Black satin

Black satin clings to my skin like a secret only he knows. I bought it because the first night he peeled me out of it left me shaking. Now, every time the cool fabric touches my thighs, I remember his hands, the way he whispered my name, and the heat that followed. I lie back on the bed, blonde hair spilling over the pillows, and let my fingers wander. The hem rides up as I touch myself, tracing the curve of my waist, brushing between my legs. My breath quickens. I push the satin higher, spread myself open, and stroke in steady circles. The nightgown slips off one shoulder. My nipples stiffen against the smooth fabric. I press two fingers inside, slow and deep, hips lifting to meet each thrust. The satin rustles with every movement. My free hand cups my breast, squeezing as the tension builds. I come with a soft cry, legs trembling, the black nightgown bunched around my waist like a second skin.