I’m lying here in the soft glow of my bedside lamp, the thin nightgown clinging to every curve like a whisper of silk that barely covers anything at all. The fabric is so delicate it might as well be mist—my nipples press against it, hard and aching, the hem riding high on my thighs as I shift restlessly between the sheets. My legs part just a little, knees bent, one hand trailing lazy circles over my stomach while I stare at the phone screen, heart racing, breath coming slow and warm. I feel… exposed. Needy. The kind of wet heat that’s been building since I slipped this gown on knowing you’d message me. My skin tingles everywhere the silk touches, especially between my legs where I’m already slick and throbbing, imagining your eyes on me. I bite my lip, rolling onto my side so the gown slips off one shoulder, baring the swell of my breast as I type this to you. God, I’m so fucking turned on right now—my pussy clenches around nothing, aching for your words, for your commands. Every second I wait makes me wetter, makes my hips rock subtly against the mattress like I can’t help it. Tell me what you want me to do while I’m lying here like this… barely dressed, dripping, completely yours. I’m touching myself lightly through the nightgown now, just enough to make me gasp your name under my breath. Your move, baby. I’m waiting, legs spreading wider, nightgown riding up until I’m almost bare for you.