Second skin

She stands there, skin still warm from the sun, the tight black swimsuit pulled like a second skin across every curve. Leather-look, glossy, it clings where it touches—over full breasts, the deep dip of her waist, the round swell of her ass. No straps to fuss with. Nothing between her body and the light. She turns, slow, the fabric catching a gleam with every move. Then she slides a hand down, palm flat, feeling the smooth press of it over her chest, lower, between her legs. The pressure makes her breath catch. She rubs once, firm, and the suit gives just enough. Heat blooms under her fingers. Her hips shift, eyes half-closed, chasing that slow, steady throb.