Who's that girl?

Carina walked in with that new hair and those shiny black boots. Patent leather. Tight around her calves. The old girly sweetness was gone. She carried herself like someone who knew the room would stop when she entered. Her shoulders were back. Chin lifted. A little smirk that said she enjoyed the surprise. She sat on the edge of the couch, let her fingers trace the glossy surface of one boot. Legs parted just enough. Nothing shy left in her now. She watched the lens the way a woman watches a man across a dinner table, then let her hand slide between her thighs. Slow. Deliberate. The girl she used to be had vanished; this version was pure heat and hunger, hungry for her own touch, and nothing else.