The suit was definitely too small for the hotel pool [F20/M21] [teasing] [friends] [massaged] [edged]

I should’ve checked the mirror more carefully. That much was obvious now. When I’d packed it in my gym bag this morning between my morning lift and my elective classes, the neon bikini seemed like a fun, athletic choice for a post-practice hang. But standing on the pool deck next to Leo, it felt like a total dare. It was tight—dangerously so—and the thought of dropping my cover-up in front of him made my pulse jump in a way that had nothing to do with the humid Florida air.

Not that I needed to worry; we were just teammates, friends, "one of the guys." Or so I thought.

We’d escaped to this quiet rooftop pool on a whim, a rare break from our D1 training schedules. Leo was one of my closest friends, the kind of guy I’d normally talk playbooks with, but lately, our conversations had felt charged. I looked out at the water, trying to act natural while adjusting the straps that were already digging into my shoulders.

“You going in, or just standing there?” Leo asked, pulling his tech-fleece hoodie over his head. I caught my breath. He’d spent the whole off-season in the weight room, and it showed. The sunlight caught the definition of his abs and the broad, powerful set of his shoulders. I forced myself to look at the horizon. Since when did Leo look like that?

“What?” he asked, catching my gaze. He flashed that smirk that usually annoyed me, but now just made my stomach flip. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.” He laughed, and I felt the heat creep up my neck. “Shut up,” I muttered. “I’m just... looking for my sunscreen.” We both knew it was right on top of my bag. Leo chuckled but sat down on the lounge chair, his back golden and smooth.

I pulled my cover-up off in one motion. It was so much worse than I remembered. The bikini was tiny. The top was straining against me, the fabric barely covering what it needed to, my breasts pushed up and out as if they were trying to escape the tight limits of the cups. Every time I breathed, I felt the fabric shift—the sensation of the rough material against my sensitive skin. I felt exposed, flushed, and incredibly aware of how much skin was on display.

The bottoms weren't much better—high-cut and minimal, showing off every inch of my athletic legs. Leo was reaching for his water bottle when I sat down. He turned, and his usual witty comeback died in his throat. I leaned back on my elbows, feeling the stretch of the fabric. “Maybe you’re the one who needs a picture?” I teased, trying to reclaim my "captain" energy. Leo cleared his throat and looked toward the water. “Yeah... it’s, uh, it’s a nice suit.”

I felt a sudden surge of confidence. “Want to help me with my sunscreen?” I asked, my voice smoother than I expected. “I don’t want to burn before the big meet.” “Sure,” he said after a beat. I handed him the bottle and turned around, pulling my hair to one side. I felt the cold drop of lotion hit the small of my back, followed by his hands—wide, warm, and calloused from the barbell. He started at my shoulders, his thumbs tracing the line of my traps with a pressure that made me melt. He moved slowly, his palms gliding over my skin in long, deliberate circles.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” I murmured, my eyes fluttering shut. “Lots of practice with sports massages,” he replied, though his voice sounded lower, rougher than usual. His hands moved down my back, his fingers grazing the very edge of my bottoms, lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch. The friction of the lounge chair against my chest was starting to drive me crazy.

I shifted, guided by a sudden, bold impulse, and rolled over onto my back. The sun hit me fully. My chest was heaving slightly, my skin glistening with the lotion. I arched my back just a little, stretching my arms over my head in a way that I knew made the bikini top shift even higher. Leo froze, his eyes widening before he focused intently on the bottle in his hand. “Can you get the front?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m really sensitive to the sun there.”

There was a long silence, just the sound of the pool filter. Then the click of the cap. “Yeah. Okay.” His hands were trembling slightly as he started at my collarbone. He moved with agonizing slowness, smoothing the lotion over the swell of my breasts. He avoided the center at first, his fingers tracing the perimeter, teasing the edges of the fabric. But as the seconds ticked by, his strokes became more focused.

His thumbs brushed the very tips of my nipples through the thin neon fabric. I let out a soft, involuntary sound. He didn't pull away. Instead, he began to circle them, the pressure increasing just enough to make me ache. He was edging the line between a "favor" and something else entirely. My thighs pressed together, a dull, heavy throb starting deep in my belly.

He kept going, his thumbs dragging over the hard peaks of my nipples again and again, watching the way my body reacted to his touch. I was hovering on a cliff, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. I wanted him to slide his hand lower, to find out exactly how wet I was for him, but he stayed right there—teasing, controlling, keeping me right on the verge.

Suddenly, he pulled his hands away. “All set,” he said, his voice strained and tight. He didn't look at me as he wiped his hands on his towel. “Thanks,” I managed to say, sitting up and trying to steady my breathing.

We sat in silence for a while, the tension between us thick enough to cut. Leo started talking about our practice schedule, but I wasn't listening. I was looking at him, wondering if he could feel the heat radiating off me. I wondered if, when he went back to the athlete dorms tonight, he’d close his eyes and see me exactly like this. I wondered if he’d think about how close he came to crossing that line, and if he’d finish while whispering my name. Because I knew I would.