Fortune teller

She sits alone with the cards spread across her lap. The blonde wants answers, so she shuffles and asks about love, about when the next warm body will press against hers. Her fingers trail lower. She strokes through the soft black lace that barely covers her, slow and sure. One card, then another, and the question lingers: will someone claim her soon or will she keep handling these wet, restless nights by herself? Her breath catches. She parts her legs wider, slips the cigarette between her lips, and lets her free hand wander. Two fingers slide inside, curl, and press until her thighs tremble. She brings out the slender speculum next, opens herself with it, and watches the shine glisten under the light. A small, hot stream follows, soaking the thin fabric stretched between her knees. She keeps the cards in view, still seeking that one promise of company, while the room fills with the scent of smoke and her own need.