In the Zoo

She stands in the middle of a sunlit room that feels like a private menagerie—white walls, tall windows, a touch of gold in the frame of the mirror. Blonde hair tumbles past her shoulders, catching the light with every move. She’s naked, skin smooth, nipples tight from the cool air. One hand rests on her hip while the other slips lower, fingers tracing the soft line between her thighs. Her breath quickens. She cups one breast, squeezes, watches the way it fills her palm. Then the hand between her legs begins to move—slow circles at first, gathering heat. She parts her lips, tilts her head back, eyes half-closed. A small moan slips out, then another, louder, as two fingers slide inside. Her hips rock forward, meeting each stroke. Blonde strands stick to her cheek, her chest rises and falls faster. She keeps going, faster, harder, until her legs tremble and the tension snaps, leaving her gasping, flushed, still standing where the light can find every curve.