Swimsuit Shenanigans

Kimmy kicked at the carpet. "Come on already, the plane's not gonna wait." The bathroom door cracked. Reagan stepped out in a navy one-piece that cut clean from collarbone to thigh. Kimmy stared. "You're serious?" "It's a family trip," Reagan said, tugging at the high neck. "It's the Bahamas," Kimmy fired back. "You're gonna roast in that thing." She shoved past her stepmom, yanked three scraps of fabric off the bed, and held them up like evidence. Reagan sighed but changed anyway. First one: emerald strings, small triangles. Reagan turned slow, checking herself in the mirror. Kimmy's pulse jumped. The bottoms rode high on Reagan's hips, showing the curve where thigh met ass. Kimmy crossed her legs. Tight. Second: white, barely there. Reagan stepped out, the top cups barely covering her nipples. When she bent to fix the tie at her waist, Kimmy got a flash of underboob and had to bite her lip. Heat pooled low. She shifted on the mattress, thighs pressing together. Third suit: red micro-bikini. Reagan walked out, the fabric just a suggestion. She posed once, hands on hips. Kimmy's mouth went dry. Her eyes locked on Reagan's tits, on the way the thin strings cut between plump cheeks, on the smooth skin that begged to be touched. She squeezed her knees, breath short. Reagan's gaze dropped to Kimmy's lap, to the way her shorts hugged the bulge of her swollen clit. A slow smile spread. "Caught you staring, baby." She hooked her thumbs in the red strings, slid the suit down, let it pool at her ankles. Naked now, she crooked a finger. Kimmy moved fast, mouth finding Reagan's breast, hand sliding between her legs. Reagan gasped, fingers knotting in Kimmy's hair, pulling her closer as the family suitcase sat forgotten on the bed.