She was a high school girl, just past seventeen, with the kind of lean, sun-warmed body that hinted at recent growth spurts and long summers. Her legs were long and smooth, tapering from firm thighs to slender ankles. Her waist curved inward naturally, emphasizing the gentle flare of her hips, which were hugged tightly by the low-cut sides of her bikini bottoms.

The bikini itself was a deep crimson, almost the color of ripe cherries, made of a thin, stretchy fabric that clung to every contour. The top was triangular and small—just enough to cover her breasts, which were full for her age but still perky, the soft swell of them rising above the scalloped edge. A simple string tied behind her neck and another between her shoulder blades, leaving most of her back bare. Her shoulder blades shifted as she moved, and the delicate knots of her spine were visible just above the waistband.

Her belly was flat, with a faint line of muscle running down the center, and her navel was a tiny, dark indentation. The bikini bottoms sat low on her hips, the sides little more than thin cords that disappeared into the hollows of her hip bones. The back of the bottoms curved snugly over the roundness of her buttocks, leaving just a hint of the lower cheeks exposed. Her skin had a light sheen—not of water, but of the faintest perspiration mixed with coconut oil, making her collarbones and shoulders gleam.

Her face held a sleepy, confident expression: lips slightly parted, full and bare of gloss, and dark lashes framing eyes that seemed to know exactly what she was doing in that swimsuit. A few damp strands of dark hair stuck to her neck and the upper curve of her chest, trailing down toward the hollow of her throat.