Time to test the bikini in the sun

By the time I padded downstairs in flip-flops and a sheer cover-up, the garden loungers were baking in golden afternoon light. I chose the one with the clearest sightline to James’s home office window—ground floor, slightly ajar. The wooden slats of the lounger groaned slightly as I stretched out, arching my back just enough to make the strings dig into my hips. Sun-warmed slats kissed bare skin as I tugged the cover-up off my shoulders, letting it pool around my elbows like a lover’s restraint.

A shadow twitched behind the blinds. I pretended to examine my toenails—painted coral yesterday with Bella—while watching through my lashes. The silhouette was unmistakable: broad shoulders angled toward the garden, one hand braced against the window frame. The blinds trembled slightly, like he’d jerked them shut too fast. My lips curled. *Got you.*

The sun lotion bottle made an obscene squelch as I squeezed a dollop onto my palm. Warmth bloomed across my skin as I smoothed it up my thigh, fingers lingering near the knot of my bikini ties. The scent of coconut filled the air—cloying, tropical, deliberately suggestive. I arched into my own touch, calf flexing as I traced slow circles toward my knee. A floorboard creaked inside the house. My pulse stuttered.

Through the office window, James’s silhouette had gone rigid. He wasn’t even pretending to work anymore—one hand braced against the glass like he might snap the frame. The blinds twitched again, parting just enough to reveal the faint gleam of his wedding ring as his fingers curled into a fist. I swallowed hard. *Keep watching.*

The lotion warmed between my palms as I smoothed it over my stomach, circling my navel with deliberate slowness. My ribs rose with each exaggerated breath, the turquoise triangles straining against the motion. A bead of sweat trickled between my breasts—real this time—and I dragged my fingertips through it, watching James’s shadow sway forward.

The coconut scent clung to my skin as I cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing the gold rings sewn into the fabric. The strings at my neck fluttered when I arched into my own touch, letting my head fall back just enough to expose my throat. Through the blinds, James’s shoulders hunched—that marathon runner’s tension radiating even through glass. My pulse thrummed as I worked the lotion into the swell above my bikini, pressing just hard enough to make the flesh dimple.

The garden was too quiet—no birds, no breeze—just the slick slide of my hands and the distant hum of the fridge inside. Perfect. I dragged a fingertip along the underside of one breast, catching the string and tugging until the knot loosened. The triangle sagged dangerously, revealing the pink crest beneath. I could imagine the impact this was having on James inside—and I bit my lip to stifle a moan.

A sudden bang—the office window shoved open with enough **** to rattle the frame. My pulse stuttered, but I didn’t turn. Not yet. Instead, I let my fingers trail lower, tracing the dip of my waistband where the strings dug into my hipbones. The lounger creaked as I shifted, parting my thighs just enough to catch the afternoon light between them.