Cozy

Joana sinks into the sofa, long legs crossed, the denim of her shorts riding high on her thighs. She runs both palms down from her knees, slow and deliberate, tracing the smooth line all the way to her ankles. Her fingers linger on the narrow straps of her heels, tilting one shoe so the light catches the curve of her arch. She lets the shoe dangle, then slips it off, toes flexing in the open air. The other heel stays, a sharp contrast against bare skin. One hand drifts higher, brushing the edge of her shorts, while the other strokes lazy circles over her calf. She shifts, settles deeper into the cushions, and keeps the rhythm going, heat building with each unhurried pass of her hands.