I want my thighs kissed slow.

I want my thighs kissed slow. Some nights I lie on the floor and feel my legs start to move on their own. My hijab stays wrapped, but my knees open apart like they have been waiting all day. The anklet slides higher with every small turn, pressing against the skin I keep hidden. I imagine something warm staying there, moving slow enough to make my whole body listen. I think about how long I could stay like that, open and waiting for something I can’t say out loud. The thought makes my skin tingle under the abaya, like it knows what I want before I admit it. I stay still longer than I should, letting the wanting feel louder than the room.