The airport doors slid open with a humid gasp. Pete squinted against the fluorescent glare, scanning the crowd. His phone buzzed—Amy’s text: Landed!

A cluster of passengers spilled into arrivals. Pete’s gaze snagged on a flash of denim shorts so abbreviated they barely grazed mid-thigh. Above them, a stretchy tube top strained against curves that made several heads turn. It took him three full seconds to recognize Amy’s bright, nervous smile beneath the tousled blonde hair.

“Jesus, Amy,” Pete blurted, voice louder than intended. A businessman beside him glanced over, eyebrows raised. “You look ... grown up.” The words felt thick, inadequate. Her outfit wasn’t just revealing; it hugged every soft swell and dip. Her breasts seemed impossibly fuller than he remembered, pushing against the neon-pink top. He noticed a faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone from the stuffy plane cabin.

Amy’s smile faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of defiance. “It’s just summer clothes, Dad,” she said, shifting her heavy backpack. The movement made the denim shorts ride even higher on her plump thighs. She smelled faintly of stale airplane air and a sugary vanilla body spray. “Everyone dresses like this at State.” Her voice held a challenge, daring him to argue. Pete felt a confusing surge—pride at her confidence, discomfort at the stares she drew, and a sharp, unfamiliar pang of protectiveness mixed with something he refused to name.

He grabbed her rolling suitcase, the handle slick in his palm. “Right,” he managed, forcing his eyes away from the impossible swell of her chest straining the thin tube top. “Car’s this way.” They walked towards the exit doors, Amy striding a step ahead, her worn sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. Pete’s gaze, unbidden, dropped. The shorts were criminally short, the frayed hem barely covering the lower curve of her buttocks. Her ass was big, round, and undeniably sexy, bouncing slightly with each step, the denim stretched taut over soft flesh. Heat crawled up his neck. He remembered her as a gangly teen in baggy sweatshirts, not this ... woman radiating a potent, careless allure.

Amy paused to adjust her backpack strap. As she half-turned, her eyes flickered back, catching Pete’s gaze locked squarely on her backside. A slow, knowing smile bloomed across her face, wide and genuine. Well, she thought, a spark of pure delight igniting inside her, that’s a nice surprise. She hadn’t expected that kind of look from her usually reserved dad. It felt validating, thrilling even. Maybe her meticulous gym sessions and those late-night dorm-room mirror checks hadn’t been in vain. She turned fully, the smile still playing on her lips, meeting his hastily averted eyes. “Forgot how long the walk is from baggage claim,” she chirped, her voice deliberately light, enjoying the flush deepening on his cheeks.

She resumed walking towards the exit signs, deliberately placing each step with a fraction more sway. The worn denim stretched taut across her hips, shifting rhythmically with the deliberate roll of her gait. She felt the fabric pull, the slight friction against her skin, the awareness of his eyes burning into her. It wasn’t just a wiggle; it was a subtle amplification of her natural movement, a conscious flex and release of her glutes that made her round ass cheeks bounce with a pronounced, rhythmic jiggle beneath the frayed hem. The squeak of her sneakers seemed louder now, punctuating the deliberate performance. A wave of warm, humid air hit them as the automatic doors hissed open ahead, carrying the smell of exhaust and hot asphalt.

“Hold on,” Amy announced brightly, stopping abruptly just before the threshold. She bent forward sharply at the waist, her spine curving deliberately. The denim shorts strained impossibly upward, revealing the soft, pale underside of her buttocks almost entirely. Her tube top stretched dangerously low in the front, the neckline plunging to expose the deep, shadowed valley between her heavy breasts pushing against the thin fabric. Her blonde hair cascaded forward, brushing the polished floor as she pretended to fuss with the laces of her right sneaker. She lingered there, bent over, feeling the cool airport air-conditioning wash over her exposed lower back and the tops of her thighs. She heard Pete’s sharp intake of breath behind her – a strangled, involuntary sound.

She straightened slowly, deliberately rolling her shoulders back. The sudden chill from the terminal’s AC hit her sweat-dampened skin like a plunge into cold water. Instantly, her nipples hardened into sharp, distinct points beneath the flimsy neon-pink tube top. The tight fabric offered zero concealment; the pronounced peaks were starkly visible against the vibrant material. Again, a slow, secretive smile curved her lips upward. Perfect timing, she thought, a thrill sparking low in her belly. She pivoted smoothly on the worn heel of her sneaker, the squeak echoing slightly in the sudden quiet near the exit doors.

She faced Pete directly, her posture relaxed yet deliberately open. Her gaze met his, wide-eyed and innocent, as if oblivious to the effect. The cool air still kissed her skin, keeping her nipples rigidly erect, impossible to miss against the stretched cotton. “Just had to fix my shoe,” she chirped, her voice honey-sweet. She tilted her head slightly, blonde hair spilling over one shoulder. “Ready?” Her tone was pure sunshine, utterly at odds with the deliberate display. She watched his eyes flicker downward, then snap back to her face, his own cheeks flushing a deep, ruddy crimson that crept down his neck. The strangled sound he’d made moments before seemed lodged in his throat. His knuckles were bone-white where they gripped her suitcase handle.

Amy didn’t wait for an answer. She turned on her heel, the frayed hem of her shorts riding impossibly high as she strode through the automatic doors, the humid outside air hitting her like a damp towel. “Ohmygod,” she breathed theatrically, stopping just outside on the hot concrete sidewalk. She didn’t look back at Pete, who was still frozen near the threshold. Instead, she hugged herself loosely, fingers brushing the sides of her breasts beneath the tube top, making the fabric shift tautly. She gave a small, deliberate shiver. “Brrr! I guess it is cold in here,” she murmured, her voice carrying just enough over the airport noise. Her head dipped slightly as she pretended to glance down at her own chest, at the twin peaks straining against the neon pink. A soft, almost imperceptible chuckle escaped her lips. Gotcha.

Pete’s gaze was locked. He hadn’t moved. The sharp, distinct outline of her nipples pressing against the thin cotton held him captive – impossible to ignore, impossible to look away from. They weren’t just visible; they were pronounced, demanding attention. A confusing cocktail of sensations flooded him: the sharp tang of jet fuel mixed with Amy’s vanilla spray, the oppressive heat radiating off the asphalt, the sudden dryness in his own throat. His knuckles tightened on the suitcase handle until the cheap plastic groaned. Protectiveness warred with a raw, visceral appreciation he hadn’t felt in years, certainly never directed at his daughter. The businessman from inside walked past, giving Amy a lingering, appreciative look Pete didn’t miss. A low growl vibrated in his chest, unbidden. Mine. The primal thought shocked him, snapping his eyes away from her chest ... only to land squarely on the curve of her ass, perfectly framed by the denim shorts as she shifted her weight.

Amy turned slowly, deliberately. A wide, dazzling smile stretched across her face, lighting up her features with pure, unadulterated triumph. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and something darker, more knowing. She took a deliberate step closer, closing the gap between them on the bustling sidewalk. The humid air clung to her skin, making the thin tube top seem even flimsier. “Dad?” she prompted, her voice soft, lilting, almost teasing. She tilted her head, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. “You look ... lost.” She paused, letting the airport noise fill the silence for a heartbeat. Then, leaning in fractionally, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur, thick with amusement and a hint of challenge. “Oh, Dad ... what are you thinking about?” Her smile widened, daring him to lie.

Pete flinched as if stung. His gaze snapped up from the hypnotic sway of Amy’s hips—a movement impossible to ignore in those shorts—to meet her knowing eyes. The heat radiating off the pavement seemed to intensify, crawling up his neck. “Thinking?” he choked out, the word thick and clumsy. He gestured vaguely toward the parking garage elevator bank, its stainless steel doors reflecting their distorted figures. “Just ... hoping the car’s not baking. Left it on Level 3.” The lie tasted stale. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sheer presence of her, the way the neon pink tube top seemed barely tethered to her generous curves, the damp tendrils of blonde hair clinging to her flushed neck. The vanilla scent mixed with airport exhaust felt suddenly overwhelming.

Amy’s smile didn’t waver; it deepened, becoming slow and deliberate, like honey dripping from a spoon. She took another small step closer, invading his personal space deliberately. The humid air pressed in, making the thin fabric of her top cling even more intimately. Her voice dropped lower, losing its chirpy brightness, replaced by a smoky undertone that vibrated with amusement. “Dad,” she murmured, tilting her head so her blonde hair brushed his forearm. Her eyes, wide and impossibly blue, held his captive. “Or should I ask...” A pause, heavy with implication. Her gaze flickered deliberately downward, tracing the line of his own startled stare before snapping back up to lock onto his. “ ... what you’re looking at?” The smile widened, pure challenge sparkling in her eyes. She held the pose, letting the question hang in the thick air between them.

Pete felt the concrete beneath his feet tilt. The roar of jet engines faded to a dull throb. Her proximity was overwhelming—the heat radiating off her skin, the dizzying scent of vanilla mixed with sweat, the impossible swell of her breasts straining the neon fabric inches from his chest. His knuckles tightened further on the suitcase handle, the cheap plastic creaking ominously. Protectiveness surged, fierce and instinctive, warring violently with the raw, undeniable pull of her blatant display. He wanted to shield her from the stares of passing travelers, yet his eyes remained glued to the hypnotic curve of her lips, the defiant tilt of her chin. His throat worked, dry and useless. Words felt impossible. He managed a jerky half-step backward, bumping against a hot metal pillar. The contact jolted him.

Amy’s smile softened, losing its sharp edge, transforming into something warmer, more intimate. She didn’t retreat. Instead, she leaned in fractionally closer, her voice dropping to a husky murmur that vibrated against the humid air. Her eyes, wide and impossibly blue, held his captive. “You missed me, didn’t you?” she breathed, the words thick with amusement and a startling tenderness. Her gaze flickered deliberately downward, tracing the undeniable bulge straining against the front of his jeans before snapping back up, locking onto his stunned eyes. The knowing spark deepened, triumphant and utterly unapologetic. Her finger brushed lightly against his forearm, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through him. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her lips quirking. “I can tell.”