At the fireplace

Winter meant the fireplace. Those cold nights. Her legs spread on the hearth rug, cunt throbbing while the logs popped and hissed. She still feels it now, in summer, that same hungry clench inside when the memory surfaces. The heat climbing between her thighs, the slick need that made her rub herself right there, firelight catching every wet stroke of her fingers. Blonde hair falling across her cheek as she arched, pussy slick and open to the flames, chasing that sweet, hard release she could never quite forget.