SPRING IS SPRUNG EVENT

The Saturday morning air had that particular March bite to it, the kind that reminded everyone in the tri-state area that spring was a promise, not a delivery. Two weeks before the Spring Is Sprung event, and Minkus International had commandeered its entire dock complex on the Hudson for a full rehearsal. Every activity, every game, every performance had to be tested, timed, and approved before a single paying guest set foot on the premises.

In the limo heading from the Minkus International Building was Farkle, Isadora, Jennifer, and Stuart being driven by Red. Smackle was loudly reviewing all of the planning documents which seemed to cause Farkle a problem. "You've said that three times," Farkle observed. "Repetition is the mother of retention." "Mom," Farkle said to Jennifer, "she's doing it again."

Jennifer made a sound that was not quite a word and not quite sympathy, and Smackle ignored both of them because her run-of-show had color-coded tabs and she was not going to apologize for being organized.

Across the highway and slightly behind schedule, another Minkus International Limo was navigating the Merritt Parkway with Donna at the wheel and Francine riding shotgun, a setup that always produced interesting results because Donna drove like she was being chased and Francine navigated like she had a personal vendetta against efficiency.

In that Limo, Cory was eating a breakfast burrito with the focus of a man who understood that food opportunities during rehearsals would be limited. Topanga sat beside him reviewing legal permits on her phone, occasionally reaching over to wipe salsa from Cory's tie without looking. Auggie and Ava occupied a long couch, Auggie explaining the logistics of the scavenger hunt he had designed for the event while Ava made refinements that were, objectively, improvements.

On the opposite couch, were the garment bags, and the two women who were trying to be professional about the fact that they had spent the previous night in a state that made professional behavior a challenge.

Riley sat in the way back with Maya pressed against her side, both of them dressed for a warehouse rehearsal in jeans and boots, Maya in a flannel that she had not buttoned correctly and Riley in a turtleneck that was doing its best to maintain decorum. Maya's hand rested on Riley's thigh, not moving, not doing anything, just resting there with the weight and warmth of ownership, and Riley was finding it very difficult to think about run-of-show logistics when her wife's thumb was tracing slow circles three inches above her knee.

"You're staring at your tablet," Maya murmured near Riley's ear. "You haven't scrolled in four minutes." "I'm reading." "You're not reading. You're thinking about last night." "I'm reading the activity schedule." "The activity schedule doesn't take four minutes to read. It takes forty seconds. I timed it." Riley scrolled deliberately, and the screen showed the same block of text it had shown for the last four minutes. "Testing the obstacle course. Testing the photo booths. Testing the—" "Testing the outdoor cocktail lounge," Maya said. "Which is on the ship. Which has the salon. Which has the padded floor."

"Maya." "Riley." "We're in a car with our parents." "Your parents are in the back. Your mom is reading legal documents and your dad is eating a burrito. Nobody is paying attention to us."
Riley risked a glance forward. Cory was indeed eating. Topanga was indeed reading. Auggie was indeed talking. Ava was indeed correcting. The vehicle was full of people who were not looking at the way Maya's hand had moved from Riley's thigh to the soft skin above her waistband, fingers slipping just beneath the denim, not going anywhere specific, just existing in that space where clothing met skin.

"If you start something in this car," Riley said under her breath, "I will not be responsible for what happens." "That sounds like a threat." "It's a promise." Maya's fingers retreated, and she settled back against Riley's shoulder with the satisfied air of someone who had planted a seed and was willing to wait for it to grow. Riley exhaled and actually read the schedule, and by the time they reached the dock complex, she had almost recovered.

The dock complex was a sprawling arrangement of warehouse space and waterfront access, with the MSS Temptation moored at the main pier and the Minkus International Events Warehouse sitting adjacent, a converted shipping facility that had been transformed into a configurable event space. The two KUM buses were already in the parking lot, engines ticking, and a stream of sorority sisters in matching rehearsal leggings and hoodies was flowing toward the warehouse entrance like a very organized river.

Isadora was waiting at the entrance with her tablet, her breath visible in the cold morning air, looking like a General surveying the battlefield. She had changed in the limo into black trousers and a fitted blazer, because Isadora did not believe in casual dress codes even for casual events.

"Buses one and two, check in with Aubrey at the warehouse desk," Isadora called out. "You'll be assigned to activity stations. The schedule is posted on the east wall. We're running through everything from setup to teardown, and I want every station tested by noon."
The KUM sisters filed past, some of them eyeing the ship with undisguised excitement, others eyeing Isadora with the healthy respect that Isadora commanded from everyone except the five women who had seen her naked.

Aubrey emerged from the warehouse with a clipboard and a lanyard that said STAGE MANAGER, which she had apparently given herself. She was wearing cargo pants and a thermal Hensley that did things for her shoulders that Riley felt guilty for noticing at eight-thirty in the morning.

"Aubrey," Isadora said. "You're on station assignments. The KUM girls need to rotate through every activity so we can test load capacity and timing." "Got it." Aubrey scanned the incoming crowd. "Riley, Maya, you're on ship activities. Isadora wants the salon, the cocktail lounge, and the outdoor deck tested." Riley looked at Maya. Maya looked at Riley. The salon with the padded floor. The salon where, during the last visit, four bodies had tested that floor very thoroughly.

"Professional testing," Maya said. "For the event." "Obviously," Riley said. They boarded the MSS Temptation with a crew of six KUM sisters, all of whom were enthusiastic and none of whom knew what had happened on that salon floor two weeks ago. The ship was in rehearsal configuration, with activity stations marked by colored tape on the deck and signage waiting to be hung.

The salon was set up as a relaxation lounge for the event, with floor cushions, low tables, and a sound system that Farkle had upgraded since their last visit. The padded floor was still there, covered now in a layer of decorative fabric that was supposed to make it look like a Moroccan lounge but really just made it look like a very comfortable surface for activities that had nothing to do with lounging.

"Okay," Riley said to the KUM sisters, pulling up the activity sheet. "This station is the Relaxation Lounge. During the event, it'll host guided meditation, sound baths, and massage demonstrations. We need to test the sound system, the cushion arrangement, and the capacity." "How many people can fit?" one of the sisters asked, looking at the floor space.
"Eight to ten comfortably," Maya said. "More if they're friendly." Riley shot her a look. Maya's expression was perfectly innocent, which was always a warning sign.

They spent the first hour running through the legitimate testing. The sound system worked, the cushions were arranged and rearranged, and the capacity was confirmed at ten. The KUM sisters were efficient and good-natured, and by ten o'clock, the salon was signed off and the sisters had rotated to the next station. Riley and Maya were alone in the salon.

The door was closed. The sound system was playing something Farkle had programmed as ambient event music, a low, warm drone with occasional chimes. The padded floor was still there under its decorative fabric, and the memory of what had happened on it was so vivid that Riley could feel it in her skin. "We should go help with the deck testing," Riley said. "We should," Maya agreed. Neither of them moved.

Maya crossed to the door and locked it. The click was small and definitive. She turned back to Riley with an expression that was familiar and dangerous, the look she got when she had decided something and the decision was final. "The salon passed the capacity test," Maya said. "But we didn't test the durability of the new fabric covering." "We're not testing the fabric." It's a rehearsal. Everything needs to be tested." "Maya, there are forty people outside."

"Forty people who are all busy with their assigned stations. Isadora's run-of-show has everyone occupied until lunch." Riley could feel her resolve doing what it always did when Maya looked at her like that, which was dissolving like sugar in hot water. The turtleneck suddenly felt restrictive. The jeans felt like they were in the way. Maya pulled her flannel over her head and dropped it on a cushion. Underneath, she was wearing a sports bra that was doing a minimum amount of work. Her blond hair was messy from the morning, and her blue eyes had that specific brightness that meant she had been thinking about this since the car.

"Come here," Maya said. Riley went. The kiss started slow, because they had time, and because Maya liked to build things. Her hands found Riley's hips and pulled her close, and Riley could feel the warmth of Maya's body through their layers of clothing. Maya's mouth was insistent but patient, her tongue tracing Riley's lower lip before dipping inside, and Riley made a sound that she would have been embarrassed about if she had been capable of embarrassment.

Maya pulled Riley's turtleneck over her head, and the cool air hit Riley's skin before Maya's hands did, warm palms against her stomach, sliding up to her bra. Riley unclasped it herself because Maya was taking too long, and Maya laughed against her neck. "Impatient." You locked the door. You knew what you were doing." "I always know what I'm doing." Maya's mouth found Riley's nipple, and Riley's hands gripped Maya's shoulders, her head tipping back. Maya's tongue was doing the thing that Riley had never been able to describe properly, a combination of pressure and movement that hit exactly the right nerve endings, and Riley felt the pull deep in her core, a warm tightening that radiated downward.

They made it to the floor somehow, the decorative fabric bunching beneath them, and Maya stripped Riley's jeans off with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times and still found it exciting every time. Riley's thong followed, and then Maya was between her legs, her breath warm against Riley's inner thigh. "Tell me what you want," Maya said. "You know what I want." "I want to hear you say it."

Riley propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at her wife, blue eyes looking back, Maya's mouth inches from where Riley needed it. "I want your mouth on me. I want you to make me come on this floor again." Maya smiled and lowered her head. The first stroke was slow and broad, the flat of her tongue pressing against Riley's clit with a pressure that was firm and deliberate. Riley's hips bucked, and Maya held them down with one hand, her other hand sliding beneath Riley to grip her ass, tilting her up for better access.

Maya worked her with a rhythm that was unhurried and devastating, alternating between long strokes and focused pressure, her tongue finding every sensitive spot with the precision of someone who had memorized the territory. Riley's hands gripped the fabric beneath her, her back arching, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

The door handle rattled. Both of them froze. "It's locked," Maya whispered, her mouth still against Riley's skin, and the vibration of the words made Riley's hips jerk. "Riley? Maya?" Aubrey's voice, muffled through the door. "Isadora needs you on the warehouse floor for the game station test." Maya lifted her head, her chin wet, her expression calculating. "Give us five minutes." "Five minutes for what?" "Setup."

There was a pause on the other side of the door. "You're already set up in there. I can see the station checklist is done." "Five minutes, Aubrey." Another pause, longer this time. Then, "I'll tell Isadora you're recalibrating the sound system." "Thank you."

Aubrey's footsteps retreated, and Maya returned to Riley's pussy with renewed purpose, and Riley wanted to be annoyed at the interruption but Maya's tongue had found the spot just inside her entrance, and annoyance was not available. Maya slid two fingers inside her, curling forward, and Riley's vision blurred. The dual sensation of Maya's fingers pressing against her front wall while her tongue worked Riley's clit was overwhelming, and Riley could feel her orgasm building, a tight coil that was winding and winding.

"Maya. I'm close." "I know. I can feel you." Maya's fingers sped up, the curl becoming more deliberate, pressing that spot with each stroke, and her tongue focused on Riley's clit with concentrated pressure. Riley's thighs tensed around Maya's head, her hips straining against Maya's grip, and the coil snapped.

Riley came hard, her pussy clenching around Maya's fingers in rhythmic waves, her back arched off the floor, a sound escaping her that was somewhere between a moan and her wife's name. Maya rode it with her, her fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out every pulse until Riley's body went limp. "Sound system recalibrated," Maya said against Riley's thigh. "Shut up."

Maya crawled up and kissed her, and Riley tasted herself on Maya's tongue, which sent a fresh spike of heat through her body that should not have been possible given what had just happened. Maya was still dressed, mostly, her sports bra pushed up above her breasts, her cargo pants still on, and Riley could feel the warmth of her pussy through the fabric against Riley's bare thigh.

"Your turn," Riley said. "I was hoping you'd say that." Riley rolled them over, pinning Maya beneath her on the padded floor, and pulled Maya's sports bra off entirely. Maya's breasts were flushed, her nipples hard, and Riley took one in her mouth while her hand worked the other, pinching and rolling the nipple between her fingers. Maya's back arched, her hips grinding against Riley's thigh.

Riley kissed down Maya's body, the same path Maya had traced on her, throat to collarbone to sternum to stomach, and Maya's skin was warm and tasted like the body lotion she used, something vanilla and clean. Riley unbuttoned Maya's cargo pants and pulled them down along with her underwear, and Maya kicked them off impatiently.

Maya was wet, visibly wet, her pussy glistening in the amber salon lighting, and Riley could smell her, that familiar musk that made Riley's mouth water. She spread Maya's legs wider and lowered her head. Riley started with her tongue flat against Maya's entrance, licking upward in a slow, thorough stroke that ended at her clit. Maya's hips jerked, and Riley did it again, and again, building a rhythm that was steady and relentless. Maya's hand found Riley's hair and gripped, not pushing, just holding on.

"More," Maya said. "Inside." Riley pushed two fingers into Maya while her tongue circled her clit, and Maya's pussy clenched around her fingers immediately, hot and tight. Riley fucked her with slow, deep strokes, curling her fingers on each withdrawal, her mouth working Maya's clit in matched rhythm.

The door handle rattled again. This time, neither of them stopped. "Riley." Isadora's voice, sharp and businesslike, through the door. "The game station test starts in ten minutes. I need you both present." Riley lifted her head just enough to speak. "Ten minutes." "I said ten minutes for the test, not ten minutes until you appear." "Then give us fifteen."

The silence on the other side of the door was loud. Riley could practically hear Isadora processing the information, running calculations, arriving at the correct conclusion. "I'll send Aubrey to cover the game station," Isadora said. "Twenty minutes. Not more." "Thank you, Smackle." "You owe me." The footsteps retreated, and Riley looked up at Maya, who was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"She knows," Maya said. "She always knows." "Does it matter?" Riley considered this while her fingers were still inside her wife. "No." "Then get back to work." Riley got back to work. She added a third finger, stretching Maya open, and Maya gasped, her hips rolling against Riley's hand. Riley's mouth returned to Maya's clit, sucking gently while her fingers fucked her in long, deep strokes, and Maya's moans filled the salon, mixing with the ambient music from Farkle's sound system.

Maya's orgasm built differently than Riley's, less of a coil and more of a climb, her body tensing in stages, her breathing getting shorter and sharper, her grip on Riley's hair tightening. Riley could feel it in the way Maya's pussy pulsed around her fingers, the rhythmic clenching that preceded the peak.

"Riley. Don't stop. Don't—" Riley didn't stop. She maintained her rhythm through Maya's orgasm, feeling the waves clench and release around her fingers, Maya's hips bucking, her thighs closing around Riley's head. Maya came with a sound that was Riley's name broken into pieces, and Riley held her through it, her fingers slowing, her mouth softening, until Maya's body went still.

They lay on the salon floor, breathing, the decorative fabric ruined beneath them. "That fabric didn't pass," Maya said. "The fabric was not designed for this level of testing." "I'm going to recommend a material change." "To what?" "Something washable."

They dressed in stages, fixing each other's clothes with the practiced ease of a decade of partnership. Riley repinned Maya's hair. Maya straightened Riley's turtleneck. They checked each other for visible evidence of what had happened and found none, which was a testament to their combined experience in post-coital presentation.

When they emerged from the salon, Isadora was standing at the end of the corridor with her tablet, her expression the carefully neutral face she used in board meetings. "The sound system," Isadora said. "Needed recalibration," Maya said. "For twenty minutes." "Thorough recalibration."

Isadora made a note on her tablet. "The game station test is happening now. Aubrey has been covering for you, which means she's been doing your job while you were doing—" she paused, "—whatever you were doing." "Recalibration," Riley offered.

"I'm adding a line item to the event budget for a door lock on the salon." "For security," Maya said. "For security," Isadora confirmed, and her mouth twitched in a way that was not quite a smile.

They walked to the warehouse together, and the rehearsal continued, and the KUM sisters tested games and stations and activities with cheerful efficiency, and nobody mentioned the salon again until lunch, when Aubrey sat down next to Riley with her salad and said, "So, the sound system." "Don't." "I'm just saying, it must have been some recalibration." "Aubrey."

"Isadora's face when she came back from that door. I've never seen her that combination of annoyed and impressed." Riley looked across the warehouse floor to where Isadora was eating with Farkle and Stuart, reviewing documents, her blazer still perfect, her hair still immaculate, her composure fully restored. Isadora caught Riley's eye and held up her tablet, and on the screen, visible even at that distance, was a new line item in the budget.

Riley read it and almost choked on her water. "What?" Maya asked. Riley showed her. The line item read: "Salon door lock, industrial grade — $340. Reason: Sound system requires private calibration sessions. Approved." "She approved it," Maya said. "She approved it."

Maya leaned back in her chair with the expression of a woman who had just received official sanction for her extracurricular activities. "I love this company." "You love what this company lets you get away with." "Same thing."

Aubrey raised her water bottle in a toast. "To thorough testing." "To thorough testing," Maya and Riley said together, and across the warehouse, Isadora Minkus touched her water glass to her tablet screen in a silent toast to recalibration, and the rehearsal carried on.