Black relict

The apartment sits quiet. Too quiet for someone who just got dumped. She kicks off her heels, blonde hair catching the light, and lets the robe slip from her shoulders. Underneath she wears nothing but a pair of black stockings and the faint scent of sex still clinging to her skin. She moves to the mirror, studies herself, runs a hand between her breasts, down her belly, lower. Her fingers slide through slick heat, slow at first, then quicker. She turns, watches the brunette shadow of herself in the glass, hips rolling with each stroke. A soft moan fills the room. She spreads wider, one leg up on the dresser, and keeps going. No tears. No waiting. Just heat building, tension coiling, until her breath catches and she finishes standing right there, thighs trembling, lips parted in a smile that says the world is hers again.