Black widow

He left. The first nights hit hard. Then the door clicked shut and something in me relaxed. Freedom is a bright, electric thing. I can invite a few girlfriends over or bring a stranger home and not answer to anyone. Tonight I choose the second option: no one. The bedroom lamp stays low, the sheets smell like warm skin and clean cotton. I drop the robe on the chair, crawl onto the mattress naked. The mirror on the closet catches every curve, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, tits heavy and warm. I press a palm to each and squeeze, nipples tightening between my fingers. A slow drag of fingertips down my stomach, lower, until I part my thighs and find the heat waiting there. One brush of the clit and a soft sound leaves my throat. I work in tight circles, then two fingers slide inside, wet, tight, easy. I fuck myself slowly at first, savoring the slick sound, then faster, hips lifting off the bed. The other hand stays busy on my nipples, pinching, rolling. Pleasure builds fast and hard. When it hits I bite my lip, thighs shaking, breath caught. Alone feels exactly right.