Discarding the matchstick, you lick your fingertips and dab them into the ash, then reach between your thighs and press your fingers to where the waiting wet of your sex soaks up the soot.

You pause, looking deep into your reflected eyes, your fingertips poised, pressing gently to the split of your labia, remembering the feel of my hands reaching around you.

You feel the soft sapling of your sex splitting open as you smear your fingertips into the soft folds, before drawing them back to your tongue. Tasting the ash, bitter with burnt carbon, thuggish, earthy, smoky and raw. You suck your fingers, searching for the soft vanilla of your sex. Then dabbing the Tarot card for more of the ash, seeing the cinder cling to the saliva of your wetted fingertips.

Reaching down between your thighs, smearing more of the burnt scroll into the folds of your sex, feeling your cunt inhale, sucking the tips of your dirty fingers until they’re clean.

Opening a drawer, you tease out a pair of fine lace knickers, a pair you remember, wrapped as they once were around one of your treasured gemstones.

You slip them on, hitching them home, high on your hips, feeling the wet of your sex aching against the soft fabric and lace.

On the dresser, paired with a Tarot card, the once smuggled, smooth, rounded stone now rests. You lift it to more closely peruse its grain and color. Such a beautiful piece. You uncap a small bottle of lube and smear the clear oil onto the surface of the stone, watching its cleavage, color and sheen, deepen.

How these grains and veins brighten, their geology eliciting organic shades of deep ruby, plum and purple, such evocative colors, reminding you of the smooth hardening tip of his cock.

You slip the smothered stone down inside your knickers and feel the contoured hardness pressing to your sex, reminding you of his wanting you.

Rummaging in the same open drawer you retrieve your Lelo Soraya and with that trusty tube of uncapped lube you climb back onto the bed, rolling onto your back, your bathrobe falling open, your hands running over your thighs and circling your breasts summoning the sensations of his touch.

“The ink that stains this paper might someday fade, but the memory of you against my skin remains.”

You cup your breast in one hand, gripping and squeezing your hardening nipple, while reaching your free hand down between your open thighs, your fingers pressing through the fabric of your knickers, pushing the smooth curve of the stone against the soft flesh of your cunt, aching for the flexing feel of his cock when he’s between your thighs and throbbing for you.

Impatient, you dig your fingers under the fabric, your knickers stretching as you claw at the stone, scooping it away and sinking your fingers into your sex. Hips rising, spine arching as you finger fuck with tightening frustration.

You reach for the Lelo and the lube, slick the shaft, pulling at your knickers with one hand while guiding the toy inside with the other, thumbing the button to ignite your clit with the thrum of those tiny motors.

“Come on”, you beg.