🌴 Tropical Permission 📖 Chapter Two: The Red Bikini

Desire simmers poolside as James watches his wife turn heads — and turns his own gaze on her, too.

This is my first post going to more than 0 subscribers! Thank you so much to those who started reading in the last couple days!! Let me know what you think! 💋 – L.H.

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Diane woke early the next morning to the hush of the air conditioning and the sound of waves just outside. She stretched, her limbs long and loose from sleep.

James was sprawled beside her, flat on his back, one arm bent over his head, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

He looked younger in sleep. His face relaxed, the faint lines at his brow and eyes softened by morning light. He had the kind of body that didn’t come from vanity but from discipline: solid shoulders, a firm chest with a dusting of dark hair, a trail leading south she knew by heart. A scar on his left thigh from a college bike accident. A freckle at the edge of his hipbone she’d once licked just to watch him shiver.

Maybe more than once.

She rolled out of bed, pulled on one of his T-shirts, and brewed the single-serve hotel coffee. It was lukewarm, bitter—perfect. Diane padded out to the balcony, curled up on a lounger, one leg tucked under the other, and watched the morning bloom across the ocean.

Eventually, James stirred.

He emerged shirtless and barefoot, boxer briefs riding low. He kissed her cheek and stole half her coffee in one gulp.

“I booked us massages for tomorrow morning,” he said, raking a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Deep tissue. You’re always tense.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“And you think you’re not the cause?”

“Maybe,” he said, and winked. “But can’t I also be the cure?”

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Later, as Diane dug through her suitcase for something to wear, James held up the red bikini.

She laughed. It was a scrap of a thing: barely-there triangle top, cheeky bottoms that could pass for lingerie in a dim light.

“I haven’t worn that since your sister’s bachelorette in Tulum.”

“I remember,” James murmured. “You sent me that photo. Wore my afternoon out.”

She laughed—then took it from his hand.

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By noon, they were at the pool—sun-warmed and already a little buzzed. Diane reclined on a lounger in the red bikini, oversized sunglasses on, hair damp from a quick dip.

She felt like her breasts were smaller the last time she wore it. Still, she’d caught at least two men and one woman glancing as she walked by. It gave her a quiet thrill.

James leaned in and murmured:

“That guy at the bar almost broke his neck looking at your tits.”

“Stop,” she said, laughing.

James always noticed who looked at her. She used to think it was jealousy—until she realized it wasn’t that at all.

There was a hint of possessiveness in him, but not the insecure kind. It turned him on.

It turned her on too.

He took a sip of beer, still watching her.

“You’re hot. Let me look.”

And look he did. His gaze was heavy, appreciative, and just a little territorial.

Diane gave him a sly smile and confidently adjusted her top—without breaking eye contact.

He laughed out loud.

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That afternoon, they finally vacated their prime pool spot to “take a nap.”

As they packed up, James stretched, pushing out the lean musculature of his chest, and yawned dramatically.

Diane snorted.

On the walk back to their room, he paused.

“Everything okay?”

“Better than okay,” he said, looking her up and down. “I just can’t get over how incredible you look in that bikini.”

“That’s too bad,” she teased, “Because it’s coming off as soon as we get to the room.”

“God, Di. Do you know how many guys at the pool would lose a finger to hear those words from you?”

She tried to play it off, half-laughing. But she’d noticed too. The attention. The heat.

“And all you have to lose is those swim trunks.”

James let out a low grunt and picked up the pace.

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The door flashed green.

James didn’t let her get farther than the entryway.

He pulled her close. Peeled the bikini away piece by piece. Kissed her like he’d been thinking about it since sunrise.

He led her to the bed.

Naked on the crisp white linens, James knelt between her legs. His mouth was greedy, relentless. By the time he finished, Diane had lost count of how many times she had finished.

The lovemaking that followed was brief. Urgent. A little rough.

As she came again, Diane pressed her face into his neck and whispered his name. When she looked up, there was something behind his eyes—not dark, but deeper.

Like he’d just opened a door in himself.

And maybe, she thought… maybe it opened something in her too.

Want more? Read Chapter 3 here.

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