Right before I start rubbing my pussy under the blankets

The blanket pools around your hips, fabric bunched just low enough to hint at what your hand is about to do. Your eyes carry that specific weight — not sleepy, not innocent — the kind that comes right before fingers slip beneath cotton.

You've done this a thousand times, but tonight feels deliberate. The lighting catches the curve of your shoulder, the slight tension already building in your wrist as you settle deeper into the mattress.

This is the moment before the moment — breath still steady, thighs not yet pressed together — and somehow that restraint makes it impossible to look away.