Caribbean style

The white sand of St. Martin stretches like silk under the sun. Nella walks it barefoot, the light catching the fine blonde hairs on her thighs. Inside her suite the air is cool and the sheets are still rumpled from the night. She peels her cotton dress off, lets it fall where it lands, then lies back on the bed with her legs open. Her fingers move slowly at first, circling, pressing. A soft gasp escapes when she slides two fingers inside herself. She watches the way her stomach tightens, the way her nipples stand tight. Her free hand glides over her breasts, squeezing, pulling, adding another layer of heat. The brunette shadow she casts on the wall moves in time with her hips. She keeps going, pace quickening, breath turning sharp. The island outside keeps its lazy rhythm; inside, she chases her own.