Page 43 of Packing for Vacation

“Don’t feel bad!” Scott reassures me, patting Barry’s rump for a final time before taking my hand. At Bob’s whistle, Barry runs off, a black-and-white streak heading straight for a paddock filled with sheep. “Look at him, he loves Bob. They’re gonna do some more training together, so it’s win-win.”

Each day is filled with stunning views of golden sand and turquoise ocean as we visit what Matiu calls the greatest hits—Whale Bay, a gorgeous sheltered cove accessible only by foot, Matapōuri with its oddly satisfying squeaky sand, and Cooper’s Bay, where we lounge under an old pōhutukawa tree that overhangs the beach, our heads in the shade and our legs in the sun. We eat ice cream every time we spot a Mr Whippy truck, arguing over whose shout it is each time, and there’s an endless supply of amazing coffee at every single cafe we visit.

Every night ends the same way, with the three of us in my nest. It’s the honeymoon period, I tell myself, trying to temper my excitement and protect my heart, even as they fulfill all of my desires and then some. The realisation that alphas are supposed to provide aftercare, that these two men consistently do it every time and will never just leave me lying there with a face covered in cum like Zane used to do, hits me harder than I expected, and I end up in the embarrassing position of explaining why there’s tears in my eyes as Scott gently cleans me up with a damp cloth.

“I was worried my aim was bad and I’d blinded ya,” he jokes to lighten the mood, but I see the worry in his eyes and the silent look he exchanges with Matiu, and I don’t think I’m imagining the way they hold me a little tighter than they ever have before as we lie down to sleep.

Matiu takes us to Ruapekapeka Pā, where we walk through an old battleground filled with deep trenches deceptively hidden among the tall grass. Matiu explains the history of this place and his personal connections to it—it was his iwi who fought here—and I’m introduced to the concept of wāhi tapu—sacred places—and the protocols around locations connected to the dead. Scott, wandering ahead of us as we leave, is the first to pull a plastic bottle filled with water from the car, rinsing his hands over the gravel of the parking lot without fuss before pouring the water over my hands and then Matiu’s in turn.

“Is this part of it?” I ask, a poorly-worded question, but Matiu nods in understanding.

“This is the process of whakanoa, so we’re removing ourselves from the tapu that is connected to this place now that we’re leaving it. When we visit an urupā—a graveyard—which we will later today because there’s one around the old church in Kororāreka, you’ll usually find a water tap at the gate. It’s not for drinking. It’s for washing your hands. You don’t eat or drink in these places.”

Later, after a day of learning about the history of this region, we collect Barry from doggy daycare and head down the short path from the bach to the beach for a late afternoon swim.

“This place feels like paradise,” I say as the three of us float in crystal clear water, a school of tiny silver fish swimming by. Barry runs up and down the beach chasing gulls, and we are otherwise entirely alone.

“That’s ‘cause it is,” Matiu replies, and when he meets my gaze my heart twists in my chest because he’s right, it is, and I don’t ever want to leave. “I’ve done a fair bit of travelling over the years, and there’s some beautiful places in the world, but nothing beats here. Then again, maybe I’m biased.”

“You are, but you’re also correct,” Scott agrees, leaning back in the water, his arms outstretched like a starfish. “We’re incredibly lucky to live in Aotearoa, and I’ve gotta say, this trip is doing a good job at convincing me to transfer up to the Auckland office. I like the warmth of the north, eh.”

We keep saying little things like this, tiny fragments of conversation that allude to the fact that at some point we have to figure out what the future looks like for the three of us. I know what my ideal dream is, but it’s scary, and all the practical steps that need to be taken to get there are overwhelming. I need to change or cancel my flights, I have to look into extending my travel insurance policy, I need to figure out my visa options because ninety days is the current maximum that I’m allowed to stay in the country.

I’m a coward for diving underwater just so I can leave the conversation for another day, especially because it’s not Matiu and Scott that I’m running away from, just the looming admin that leaves me feeling frozen.

I wasn’t always like this, and it’s so incredibly frustrating to feel like my own brain is holding me back.

As the weather changes towards the end of the week, the sky turning grey with a blanket of clouds and the odd shower sending us dashing indoors or back to the car, we focus on more of the inland activities. We’re in Kerikeri at a boutique chocolate shop, joking about the orgasmic sound Scott made when he took a bite of the sample macadamia butter toffee, when a sudden cramp catches me off guard. I stagger out of the cool store and into the humid air as a burst of arousal licks at my clit, slick pooling in my underwear and panic seizing my chest.

“Babe.”

I gasp at Matiu’s hand on my arm.

“It’s just us. Is it your heat?” he whispers, concern in his eyes, while Scott eyes the busload of tourists that just arrived. They’re all betas from what I can tell, a relief when I’m in this state.

“It’s just a spike.” We’ve discussed this before, that I get these in the days leading up to my heat, that it’s sometimes two weeks of spikes before the main event. Every omega is different, and I seemed to get every single shitty hormone-driven trait when I revealed. “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

I nod. “I think I’ll just wait in the car? Please buy the chocolates, I’ll be so mad if this ruins our day.”

Matiu is already opening his car door for me, gesturing for me to climb in and murmuring a reassuring “Nothing is getting ruined. We’re all good.” I slide into the backseat and he follows me, shutting us in while Scott races back inside. I lean back and close my eyes, feeling instantly safer inside this confined space.

“Do you need me to touch you?”

Matiu’s knee is pressed to mine, but he makes no other move towards me despite my perfume filling the space. I shake my head, focusing on my breathing. “Not here. Maybe when we’re back on the road?”

“I can do that.”

With eyes still closed I listen to the driver’s door open and close and the jingle of Matiu’s keys as he passes them forward to Scott. Matiu’s voice is a low rumble in my ear as he speaks. “I’m going to buckle you in, and then once we’re moving I’m going to put my hand up your skirt and you’re going to come around my fingers, okay?”

“Okay.”

This is the kind of thing that my beta sister teases me about but will never truly understand. That heats are a medical event. That it’s not just about being horny. That it’s more than just a joke.

I whimper when his hands inadvertently brush my breasts and hips, the click of my seatbelt loud in the otherwise silent car. I know everyone experiences spikes differently, and some lucky omegas get none at all, but for me it’s an all-consuming need and the less I move and talk, the easier it is to control, at least until we’re someplace safe and I can truly let go. Even the rumble of the car on the road is excruciating. My pussy is on fire, and if I don’t come I’ll surely die.

“Oh, fuck,” I whimper shakily as Matiu’s big hand slides up my thigh and under my slick-soaked underwear. He curses under his breath, lips brushing my ear, three thick fingers pushing into my pussy just as lightning flashes across the darkened sky and the rain begins to fall.