She mustn’t.

They are his, her orgasms.

But her hand creeps lower anyway. Insatiable.

Caressing, skimming over smooth skin. Over silky hair. Over slick petals. Flicking her pearl nub.

One eye on the door, she dares further. Fingers slipping through her soaking channel. Sliding inside…one, then two. Teasing, tormenting. Smaller and slimmer than his. Delicate, but purposeful.

Her middle digit finds that tiny rough spot. Pressing, rubbing, stimulating, exciting.

Eyes drift shut. Giving herself over to building pressure, biting her lip in a vain effort at self-control.

Sound and motion alerts her.

She will be punished.

She smiles.