Christina dives for it

Christina dives for it, surfacing with the torn trunks held aloft. "Oops," she says, her voice dripping with faux sympathy as she swims toward you. "Looks like they're done for." Her grin is wicked as she corners you against the pool's edge, her body pressing close under the guise of shielding you from view. The slick fabric of her one-piece rubs against your chest, and then, as she adjusts herself, you feel a distinct, fleeting pressure against your cock.

You freeze, mortified, your face burning hotter than the sun. "Chris, I'm so—" you stammer, but she shushes you, her own breathing slightly hitched. "Just stay still," she murmurs, her eyes locked on yours, her thighs bracketing one of yours underwater. The intimate contact is electric and utterly paralyzing.

She holds the position, a human curtain, her gaze intense. You're too focused on your own humiliation to notice the dark hunger in her eyes or how her lips part slightly. The warmth of her body against yours is a confusing mix of solace and sheer panic.

"Do you think anyone saw?" you whisper, desperate to think about anything other than the fact that your bare skin is separated from hers by a whisper-thin layer of Lycra.

Christina's smile softens, but it doesn't reach her eyes, which follow your every nervous reaction. “No one saw anything,” she assures you in a low voice. Her body moves again, another fleeting touch of your glans right between her legs, making you gasp sharply.