She stops thinking

Her fingers work faster now, pressing the wedged fabric of the bikini bottoms against her clit with increasing urgency. The wet cotton has soaked through completely, and she can feel her own slickness spreading down her inner thighs, cooling against the evening air. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, her hips grinding against her own hand as she chases the heat building low in her belly.

She stops thinking. That's what she notices first — the thoughts, the images, the echoes of Joe's texts and Marcus's voice, they all just blur and dissolve into a single, undirected need. Her back arches off the lounger, her toes curling against the plastic, and her other hand grips the edge of the mattress, knuckles going white.

She pulls the bikini bottoms aside. The wet fabric drags against her slick folds, and then it's out of the way, cool air hitting the bare, wet skin underneath. She slips two fingers between her lips without hesitation, finding herself soaked and ready, and she presses them inside with a low, broken moan.

The lounger creaks beneath her as she moves. She kicks off the bottoms, the white fabric pooling somewhere beneath her, and then the top follows, discarded onto the concrete beside the lounger.

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