Pink is my favorite color

She slips out of her dress and stands in that tiny pink bikini. The color sits bright against her skin. She gives the strings a little tug and the triangle cups shift. Her nipples press through the thin fabric. She moves to the mirror and turns sideways, admiring the cut of it. Then she slides the bottoms down an inch. The sight stops her. Her outer lips show the same shade of pink. A smile spreads across her face. She slips one finger along the seam, tracing the match. The touch feels warm. She steps out of the bottoms completely and lets them drop to the floor. Now the color on her body and between her legs is the same. She runs her hands over her hips and down again. Her fingers find the soft folds and part them slowly. The pink inside gleams. She lets out a quiet breath. She sits back on the bed, legs open, and studies herself. Each slow circle of her fingertip makes the color deepen. She watches her own hand move, watches the wet shine gather, and keeps the rhythm steady until her thighs begin to tremble.