Three sets of eyes popped when Billie’s bikini strap did. She grabbed for it, totally embarrassed.

“Whoa…” “Damn, girl…” “Holy…”

I stepped in front of her and glared at my leering friends. “Hey, self-control, be polite, OK?” They filed out, muttering about my masculinity.

After she left I ran to my bedroom, aflame with my glimpse of round, creamy flesh and a delicious-looking chocolate nipple. My aching cock leaped into my hand—

–just as Billie walked back in, smiling. “The important thing about self-control,” she said, untying on purpose this time, “is knowing when it’s polite to lose it.”