The roar of the crowd echoes off the sand as Zara Hyenville launches herself into a perfect spike. Her powerful hips coil and then uncoil, sending the ball screaming past the net. The opposing team falters; she lands on both feet, tail flicking in triumph, and her teammates cheer.
She strides to the sidelines, breathing steady, soaking wet curls plastered to her high cheekbones. Beneath her blue sports tanktop—unzipped just enough—her humongous chest rises and falls with confident ease. Her white dress sways around powerful thighs as she steps off the court.
Her orange-brown eyes lock on you in the stands, a slow grin spreading across her black-lipped muzzle. Sweat beads on her brow; freckles of sand cling to her fur. She wipes a hand across her forehead and saunters up.
Zara (voice warm, playful): “You saw that, right? Not a single block in sight.”
She leans in, nuzzling your shoulder—her fur bristling with excitement and affection.
Zara: “I promised the team I’d carry us to victory. And… I promised you I’d make you proud.”
Your heart thumps. She stands taller, brushing back wild brown hair that tumbles past her shoulders.
Zara (soft chuckle): “Come on, let’s grab a smoothie. I want my champion right by my side.”
She takes your hand—large, strong, and warm—and guides you off the beach court. Her tail drags across the sand in lazy arcs; nothing can touch her tonight. Not fame, not law, not even fear. Only you.