The red dress

She wears nothing but that red dress, the fabric thin and bright against her skin. The sun dips low, painting the balcony gold. She leans on the railing, one knee up, letting the breeze lift the hem. A slow turn shows the curve of her ass. Her hand slides down her stomach, slips between her thighs. Fingers move lazy, then quick, chasing the heat that starts in her belly and rolls lower. She pauses, looks at the water, then starts again, breathing harder, legs parting wider. Her blonde hair catches the last light, and every small sound she makes carries out over the waves.