Freya Mayer lies on crisp white sheets in a sheer pink wrap, her hands gliding over the smooth curve of her belly and down between her thighs. She rolls onto her back, legs spread, fingers working in slow, deliberate circles while her breathing grows heavier. Finally she turns onto all fours, arching her back and pressing her face into the pillows as she reaches behind her, lost in the building rhythm of her own touch.
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