The villa's infinity pool glowed turquoise under the white sun, the air thick with salt, coconut oil, and the bass thump from a nearby yacht. Hot tile met bare skin. Dan found Anya by the shaded cabana, her back to him as she scrolled her phone. He took the cigar from his mouth. "We need to talk."

"I know," she said, not turning around. "You're angry."

"Angry is one word." He moved to stand in front of her. She was eighteen. Tanned skin, a tiny gold hoop in her nose, the scent of her sunscreen sweet and cheap. "You lied. You said you were on the pill."

"I am." She finally looked up. Her eyes were clear, unblinking. "I didn't trick you, Dan. I just stopped taking it. There's a difference."

He stared at her. The cigar smoke curled between them. "Why?"

"Because I want to be with you." She said it like it was simple. Like it was obvious. "You don't date anyone. You just fuck them. This way, you have to see me. This way, I matter."

Dan felt the world tilt. Not from anger. From the sheer, terrifying logic of it. He'd built a life on transactions—pleasure for pleasure, night for night. She had introduced a currency he didn't recognize. Permanence. His hand, the one holding the cigar, was perfectly steady. That was the only part of him that was.

Across the pool terrace, Wayne watched Isla walk toward the villa's main doors. The discussion was over. The terms were set. They were together. He could still see other girls. For fun. The words felt hollow in his mouth even as he'd agreed. He lit a cigarette, the flame trembling just once before he caught it.

Isla paused at the door, looked back at him. Not a smile. An assessment. Then she was gone. Wayne exhaled smoke. He should feel victorious. He had what he wanted. A girl who understood the game. Instead, the terrace felt too quiet. The laughter from the pool too sharp. He turned and saw Dan with the young one, Anya. The tension there was a live wire. Wayne started toward them. It was easier to fix someone else's chaos.

"Problem?" Wayne asked, arriving at the cabana's edge.

Dan didn't look away from Anya. "She's pregnant."

Wayne's eyebrows lifted. He took a drag. "Congratulations."

"Fuck off, Wayne."

"It's a solution," Wayne said, his voice flat. "You wanted a new challenge. There it is." He looked at Anya. "You know what you're getting into with him?"

"Yes," she said. Her chin lifted. "Do you know what you're getting into with Isla?"

Wayne's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Touché." He looked back at Dan. "Tom's missing. Again. With the wife."

Dan finally broke his gaze from Anya, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Where?"

"Where do you think?" Wayne said, stubbing his cigarette out on the tile. "Somewhere he can get his dick sucked in public."

In a public restroom near the marina, the air reeked of bleach and stale urine. Tom had Eva pressed against the cold metal door of a stall, his mouth devouring hers. Her hands were in his hair, pulling. He’d dragged her here from a beachside café, from a table where they’d been sharing a plate of patatas bravas, because the way she’d licked salt from her thumb had made his cock thicken painfully against his zipper.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Take a picture."

Eva fumbled with her phone, her eyes locked on his. She held it up, the flash blinding in the grim room. The photo captured her flushed face, his tattooed hand gripping her jaw, the hunger in both their expressions raw and unposed. He took the phone from her, looked at it. "Perfect." He dropped it into her open bag. "Now get on your knees."

She didn't hesitate. The dirty tile was hard under her knees. Her hands went to his belt, the buckle clinking loud in the small space. She freed him, her breath hot against the head of his cock. He was already leaking, a clear bead of pre-come smearing against her lower lip as she looked up at him.

She took him into her mouth slowly, her tongue flattening against the thick underside. He groaned, his head thudding back against the stall door. Her mouth was hot, wet, perfect. She worked him with a dedication that wasn't just skill—it was ownership. Her lips stretched around his girth, her throat relaxing to take him deeper until his pubic bone pressed against her chin. He watched, mesmerized, as her cheeks hollowed, as her eyes watered. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room.

His hands fisted in her hair. He didn't thrust. He let her set the pace, let her worship him, let her prove to both of them that this—her submission, his need—was the core of everything. Her fingernails dug into his thighs. A shudder ran through her. He realized she was touching herself, her hand shoved into her own shorts, and the image nearly made him come. "Look at me," he gritted out.

She opened her eyes, tears clinging to her lashes. She held his gaze as she sucked him, deep and slow, her fingers working faster between her own legs. The connection was absolute. He was completely hers in this moment, and she was completely his. It was a paradox that made his chest ache. He was close. So close. "Eva," he warned.

She took him deeper, swallowing around him, and he came with a broken shout, his release pulsing down her throat. She took every drop, her body jerking with her own silent orgasm against her hand. When he was spent, she rested her forehead against his thigh, her breathing ragged. He looked down at the crown of her head, at the vulnerable curve of her neck. The tenderness that followed was more disorienting than the pleasure.

Back at the villa, Dan watched Anya walk toward the guest wing. She didn't look back. He felt Wayne's presence beside him. "She's moving in," Dan said, the words tasting like ash. "Temporary. Until we figure it out."

Wayne lit another cigarette. "You won't."

"What about you and Isla? You figure it out?"

"We have an understanding," Wayne said, but his eyes were on the horizon, empty. The understanding felt like a cage he'd built himself.

The gate buzzed. Tom's black SUV rumbled up the drive. He got out, Eva following, her hair messy, her lips swollen. Tom's face was calm in a way Dan hadn't seen in months. He slung an arm around Eva's shoulders, pulling her into his side. "What did we miss?"

Dan looked from Tom's settled expression to Wayne's hollow one, then down at his own steady, smoke-stained hands. He thought of Anya, inside his house, carrying something he never asked for. "Nothing," Dan said, finally. "We didn't miss a thing."