Adorabe toes

She slips her legs forward, slow and sure. The camera lingers on bare feet, each toe straight and pink, the arches high and smooth. Her ankles cross once, then part, and the soles flash warm and soft. She watches herself move them, pleased with what she sees. A fingertip traces the line where sole meets heel. She pulls one foot closer, rubs the ball with her thumb, and a small, quiet breath escapes her. She smiles at the feeling, lets the toes curl, spread, then curl again. Both feet settle on the sheets. She keeps touching. Small, private strokes along each arch, the way someone strokes the inside of a thigh. Her breath changes. The muscles in her calves tighten, relax. She slides two fingers between her biggest toes, then pulls them free and lets her hand drift higher—up her shin, along the inner thigh, and farther still. Her legs open wider. One foot stays in view, toes flexing every time her wrist moves between her thighs. She stays like that, bare, unhurried, and certain of every motion.