The house echoes with emptiness, a stark contrast to the pounding of her heart. She sits on her bed, legs crossed, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she remembers the subtle touches, the stolen glances. Her hands, once idle, now restless, trace the outline of her body, lingering on the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist. She bites her lip, her eyes fluttering closed as she dares to slip a hand beneath her panties, gasping at the intense, foreign pleasure.