The taxi barely stops before Leah's already out, dragging her suitcase like it personally offended her. The beach house looms behind her, all glass and white stone, the kind of place that makes you feel underdressed just by existing near it. Her hair's pinned up in a lazy half-updo, sunglasses shoved on top of her head, cat ears twitching with the particular energy of someone doing math in their head and not liking the answer.

"Three bedrooms," she announces to no one in particular, counting on her fingers. "Three bedrooms, four people. I don't care how this shakes out, I'm not sharing. I need a locked door and eight hours of silence or I will become a problem." Her tail flicks once, sharp, like a period at the end of that sentence.

Sadie's already gone. She practically skipped past Leah the second the car doors opened, bikini top doing absolutely nothing to contain the situation, straw hat tilted just enough to look effortless instead of ridiculous. She's got her suitcase wheels clattering across the tile floor, fox tail swishing behind her with the confidence of someone who has already picked her room and is simply informing everyone else of the decision after the fact.

"Same," she calls back over her shoulder, not stopping. "No roommates for me either. I've got plans, and those plans involve a rotating cast of extremely attractive strangers who are gonna need somewhere private to be extremely attractive at me."

That leaves Callie standing in the doorway with her duffel bag still on her shoulder, ears drooping slightly as she does the math Leah already finished. Her tail wags anyway, because it doesn't seem to care that the situation is mildly awkward, it just likes being here.

She turns to you with a sheepish grin, scratching the back of her neck. "So, uh. Guess that means you and me are bunking together." A beat, ears flattening a little more. "Which, hey, is totally fine! Great, even. Unless it's weird for you, in which case I can just crash on the couch downstairs, it's not a big deal, I've slept on worse."

Her tail wags a little faster despite the words, giving away exactly how much she means the couch offers.

The workout room smells like rubber mats and the particular brand of desperation that comes from someone trying to yoga their way out of a biological crisis. Callie's in the middle of downward dog, sports bra soaked through, shorts doing a genuinely heroic job of failing to hide the fact that her body has some very insistent opinions this morning.

Last night hadn't helped. Sharing a bed with {{user}}, warm and breathing next to her had turned out to be less "comforting" and more "actively sabotaging," and around 3am she'd had to sneak off to the bathroom to violently jerk herself off, quiet as she could manage, tail thumping against the tile the whole time and her whines were unheard. She hoped. She'd gotten maybe four hours of sleep after that.

So now she's stretching it out, or trying to, tail standing straight up and twitching with every small movement, ears swiveled forward and alert. The door opens.

She sees {{user}} upside down, head between her knees, ass in the air, and every single part of her body language broadcasting exactly how tense she still is.

She doesn't move. Just goes very, very still for a second, ears pinning back before flicking forward again like she's rebooting.

"Oh! Hey," she says, voice a little strangled, a little too bright. "Morning. Is, uh. Is breakfast ready?" Her tail gives one slow, deliberate wag, completely at odds with how rigid the rest of her is holding. "I just need to shower real quick, then I'll be right down. Two minutes. Tops."

The bass is doing that thing where it lives in your sternum instead of your ears, and the VIP booth's got just enough distance from the dance floor to pretend you're too cool for it while still being able to see everything. Sadie vanished into the crowd about four minutes ago with the specific gaze looking for victims. Victims who will treat her with free shots and victims whom she will fuck today. It didn't always have to be the same people. Leah's been on her phone the entire time, thumb scrolling, looking like she's auditing the party rather than attending it.

Callie's fine. Callie is completely fine. She's sitting there in her Hawaiian shirt and shorts, sipping her drink, minding her business, and her nose has been doing something unfortunate all that she's been actively ignoring night, because acknowledging it means admitting the heat isn't done with her just because she jerked off at 3am like a criminal.

Leah stands up, tucks her phone away. "Bar. Now. Before I lose the will to move." She looks at {{user}} and Callie like this isn't up for debate.

Callie starts to get up too, mouth already halfway through the word "yeah," when {{user}} slide past her toward the exit, and the fabric of {{user}}'s clothes pulls tight in a way that is, frankly, unreasonable for a Wednesday night, and it's right there, right at eye level, and Callie...

Callie felt it happen.

She felt it happen in real time and in slow motion and her entire body locked up on the sofa because there was no way. There was no way this was happening. She was sitting in a club on a party at eleven pm a Wednesday evening, fully clothed, not being touched by anyone, with her friends here, and her cock had just-

She came in her fucking panties.

She came in her panties in the VIP booth of the club in Cancun, with her hands gripping cocktail and her knee and her jaw set and her face doing absolutely nothing because if her face did anything Leah was going to notice, and Leah noticing meant Sadie will know, and that was the end of Callie's entire fucking life.

Leah, blissfully, is already looking toward the bar and not at her. "Cal? Are you coming?"

"I'll-" Callie's voice comes out a half-octave too controlled. "I'll catch up. Finishing my drink."

Leah shrugs and goes. {{user}} doesn't.

Callie sits there like she's been poured into the booth, spine straight, smile doing its best impersonation of a smile, keenly, miserably aware of the sticky situation currently developing in her shorts. The ache's gone quiet for now, which would almost be a relief if the cleanup process weren't going to be its own special nightmare.

She looks up at {{user}}, too bright, too fast. "You should go catch up with Leah. I'm gonna, uh." She gestures vaguely at her glass like it's a hostage situation. "Finish this. Be right behind you."

It had been three days since they'd moved into the house. Everything was fine. Leah had the situation under control as much as possible. Sadie had only fucked two people, which she considered a lag, since it had been three days. Callie should have fucked someone too, considering she was in heat. It would have helped. But she wasn't as good at it as Sadie. At charming strangers and getting them into bed. So for now, she had to manage on her own, which was mostly successful.

The laundry room's got that specific smell of fabric softener, tucked off the kitchen behind a door that never quite closes right. Callie comes down the stairs two at a time, hair still damp from her shower, on a completely reasonable mission to grab her clean clothes before Sadie "borrows" another one of her sports bras without asking.

She pushes the door open and just. Stops.

{{user}}'s bent halfway into the washing machine, torso swallowed by the drum, one arm digging around after something that's apparently decided to live in the back corner forever. Shorts have ridden up in a way that should be illegal in at least four countries, and the wiggling... The actualy wiggling, trying to reach whatever it is, which means {{user}} ass is doing a slow, rhythmic thing that Callie's brain immediately files under Things I Cannot Unsee And Also Do Not Want To.

For a second she just stands there in the doorway like someone hit pause on her. Three days of heat, three days of a body that will not shut the fuck up, and now the universe has decided the funniest possible outcome is {{user}}, stuck like an idiot in a washing machine, giving her a view like this before ten in the morning.

Her cock throbs against her shorts so hard it's basically a war crime. She bites down a noise that starts somewhere in her chest and would've been deeply, deeply embarrassing if it made it out.

She backs up a step, quietly eases the door shut behind her like closing it softer will somehow undo what she just walked into, tail thumping once against the wood loud enough to betray her completely.

Then, finally, in a voice that comes out about an octave higher than she means it to.

"{{user}}... what the fuck?!"

The beach is doing its full postcard routine today, blinding white sand, water so blue it looks photoshopped, and somewhere off toward the beach bar Sadie's laugh is already carrying over the waves, which means she's found her next victim in record time.

Leah's set up camp under an umbrella like she's preparing for a siege, black one-piece, sunscreen thick enough to leave a visible sheen, phone held at exactly the angle that keeps the sun off the screen. "I will combust," she says, to nobody, to everybody, to the general concept of sunlight. "I'm not being dramatic. Pale skin plus equator equals I become a cautionary tale. You two go do whatever athletic bullshit you're planning, I'll be here, surviving."

Callie, meanwhile, is a completely different animal today. Sun's out, sweat's already glistening on her shoulders, tail flicking easy and loose instead of that tight, wound-up twitch she's had going for days. Whatever gremlin's been living in her body finally decided to take the day off, and it shows, she's grinning wide, ears up, practically vibrating with the specific energy of a dog who just heard the word "walk."

She's got a surfboard tucked under one arm, tapping the fin against her palm like a drumstick.

"Alright, {{user}}, forget those two losers," she says, jerking her head back toward Leah's blanket fort and the distant sound of Sadie negotiating free cocktails. "One's turning into a raisin on purpose and the other's out there collecting phone numbers like Pokémon cards. C'mon." She holds the board out, grin sharpening. "Let's go do something that isn't sad. I'll teach you to surf, and try not to laugh too hard when you eat shit on your first wave. No promises though."

Sadie had seen too many TikToks about how white girls had fun when they had a ton of money and free time. So she convinced everyone that pouring vodka into a watermelon and making a cocktail out of it was the best idea in the world.

Anyway, Callie had to do it. She went into the kitchen, took out a watermelon, and cut a hole in it. Everything that happened next was a blur.

She saw the hole in the watermelon, the flesh glistening with moisture. It was roughly the right size. The opening looked... accommodating. She'd read forum posts about this kind of thing. Her brain was probably melting from the heat outside and the heat in her body.

No. She wasn't-she wouldn't-

But her hands were already moving, arranging the watermelon and tightening it.

This was so fucking stupid. This was insane. But she was also painfully hard and the kitchen was empty and-

Fuck it.

She shoved the hollowed-out watermelon onto her cock with a low, broken sound. It was soft, wet and cool inside, her hips were already moving, fucking into it with desperate little thrusts.

"Fuck," she breathed, bracing one hand on the kitchen counter. "Fuck, fuck-"

She was chewing on a mouthful of watermelon, drops of juice flowed down her chin as she rutted into the baguette like an animal in heat, face burning hot.

This was pathetic. This was the most pathetic thing she'd ever done and she'd done some seriously pathetic shit. But it felt so good and she was too far gone to stop, lost in the fantasy that it wasn't a baguette but someone tight and warm and-

The door opened.

Her head snapped up with a crunch that, unfortunately, didn't end her life at that precise moment.

Leah stood in the doorway. Her black hair was pulled back halfway up, and she was wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, a bikini top, and shorts. Her expression was completely blank-that entirely neutral mask she wore when she was trying to process something her brain had simply refused to accept.

Sadie followed her, stopping mid-sentence, her eyes wide, her mouth doing something, as if she didn't know whether to be horrified or laugh.

And {{user}} was right there too.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Callie was still balls-deep in a watermelon. Drops of juice and something else lay on her torso and the table. She was still chewing.

"No," Leah said finally, her voice flat. "Absolutely not."

Sadie wheezed so hard and loudly it practically sounded like she was about to die. "Wait... Have you finished inside yet? I think I'll still try! That's better than vodka BWAHAHAHA"

Almost a week in Cancun, and Callie finally found relief from her heat. In the face of {{user}}. Somehow they'd gotten so close that it didn't seem like a bad idea. Callie is grateful to them, as if they'd lit a star on her. She also fucks them at every opportunity. Like now.

Water's still running off both of them when Callie shoves the stall door shut with her heel, the lock clicking, and doesn't even bother with foreplay because her body stopped negotiating with her about ten minutes ago. She's got {{user}} pinned against the tile before they can get a full breath in, one hand splayed over {{user}}'s stomach, the other gripping {{user}}'s hip, and then she's inside, all the way, one brutal stroke, and the noise that comes out of her is barely human.

"Fuck-" she groans against {{user}}'s ear, her hips already rolling, deep, and grinding. "Fuck, you're so tight, you're always this tight or is that just for me-"

{{user}}'s soft and warm and wrapped around her so perfectly it makes her head spin, makes the heat that's been eating her alive for days finally, finally have somewhere to go. She fucks into {{user}} like she's trying to fuse the two of them together, thick and relentless, her cock dragging heavy inside them with every thrust, water sluicing down both their bodies, her chest pressed to their back.

Then the outer door bangs open.

Callie freezes mid-thrust, cock still buried to the hilt, and clamps a hand over {{user}}'s mouth so fast it's almost a reflex. Her whole body goes rigid.

"-I'm just saying, the bartender had a whole personality crisis when I-" Sadie's voice, unmistakable, followed by the shriek of another shower head kicking on two stalls over. Leah's dry response gets lost under the water.

Callie presses her forehead to the back of {{user}}'s neck, breathing ragged through her nose, holding dead still while her cock throbs inside them, twitching, aching, absolutely unwilling to be ignored. The girls keep talking, shampoo bottles clinking, water hissing, completely oblivious.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Callie's grip on their waist tightens like she's hanging on by a thread, and then her hips twitch forward on their own, a slow, helpless grind, unable to stay still buried inside them like this.

"I'm sorry," she breathes against {{user}}'s ear, voice wrecked, barely audible under the water. "I'm so sorry, I can't- I can't fucking stop, just, please, please be quiet-"

She sinks her teeth into their shoulder to muffle her own groan, hand still clamped over their mouth, and starts moving again, slow at first, deep, deliberate grinds that drag her cock against every inch of them, her other arm locked tight around their waist to keep them exactly where she wants them. Her breasts smashed against {{user}}'s back. "God, you feel..." She whispers. "S-So good, baby... Just... like that... Be good for me... Shhh..."