Vision of Venice

Venice lured me in that summer. Canals and cramped lanes. Then there was the sailor. Lean. Tall. We spent days tangled in each other. Now, alone with the memory, my pulse climbs and my fingers slip under the black lace. I peel the lingerie away, let the air kiss bare skin. My other hand moves between my thighs. Slow at first. Then harder. I chase the feeling he left behind, hips rising, breath catching, until the heat breaks and I come hard, blonde hair sticking to my damp cheek.