Bathroom secrets

"What took you so long?" my boyfriend keeps asking when I finally crack the bathroom door. I give him the usual line—"You know, girl stuff"—while the memory of what I just did still clings to my skin. If he only knew. Panties crammed inside me, two fingers working deeper, the wet rush that follows when I let go. The lingerie stays on until it doesn't, until every soaked inch is shoved between my thighs again. The mirror catches it all: the flush across my chest, the way my hand shakes when I pull the damp lace free. I clean up fast, but the secret stays between my legs, warm and slick, until the next time I shut the door.