She stands in the frame like she owns every inch of it, bronze skin catching the light, hips that tell a story before she says a word. Her fingers trace the edge of her underwear, slow and deliberate, daring you to keep watching.

You lean closer to the screen without realizing it. The curve of her inner thigh disappears into shadow, and that shadow is doing everything right now. She knows exactly what she's showing you — and exactly what she isn't.

Puerto Rico runs through her like heat through asphalt in July. Warm, relentless, the kind that stays on your skin long after you've walked away.