Simply red

She slips into red silk. The color of blood. The color of heat. The shade that screams fuck-me-now when her calendar stays blank. Blond hair spills over her shoulders, catching the light like ripe wheat. No date tonight. Just her, the mattress, and a buzzing toy waiting on the pillow. She peels the dress down slowly. Pale skin flushes pink. Nipples tighten. She cups her own breasts, thumbs circling until each peak stands stiff and aching. One hand slides lower, tracing the flat plane of her stomach, the soft swell of her mound. Fingers part slick folds. Already wet. Always wet when she wears red and knows no one else will touch her. She clicks the vibrator on. The hum fills the quiet room. She presses the rounded tip to her clit, hips jerking at the first sharp pulse. Her free hand stays busy, two fingers thrusting inside, curling, seeking that spot that makes her thighs tremble. She fucks herself in steady rhythm, breath quickening, the toy grinding harder when the need spikes. Her legs spread wider. Toes curl into the sheets. The red fabric lies crumpled beneath her ass, a bright slash against pale skin. She bites her lip, eyes squeezed shut, chasing the build. Every wet sound echoes. Every moan she tries to swallow slips out anyway. When she comes, her whole body bows. The vibrator stays pinned to her throbbing clit until the pleasure turns sharp, almost painful. Then she lets it drop. Lies there panting, thighs still twitching, the room smelling like sex and warm skin. Red still clings to her in memory if not on her body now. Next time, maybe someone else will peel it off.