Mommysgirl
Sheena Ryder, Ailee Anne Pic(s)
The hollow ache within her chest was a physical presence, a cold, heavy stone that seemed to pull her deeper into the mattress. Her fingers, restless and seeking, traced a slow path over the smooth plane of her stomach, feeling the delicate flutter of her own pulse just beneath the skin. The silence of the room was a thick blanket, broken only by the whisper of cotton sheets as she shifted her legs, a faint friction that sent a shiver up her spine. She imagined another’s touch, a warm palm replacing her own cool fingertips, a weight beside her that would make the bed feel less vast. Closing her eyes, she could almost conjure the scent of warm skin and clean sweat, a phantom memory that tightened her breath. A single tear escaped, tracing a hot, slow path down her temple and into the dark hair at her temples, a silent testament to the yearning that clenched deep ide. Her other hand crept upwards, cupping the soft weight of her breast, her thumb brushing over a peak that hardened tantly to the barest contact. This self-soothing mimicry of intimacy was a poor substitute, yet her body responded with a desperate, liquid warmth that pooled low in her belly. In the profound quiet, this solitary act of touch was both a cruel reminder of her isolation and the only fleeting comfort she could grant her own yearning flesh.
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