She does

The heat rolled over her, slow and heavy, like syrup.

Emily shifted on the lounger again, stretching her arms overhead and letting her back arch slightly off the towel. Her body ached in all the best ways—warm, sun-soaked, soft in places she used to scold, tighter in others she’d come to appreciate. But the bikini?

It was driving her crazy.

The strings dug in with every shift of her weight. The halter top pulled mercilessly against the fullness of her breasts, pinching along the curve where her skin was already sensitive from feeding. The bottoms bit into her hips, cutting a sharp red line into the soft skin just below her navel.

She adjusted the top again, fingers slipping under the thin knot behind her neck, loosening it a little—but it didn’t help. The second she relaxed, the cups slipped up, threatening to expose her anyway. Her nipples throbbed now—not just from the heat, not just from the pressure, but from attention. The friction of the fabric. The helpless awareness of how obvious their outline had become in the white, clingy suit.

Emily’s eyes flicked toward the fence.

Still quiet.

Still safe.

No one home on either side. No movement behind the trees at the back of the lot. Chloe’s soft breath still humming from the baby monitor beside her.

She hesitated.

Then reached back and untied the top.

The tension released instantly, and her breasts spilled free, nipples flushed dark pink, hard and heavy in the warm air. The sun kissed them immediately, and she let out a soft, surprised breath—half relief, half exhilaration.

She waited.

No voices. No footsteps.

Her fingers slid to her hips next, untying the side knots one at a time. The strings slipped away like ribbon, the narrow triangle of fabric falling between her thighs and pooling under her.

Now she was completely bare.

Laid out in the open sun, nothing covering her but the privacy of the moment. Her skin was flushed. Her body loose. Her thighs slightly parted. And her pulse—fast. Electric.

Emily’s nipples tingled with every breath of breeze. Her pussy was hot and damp, not from nerves—but need. Something had been building all morning, coiling tighter since the shower, the quiet, the feeling of being watched at the grocery store that never happened.

She breathed in.

And let it burn.