You find her already positioned at the edge of the bed, weight shifted forward, that generous round shape lifted and waiting. The fabric pulls tight across her hips before sliding away, revealing soft skin that catches the light in slow, rolling curves.

Your hands would fit perfectly there — fingers pressing into the give of her flesh, thumbs tracing the small of her back where her spine dips low. She glances back over one shoulder, hair falling across her face.

Everything about her stance is deliberate. Feet planted, back arched, hips angled toward you like an answered question.