Rosy

I love how this sheer set feels against my skin. The rose print looks soft. Pink and delicate. I wore something like it once, years ago, on a walk through the gardens. He had a rose. He brushed the petals over my cheek. Slow. Light. My skin still remembers it. Now the same fabric clings to my breasts, almost see-through, just enough. I stand in front of the mirror, watching my nipples tighten underneath. My hand slips between my legs. The lace is damp already. I press my fingers in slow circles, breathing through my teeth. My other hand cups my breast, squeezing the softness until it spills over the edge. I think of his mouth. Of the way he tasted me later that same day. My hips rock forward, meeting my own fingers, and the lace stretches tight across my cunt. I can feel the heat pulsing. I push the fabric aside and slide two fingers inside. Wet. Hot. Easy. My head tips back. I fuck myself slowly at first, savoring the stretch, then faster when the memory sharpens. The rose petal. His tongue. The sun on my thighs. My thighs shake now. My moans are soft but real. I come with my fingers buried deep, clenching around them, the sheer lace still framing everything like a picture I want to keep.