Black on white

My black lace clings against pale skin like a secret I can't stop touching. Silk stockings hug my thighs, smooth as a promise. The sheets are white. My fingers trace the thin straps across my hips, then slip lower. I press the fabric between my legs and feel how warm it's already become. The lace parts easily. My legs open. I slide two fingers through the wetness, slow at first, then quicker when the heat spreads. The stockings whisper against the sheets each time my knees shift. The lace stays on. I keep rubbing, circling tighter, until my back arches and the pleasure rolls through me in heavy, breaking waves.