Shopping tour

I bought black lace. Thin enough to show everything through, yet fancy enough to make a man forget how to speak. Standing in front of the mirror, I turned once, twice. Every line of the set traced the shape of my body like a lover’s hand. I wanted him to see it the moment he walked through the door, wanted him to forget the day and remember only the black silk sliding off my skin. When the key finally turned, I was already walking toward him. He didn’t look at my face at first. Good. I pushed the robe from my shoulders so the lace could do the talking. His hand found the small of my back, then lower, pressing me to him. I whispered that I had worn it for him. He answered by turning me around, fingers slipping under the thong, exploring with one slow stroke before the other hand followed, slick and deliberate. The apartment stayed quiet except for the sound of lace tearing and my quick breath as he pushed inside. He took his time, stretching me, letting the heat build until nothing else mattered but the slow rhythm and the way the black straps framed every place he touched. When he finally thrust deeper, the lace straps cut into my hips and stayed there, marking me with every move. I came hard around him, shaking, the black lingerie still clinging to me in pieces while the room smelled of sweat and the faint perfume I’d chosen that morning just for him.