Some light fingering

Under the blanket, the world narrowed to breath and heat and skin.

Emily lay still, her thigh pressed along Olivia’s, the fire’s distant glow bleeding through the weave of flannel in patches. She could hear the subtle shift of sand outside—the occasional cough, the hush of waves—but none of it mattered. Only the soft, steady movement of Olivia’s hand did.

Her fingers had started with Emily’s nipple, tracing slow, featherlight circles around the stiff peak until it ached for more. Olivia’s palm cradled her breast now, full and heavy, thumb brushing again and again until Emily bit down gently on her own knuckle to keep quiet.

Then Olivia’s hand slid lower.

Not rushed. Not greedy.

Just confident.

Emily parted her thighs without meaning to.

The blanket shifted. Olivia’s fingers slipped down her belly, grazing the faint stretch of skin above her bikini bottoms. Emily exhaled sharply, hips lifting just enough to invite.

She felt the edge of Olivia’s knuckles skim the waistband.

Then—deeper.

Two fingers dipped beneath the fabric, slow and smooth. Emily’s folds were already slick, her clit swollen and ready. When Olivia found it, there was no hesitation—just gentle, rhythmic strokes, slow enough to tease, firm enough to make her toes curl in the sand.

Emily shuddered.

Her legs trembled as Olivia circled her with practiced pressure. Her jaw tensed. She tried to stay still, to stay silent, but the pleasure came in tight, escalating waves—spreading from her cunt up through her stomach, her nipples, her spine. Her mouth fell open against her wrist.

A whimper escaped.

Just once.

And Olivia heard it.

Her lips brushed Emily’s ear. “Good girl.”

The words shattered something.

Emily clutched the blanket tighter, riding the small, trembling edge of climax without tipping over. Olivia didn’t try to make her finish. She kept it light, slow, unbearable.

And when she finally pulled her hand free, Emily almost groaned at the loss.

Neither of them spoke as they emerged from the blanket. Emily’s hair clung to her cheeks, her chest rising and falling, nipples still hard, lips parted.

The group watched.

Nobody laughed this time.

Nate looked like he wanted to fuck her against the fire.

Cara looked like she wanted to crawl under the blanket next.

Jamie was openly palming himself, half-hidden under his arm.

Emily sat back in her spot, bare chest exposed, bikini bottoms clinging wet between her legs.

She didn’t say a word.