Summer spirit

The sun finally warms the skin. Heat climbs fast enough that clothes feel like a mistake. They peel away, one thin layer after another, until nothing is left between her and the light. The backyard opens, empty except for her. She drops the last scrap of fabric, steps into the open air, and lets the sun touch every inch. A glance over her shoulder, half dare, half invitation. Then she stretches out on the grass, knees parting without hurry. One hand drifts lower, fingers exploring the warmth that has nothing to do with the weather. Her breath quickens. The other hand slides over her breasts, giving them a lazy squeeze while the first fingers work between her legs. Slow circles grow tighter, quicker. The lawn is silent except for the soft sound of skin on skin and the occasional catch of breath. She moves with the sun on her face, chasing the pleasure that builds and builds until the tension breaks and she arches, the last shiver running through her like heat lightning. For a moment she lies still, legs open, the light sliding over every curve, then smiles to herself like someone who just got exactly what she wanted.