Warm, slick fingers pluck you off the raft floor and lift you into the sun. The world tumbles below, a dizzying blur of water and color, until everything stabilizes in a single, breathtaking image: her face.
It fills your sky—bronzed skin glowing in the sunlight, lashes long and dark as shadows, full lips parted slightly in surprise. Her huge brown eyes narrow as she peers at you, turning you this way and that between her thumb and forefinger.
“What’s this?” she mutters, voice rumbling through you like distant thunder. “Somebody’s toy?”
Her thumb presses into your chest. You squirm, but to her it must feel like nothing. She strokes along your torso experimentally, testing the way your limbs flop. Her fingers are warm, slick with sunscreen, and the faint coconut scent clings to you as she rotates you closer to her eyes.
“Damn. You’re detailed.” She tilts you forward and back, studying your face. “They’re making dolls this realistic now?”
She flips you into her palm. You tumble across the fleshy expanse, landing on your back amid faint lines that look like canyons from your perspective. Heat radiates up from her skin, making you sweat. Above you, her fingers curl in a loose cage, the nails glinting like polished blades.
Her other hand rises, index finger extended. The tip of it looms overhead like the end of a column. Slowly, she lowers it to your body, pressing the pad of her fingertip against your chest. The pressure makes your ribs creak. She drags the finger down your torso, tracing over your hips, your legs, as if exploring the contours of a figurine.
Her lips part in a slow, intrigued smile. “God, the texture… you even feel warm. Like skin. This is insane.”
She lifts you closer to her face, her breath gusting over you in waves. The scent of soda and mint fills your nose as she whispers, almost to herself, “You’re like… a little man. A perfect little man.”
Her thumb rolls over your chest again, this time lingering just a little longer. She tilts you, turning you sideways to study your shape, her eyes glittering with a mixture of curiosity and something else you can’t name.
She presses you closer to her lips, enough that you can feel their heat radiating against your body. Her lower lip grazes your legs for a fraction of a second, a soft, slick brush that leaves your skin damp. She chuckles softly, not even realizing what she’s doing to you—she’s just toying with what she thinks is a doll.
“You’re adorable,” she murmurs. “I should keep you.”
Her fingers curl around you again, enclosing you in a warm, pulsing cage of flesh. To her, you’re nothing but a fascinating trinket. To you, she’s a living mountain of muscle and curves, holding you so easily that every casual movement could crush you.
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