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She looked up, past her heaving chest and the erect, vexed nipples topping her breasts. "You're a fucking tease, you know that, don't you?" She said, irked.
"Yup! But takes one to know one." I grinned, extended a hand, and helped her up. She sat up, jutting her breasts forward. I wondered what sensation she felt, pressing her yearning clit into the hotel's white linens.
I slipped on underwear, shorts and a tennis shirt, while she donned jeans and a pop-art t-shirt. We exited the bedroom, Bee running a brush through her damp locks, and found Jillian putting on her finishing touches: olive culottes that tied at the top of her shapely calves just below her knees, drastic cork-heeled sandals, and a pale gray, nearly diaphanous wrap that she wore around her braless torso, her left breast disappearing quickly as she finished tying it. Her hair perfect, her cheeks dusted with an SPF powder, she asked, "Ready?"
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