Heat Wave
“You know I love you, but TMI.’ I giggled at his silliness as he fluttered around me. He’d brought half the wardrobe department to my room, laying assorted sportswear on my bed in a rainbow of spandex and breathable high-tech fabric.
At first, Ricky had grumbled dejectedly about not being able to dress me up with his usual couture flair, but he’d warmed to the task as I’d modelled eight different pairs of tights and more than a dozen assorted tops. We’d settled on cobalt blue leggings, which moulded to my thighs like a second skin, and a cropped long-sleeved tee in shades of grey.
‘Perfection! Just deep-throat perfection.’ He sighed, handing me a pair of swim sandals. ‘If there’s any justice in the world, the other competitors should just bow out of the race because you’ve out-hotted them so badly, all they want to do is jump overboard.’ ‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said, ‘but at least I’ll be prepared for whatever they throw at me today.’ My outfit was lightweight, stretchy and water-suitable.
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