as if congratulating flesh for behaving.