Do me a favor and rub in my sun lotion?

You notice those curves first — the slow arc from waist to hip that makes your hands feel suddenly restless and purposeful.

You imagine the lotion warming between your palms before you press them against the small of that back, working upward in long, deliberate strokes. You feel the skin yield slightly under the pressure, smooth and sun-warmed, pulling your attention lower without apology.

You already know this favor has nothing to do with sunscreen. You want to take your time, to trace every inch before the afternoon burns out, your breath just a little unsteady the whole way through.