You sat across from Karine, your office dimly lit in the quiet evening hours. Karine exhaled, her gaze heavy, flicking to you before sliding a thin folder across the table. The paper mocked you as it moved, a noticeable hiss following it, promising nothing good.
"It did help," Karine began, her voice low but firm. "Ratings are up, and most of the initial backlash over Kamala's statements has... faded." She let that last word linger, carefully watching your face.
"But there's something else. We expected some blowback, maybe a few loud voices, but this..."
Karine opened the folder, revealing a grainy, doctored photo. Your stomach twisted as you looked at it: Kamala's face, sloppily pasted onto a naked woman's body, posed alongside images of her past relationships... Willie Brown, Montel Williams.
Your face tightened, your fingers curling unconsciously as Karine continued.
"'Harris the Whore,'" Karine murmured, the slogan emblazoned below the image. "We're calling it a smear campaign. Trump's campaign has already pushed it, using this to grab attention before they start twisting her words from the interview."
Karine's jaw tightened as she opened another sheet in the folder, her fingers barely grazing the edge of the page, as if the words themselves were toxic.
She leaned forward, her voice nearly a whisper, but you caught every word.
"They're pushing this narrative that Kamala said something like, 'I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the people who pushed me.' Twisting her words so it sounds like she's grateful for all her experiences... including the abuse." Karine's eyes darkened as she slid a piece of paper with the article's wording.
She set her lips in a tight line. "As if she's thanking Vanessa for making her who she is today."
"Well it's not the most surprising thing" You admit, you had to have seen it coming, release so much information so suddenly, putting Kamala out there on the edge just to turn the ratings a little when they didn't even matter
"President Harris called me into her office to say that she is in shambles and running off..." You pause, your eyes fixing on a marking in the table as you try to find the right words to say without making it seem the president assaulted you
"Fear" You say bluntly, mistakenly, "Fear and ignoring that any of that is even happening. She's on edge and I told you all that this wasn't a good idea, and I think we should stop everything, let the courts proceed with the cases against trump-" Your cut-off
"The problem is trump isn't going to let up, so it seems to the public, but behind closed doors there might be a way to settle all this" She says waiting for you to close your mouth and start listening
You do.
Karine leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Trump wants a private sit-down in the White House. No cameras, no advisors, just the two of them."
You shake your head, disbelief flooding your senses. "I'm not listening to this. You can't be serious!"
"Jessica, wait," she urges, her eyes narrowing in intensity. "That wasn't all Trump said. I haven't told Kamala about that part yet."
You lean over the desk, palms pressing into the cool surface as you try to absorb the weight of her words. "What do you mean? What else could there be?"
Karine glances around the dim office, ensuring no one can overhear. "He's prepared to take drastic measures. He mentioned seven foreign emails and phone numbers that have been flagged in federal databases. He's saying that if Kamala doesn't cooperate, those leads could lead to... well, chaos."
Your heart races at the implications. "Chaos? What are you saying, Karine?"
"That if Kamala doesn't agree to the meeting, those numbers will be put to use. And I don't think he's bluffing."
The gravity of her statement sinks in, and you sit back, feeling the air in the room grow thick and oppressive. "Are we really considering this?" you whisper, the fear creeping into your voice.
Karine's expression is steely, unwavering. "We may not have a choice. This could be the only way to protect her or...ourselves."
"We just handed them ammo?" You say slightly defeated
As she nods, confirming your suspicions.
You take a moment to look over everything, you feel sick looking at it all, and you wished you could have said you'd seen worse. You hadn't, again you had the prospect of Kamala staring down the barrel of a gun, again, or giving in to whatever demand Trump would make.
"To hell with it, get him on the phone to set a date..." you stand again to leave, this time Karine stops you but not to ask you to listen, you turn to her to be mean with her holding the folder out towards you.
"Miss Rose, this is your matter now, you coordinate all interaction between current and former presidents" She said coldly as if having been waiting to tell you
Hesitantly, you took the folder into your hands, feeling its weight settle against your palm.
"Great," you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible. You left Karine's office, the heaviness of the situation hanging over you like a dark cloud.
As you made your way back to the Oval Office, doubt crept in. What would you find when you walked through those doors? Fear gnawed at your insides as you approached the office, your heart pounding louder with each step.
Steeling yourself, you pushed the door open. Inside, Kamala stood by her desk, her demeanor calm yet strained, as she spoke into the phone. You watched her for a moment, the pained expression etched across her features. Kamala glanced over her shoulder, a fleeting smile crossing her face when she noticed you, but quickly fading as she returned to her conversation.
You timidly approached, your footsteps barely making a sound on the polished floor. Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts and push through the turmoil swirling within you. Kamala continued to speak, her voice steady, though you could sense the tension beneath.
"... Yes, I understand," she said, her gaze fixed on the desk as if it held the answers to all their problems.
"I'll make sure to address those concerns directly."
You waited for Kamala to finish, your heart racing, unsure of how to broach the topic of the folder and its contents.
Kamala's warm smile momentarily melted the anxiety pooling in your stomach, admittedly you couldn't call yourself mad at her, you couldn't, but god could she be intense.
But you stayed.
You crossed the room and pulled you into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around you as if seeking comfort. You hesitated for a moment, trying to muster a smile despite the weight of the folder in your hand.
Kamala pulled back slightly, her eyes searching your face. But as you looked down at the folder, your smile faded, the knot returned.
Her expression shifted, and she sighed. "Lay it on me," she said, sinking back into her chair with an air of resignation.
You're left standing just at the edge of her desk, fingertips brushing against the solid word as you conjure the words, the folder trembling in your hands. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out its contents, ready to explain everything Karine had told you about the chaos surrounding Trump's plans.
"Kamala, there's been some—"
"I know," she interjected, her tone almost robotic.
"I just set up a date. Three days from now... March 28th. I'll be ready this time..." Her voice trailed off, distant, as if she were mentally preparing for a battle.
You backed up slightly, feeling a chill run through you.
It was clear Kamala was slipping into whatever mental space you didn't know how to pull her from. Your nerves stand on edge legs burning with adrenaline ready to run if need be, you move pain sickeningly slow backwards another step.
Eyes glued to her hands, making sure they never moved.
"Don't act like I scare you Jessica, I love you I would never, I'm sorry I was a little too rough I'll make it up to you in due time..." She said, her voice staring off sharp and authoritative, you freeze, your initial plot to run squashed.
Just as you were about to speak again, she perked up, her gaze sharpening, though it felt more like she was looking through you than at you.
"I'll be away for the rest of the evening," she stated, her tone clipped. "I have to go visit a... friend?"
Your heart raced at the vague answer. "Who?" you asked hesitantly.
"Gretchen, of course. Who else?" she snapped, her eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and something deeper.
You could sense she was lying, the twitch of her lip weakening her facade.
Prying further? Hell no
But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. "Kamala, are you sure you're okay?" you ventured, hoping to pull her back from whatever dark thoughts she was wandering into.
"I'm fine," she replied quickly, but the sharpness in her voice made you shudder. She stands up and makes her exit, you don't follow instead gather the papers, and wonder what to do.
You're on edge by this point, tears threatening to fall. She had promised to teach you who to do this, to help you, but all she'd done so far was make you feel crazy. You didn't follow Kamala as she made her way out of the office, her form disappearing into the hallway without a backward glance. Instead, you sank into one of the chairs, gathering the scattered papers with trembling hands, the weight of it all bearing down on you. The room felt suffocating, the reality of the situation closing in as your vision blurred with tears.
It was a hollow ache, realizing just how distant she'd become.
You'd held on to the hope that she'd be there to guide you, to help you settle into this role and teach you how to navigate the world she moved through so effortlessly. But instead, she'd gone further away, shutting you out and leaving you to deal with it alone. The growing fear of her mood swings, the hollow stare in her eyes, the lies—you felt unsteady on your feet, in danger, fumbling to act in a position you weren't sure you could even do without her guidance.
Staring down at the messy stack of papers in your hands, frustration tore at you.
How could she leave you like this, just...alone? You felt lost. You tried to blink away the tears, but they came harder, hot and insistent, and soon they slipped down your cheeks, unattended too.
When you finally gathered yourself enough to move, you returned to your office, closing the door behind you and taking a moment to breathe in the quiet.
You could feel your heart racing, a trapped bird in your chest.
Needing someone to talk to, someone who might understand, you picked up the phone and dialed Kamala's sister, Maya. The phone rang, and you gripped it tightly, the silence between each ring echoing painfully in the room.
Finally, Maya picked up, her voice warm but cautious. "Hello?"
You tried to form words, to explain, but they came out as a sob, your voice breaking.
"Maya I can't do this, she's off the deep end, she's got her gun..." you huff as your first concern jumps to your mind
— — —
Kamala sat motionless, eyes forward, her gaze hard and unyielding as it seemed to pierce through the partition. Silence had become her refuge during these rides, an enforced stillness where no one dared disturb her.
She held herself rigidly, her hands resting stiffly on her lap, though every fiber of her being remained alert.
Her mind was exhaustive, tangled webs, for everything around her, every minor movement, every car that passed, each corner they turned. She needed to feel it all, to notice it all, yet it was as though she was grasping at shadows, her focus split, scattering...
And still, Vanessa lingered in her mind, a strange, almost ghostly presence.
What could Vanessa want to say?
It echoed in her mind.
A half-formed question with no answer, an itch she couldn't reach to scratch.
Forgiveness? No, redemption? It was far too late for that.
Earlier, she'd received notice of Vanessa's request to see her. She had felt a hollow rush of anger, a cold, distant pang. She hadn't mentioned it to you, to anyone—Luckey she'd even wanted to acknowledge the request herself.
Her eyes sharpened, but her mind drifted deeper, tracing the places she would not go, questions she refused to entertain. she had it, she could use it if she needed to...
If she wanted to. Make her fears about the one person that got through her, made her a victim, humiliate her and put her on the stand in a trial she had to release to the public... to air her most hated moment... She did it all.
Her hand slid from her lap and to her, brushing aside her blazer to rest her fingers on the mettle handle, its grip cold and abrasive...
She could see it now, maybe, just maybe, she was planning to escape, by trying to get her to trust her again. Lure her in, charm her, make her feel... how she did again.
Kamala's leg began to shake, rising and falling rapidly, making a tapping around as the car rounded another corner.
"Two stops away from the penitentiary, madam president"
Kamala's hands trembled as she could feel herself gripping Vanessa's shoulders, her voice a frantic whisper, "Vanessa... Vanessa... VANESSA! You aren't in going to get away with hurting me, or anyone else I live again, understand me" she cries as she moved her hand around Jessica's neck
Jessica's face blanched, her gaze unsteady, lips parted in confusion. "Kamala... it's me. It's Jessica. You're hurting me."
"Don't try to confuse me, you know what you are, and you're scared of what I can do to you, aren't you Vanessa? I'm in control now" she snarled, her hand clamping tighter electing a panicked whimper from the woman she pinned
Kamala's vision flickered, and in that shadowed light, Vanessa's features twisted, her expression cruel and taunting now horrified and pleading, Jessica's face appeared. Kamala's breath hitched; Vanessa's face leered back at her, the smile mocking, daring her once again to do anything.
The unfamiliar dread clawed its way up her throat, Kamala hand firm, choking Jessica.
"No," Kamala stammered, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
"I won't let you do this to me, to her, to anyone... " Kamala said she's felt her nerves harder as she willed herself to her next motions
Her hand went to her side
Fingers brushing against the cold metal at her hip
In the haze of her fear, her Glock felt like an anchor. Her fingers curled around the grip as her pulse quickened, every inch of her warning, demanding her to protect herself, to protect Jessica.
The weapon felt heavy, real— comforting.
Jessica's eyes widened, terror dawning as Kamala raised the gun. She lifted her hands in protest, pleading
"Kamala, it's me! Stop... please, don't do this!"
But Kamala heard only Vanessa's voice, taunting her, pushing her to the edge. Her grip tightened, finger pressing against the trigger, a distorted sense of justice searing through her thoughts. The lines blurred, twisting Jessica's terrified gaze into Vanessa's sneer.
Her finger slipped, barely aware she'd pulled the trigger, until the gunshot rang out.
Jessica's body crumpled to the floor, and the vision cleared in an instant.
Kamala's breath stopped, the room plunging into silence.
Reality crashed down as she knelt beside you, your eyes fluttered shut. Kamala reached out, hands trembling, panic spreading as she murmured, "Oh God... Jessica... no." unsure what to do as she watches life fade from your eyes.
The SUV came to a halt just outside the prison joining Kamala forwards, she snapped from her daydream back to her reality. She doesn't seem fazed by the twisted dream she had, only more weary.
It weighs in the back of her mind.
She would never hurt you...
The SUV came to a halt just outside the prison, jolting Kamala forward, snapping her out of her hollow thoughts and into the present. She blinked, taking in her surroundings, adjusting as the chill of reality set in. Her mind was elsewhere—a dull ache in the back of her head whispered reminders of the strange, twisted daydream she'd just drifted through. But it barely phased her.
Instead, it left her only more confused.
As she stepped out of the vehicle, she took a deep breath, glancing up at the towering walls ahead, darkened by the overcast sky. Kamala entered, silent and deliberate, she wasn't sent through security, a mistake...
Following a guard down a series of deserted hallways. The sound of her heels echoed faintly, bouncing off-white walls and barred windows, each one blurring the view of a sunless, cold horizon outside. The air was heavy, the walls worn from age and disuse, and a dim light buzzed overhead as they turned a corner into the maintenance hallways—the hidden arteries of the prison, where only staff and select visitors were sent.
She reached a small, chilled interview room.
She stepped inside, her hands crossed in front of her as she waited, her eyes scanning the room. The barred windows let in faint, muted light, painting the room in a soft glow that cast hard shadows across the floor. There were no cameras, no interruptions—she'd insisted on that.
This conversation would be only between the two of them, she didn't know why she was here, only that Vanessa asked, and she was here now.
Moments later, Vanessa was led in.
Kamala shut her eyes briefly as the cell door clanged shut behind them, the officers retreating and leaving her alone with the woman who...
Kamala opened her eyes to Vanessa's smug, defiant stance, beckoning her to join her seated at the table. She looked Kamala over, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth.
One chair sat ajar on the long side of the table, the other positioned Kamal at the short end.
"How's it out there?" Vanessa's voice cut through the silence, she extended her hand to invite Kamala to sit, Kamala did.
She doesn't answer, only watches Vanessa as she sits.
Legs shaking as she sat down, her hands quickly unbuttoning the second button of her blazer, her gun was pressing into her side, sure to leave an imprint.
"You came to ask me not to talk to Fox? Or to make a deal with me before Trump gets me on board with that 'Harris the Whore' joke?"
Kamala opened her eyes slowly, the calm mask she wore hardening just slightly. Her jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch, didn't even shift.
"I didn't come here to beg," Kamala replied, her voice steady, though low and almost deadly in its restraint.
"What do you want, I have other things to be doing? I'm here out of curiosity, not-"
Vanessa laughed, the sound dark and cold, dismissing Kamala's words with a slight roll of her eyes.
"Curiosity?" she repeated, her tone mocking.
"You asked me to come here" Kamala snapped, not in the mood for games, Vanessa just gave a sly smile as she sat down in one of the chairs situated at the table.
Her hands were uncuffed, but she didn't reach to touch her, she sat there.
"I did, but still I didn't come here to beg or play games, what do you want young?"
Kamala's composure began to slip as her irritation surged, her hands clenching and unclenching as she stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply on the cold floor. She loomed over Vanessa, her shadow casting a dark shadow over the woman who sat so smugly, taunting her. Kamala's heart hammered, the dream she'd had—a twisted scene of herself standing over Vanessa, gun in hand—flashed in her mind, a moment of raw, unfiltered rage.
For an instant, she was frozen, the memory so visceral.
Vanessa's sly smirk didn't falter. She leaned back, crossing her arms as if she had all the time in the world, and looked up at Kamala with a gleam of contempt.
"Suddenly you defend yourself?" she sneered, snapping Kamala back to the present.
Kamala took a breath, forcing herself to sit down across from Vanessa, her expression calm but her eyes blazing. Vanessa leaned in, her voice dripping with mock pity.
"You know, Kamala, you were an open book. You let me in so easily, like a naive little girl," Vanessa said
"All those walls you built up as a prosecutor? You let them crumble for me. Stupidly, at that." She spat the last word, letting it hang, savoring the insult.
Kamala remained motionless, her fingers pressing into her lap, fighting the urge to retaliate. She wouldn't give Vanessa the satisfaction.
But Vanessa's eyes narrowed as she switched her target.
"And Jessica?" she continued, voice taunting.
"You think she cares about you? She's just using you, Kamala. She doesn't want someone who's barely holding herself together, who can't even handle a little loss without spiraling. She's going to use you, leave you all alone like the loser you were then and are now!."
The words struck a nerve, and Kamala's calm shattered. Her fury erupted as she surged forward, mere inches from Vanessa's face, her voice reverberating off the walls. Her hand wound tightly in Vanessa's blue jumpsuit collar.
"I didn't lose anything!" Kamala screamed, her voice raw with rage.
"You took from me—you stole my dignity, humiliated me, and all for money you never even got!" She paused, her face so close to Vanessa's that she could see her own reflection in the woman's widening, horrified eyes.
Vanessa's cocky facade faltered, her smirk fading as Kamala's rage bore down on her, unrelenting, unforgiving. Kamala's grip tightened, her knuckles white as she kept Vanessa locked in place, forcing her to meet her searing gaze. Her breath came hard and fast, anger radiating from her.
"What do you want from me?" Kamala demanded, each word like a hammer blow, laced with a warning she didn't need to vocalize. She wouldn't be here again; she was done playing by Vanessa's rules.
Vanessa's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "My freedom," she replied slowly, savoring Kamala's fury.
" Well a transfer, to one of those cushier facilities, with TV rooms, courtyards..." She trailed off, then leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Or you."
Before Kamala could react, Vanessa's lips pressed against hers in a brief, invasive kiss. The shock paralyzed her just long enough for Vanessa to pull away. Kamala recoiled, releasing Vanessa and immediately turning away, her hand wiping her mouth in disgust.
"Don't deny it, Kamala," Vanessa taunted, her voice low and venomous.
"You know you want me. You can lie to yourself, but I see right through it—"
Kamala spun around, her voice hitting a fever pitch. "I will kill you if you don't leave me the hell alone, Vanessa!" She roared, pausing as she eyes flickered between each of Vanessa's eyes to make sure she knew
"I'm giving you one chance, one chance to get what you want, to make this better for yourself." Her words were like a storm, her entire body taut with rage. "So, tell me—What do you want?"
Vanessa smirked, a glint of satisfaction flickering in her eyes as she repeated with calm defiance,
"You. And, of course, the transfer." She stood slowly, circling Kamala like a predator, then reached up, tracing a finger along Kamala's chin, her touch lingering.
"But I wonder... which of those things I'll get first."
Kamala swatted her hand away, jaw clenched as she stepped back, disgust mingling with barely contained anger.
Vanessa's touch is so simple but so insistent.
"Don't touch me" Kamala spat as her head moved to follow Vanessa's path around her
"Make me" Vanessa whispered as her other free hand found its place on Kamala hip as she stopped square in front of Kamala staring into her eyes
"Can you feel alive with me like you think you do with her?" She asked as her lips meant Kamala again, the kiss lasting longer than the last time
Kamala's heart thumped in her chest as she felt helpless to stop Vanessa, limbs refusing to move, eyes tracking Vanessa's. Watching as they fluttered shit as if kissing a long-lost love, hand pressed against Kamala's chest, made her want to squirm.
She stood there accepting of her touch for a moment. But as Vanessa's lips left Kamala, she stepped back with a satisfied grin playing at her lip.
"Can you feel that fire?"
"Fire" Kamala repeated
"Do it, shoot me"
Vanessa's hand drifted lower, her fingers grazing Kamala's hip as she slowly tugged at the button of her pants. Kamala's breath hitched, her body betraying her, frozen beneath Vanessa's insistent, mocking touch. Vanessa leaned in, her lips landing on Kamala's jaw in a wet, lingering kiss, sending a shiver through her that she couldn't stop.
The room felt small as Vanessa's laughter came too softly in her ear, an unsettling, confident sound as her other hand joined, attempting to work Kamala's pants free.
Kamala's body tensed, within between anger and helplessness.
Then, without warning, Kamala's hand shot out, fingers closing around Vanessa's wrist in a sudden, firm grip.
Their eyes locked.
Vanessa's triumphant smirk faded, and for a brief instant, fear flashed in her gaze. Her breath hitched.
Kamala's eyes, burning, bore into Vanessa's.
There was no hesitation now.
She leaned closer, voice low and steady, filled with a fierce determination. "Don't ever mistake me for someone who'll let you do this again." She tightened her grip on Vanessa's wrist, forcing her to drop her hands and take a step back.
Her hold still firm.
"Go ahead, Kamala. Prove you're stronger than me." Vanessa's voice, though laced with desperation, taunted her,
Vanessa's eyes flickered with something sinister, as if sensing the exact vulnerability Kamala hid beneath her fury.
"You're not mad about what happened. You're mad because you couldn't stop it," Vanessa whispered, her voice low, needling into Kamala's rawest nerve.
"I see it, this is killing you because you let someone else take control." She smirked, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.
"Jessica couldn't understand that, could she? She loves this picture-perfect Kamala, but you and I know the truth. She'd never handle this side of you." she starts
Kamala's grip tightened, her fingers digging into Vanessa's wrist with a newfound intensity. Her eyes were trained, a flicker of self-doubt lurked, though.
"Stop talking about her," Kamala hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.
Vanessa leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper, her taunt more hateful than ever. "I don't think I will. Because unlike her, I'm not afraid of this side of you. And somewhere, deep down, you're not either. Admit it, Kamala, you crave someone who isn't intimidated, who knows exactly what buttons to push."
Kamala's hand trembled as it came down in that slap, her palm stinging with the force, but a sick sense of satisfaction coursed through her, a single flash of control.
Vanessa staggered, her cheek reddening, and her eyes blazed with a strange, amused delight as she steadied herself.
"Oh, is that all?" Vanessa sneered, clutching her cheek as a cruel smirk stretched across her face.
"Come on, Kam. You're still so weak." Her voice was a whisper, almost seductive in its disdain.
She tilted her head, studying Kamala, savoring the flash of doubt she saw in her.
"You liked hitting me, Kamala, Jessica can't please you like you need" Vanessa's said extending her hands outward to Kamala, taking another step closer, Kamala pushes her back
Kamala's mind casting back to the vivid, chilling daydream that had haunted her, a vision of you. Standing in front of her with wide, terrified eyes, paralyzed as her own hand betrays her with its steadiness. She'd fired without hesitation, and the shock and betrayal that flashed across your face was seared into her memory.
"Stop it. Stop talking about her," Kamala hissed, forcing steel into her voice. But Vanessa only smiled wider, feeding off her desperation.
"What's wrong? The truth hurts, doesn't it?" Vanessa whispered, leaning forward, her voice low, poisonous. "Jessica's too soft to handle this part of you. You're going to scare her off" Her fingers reached out, Kamala swats them away
Vanessa leaned in, her mouth grazing Kamala's ear, her tone a cruel whisper, "You think you're in control now? Because you hit me? That little slap?" She laughed, a mocking sound that made Kamala's blood run cold.
"So am I getting that transfer, or what? Or are you finally going to let me try my other type of convincing?" she asks as she took hold of Kamala's collar and pulled her in close, Kamala's hand moved instinctively to push Vanessa back, but Vanessa grabbed her wrist, holding it there with surprising strength.
For a moment, Kamala's resolve crumbled, a pulse of fear running through her as Vanessa's face moved close again, too close.
"You're just a scared little girl who thinks wearing a suit and putting on a smile will make you strong. It's why Jessica will leave you, Kam. She'll walk away once she sees who you really are. Scared, hopeless, with her big bad gun..." Vanessa's voice softened, still taunting, as she pressed a lingering kiss on Kamala's neck.
"What are you going to do, Kamala?" Vanessa's voice slithered into her ear, bringing her back into the stark reality of the moment.
"Nothing. You're still weak, just like you always are. Let me fix you. Or do you want to keep pretending Jessica's going to accept this, you got her that big girl job, and she can barely do it..."
"Get your hands off me." Kamala said sternly as Vanessa felt her hand slip from her grasp, then the rustle of Kamala blazer rising and falling as the sound of metal on plastic echoed off the walls.
Vanessa, slightly scared, retreated, her hands raising as Kamala neared closer, her hand shot out and balled a potion of Vanessa jumper into her fist and jerked her forwards. Kamala took a shaky breath, finally feeling the power over Vanessa she wanted so badly
Kamala kept her hold on Vanessa, her fingers digging into the fabric of Vanessa's jumpsuit, feeling the satisfying tremor of control returning. Her other hand brought the cold weight of her weapon up, punctuating each word as she leaned in, her voice low but filled with authority.
"You're done, Vanessa," she said, her voice as unyielding as the metal she pressed against Vanessa's bottom lip.
"Whatever you thought you had over me, it's over."
Vanessa's defiant smirk faded, her bravado faltering under Kamala's gaze. Kamala continued, her grip tightening, the gun waving in front of her.
"You're being transferred. Federal prison in Florida. You won't be anywhere near me, Jessica, or anyone else you think you can manipulate. And before you get any ideas, you're signing NDAs—multiple."
Vanessa's lips parted as if to retort, her eyes flashing with rebellion. "You're bluffing," she sneered, her voice thick with forced confidence.
Kamala didn't hesitate. She shoved Vanessa backward, her body hitting the hard bars of the cell with a metallic clang. With a slow, mocking smile, Kamala brought the muzzle of her gun to Vanessa's lips, tapping it against her bottom lip again, with calculated precision, a twisted mockery of a kiss.
"If you ever try to fuck with me again," Kamala whispered, her voice a razor's edge, "I will go on a manhunt and broadcast every second of ending you. Leave. Me. The hell alone. Do you understand?"
"They know your name, they know your face now... you won't be able to hide for long if I let you out of here... I will murder you do you understand me and do whatever it take in my power to watch you die, do you understand me.. " she added
Vanessa's eyes widened, fear finally breaking through her mask as she whispered, "Yes".
"Good," Kamala replied, her tone deadly calm as she released her grip, holstering her gun with steady hands. She stepped back, straightened her blazer, and strode to the cell door, knocking for the guard.
"A staffer and a counselor will be in touch in the next few days," she added, her voice cold and detached. She kept her back to Vanessa as the guards approached to escort her out.
— — —
As you dial, each ring worsens the unease settling in your chest. Maya picks up on the third ring, her voice light and expectant, unaware what she's about to step into.
"Hey! How's—"
"Maya," you interrupt, your voice barely steady. "It's... it's Kamala. She got her gun, and she's been acting strange, almost... violent."
Maya's tone shifts instantly. "How? What happened?"
You take a shuddering breath, the stack of memos in your hands feeling unbearably heavy as you hold the phone to your ear. It's all just now hitting you, these papers delivered minutes ago, everything Kamala had been silent about, right here, staring back at you, as if mocking you for not seeing it sooner.
"Maya..." you whisper, struggling to find your voice,
"...they just dropped off these reports, all her requests from days ago. If I'd seen these sooner, maybe..."
"Jess, what are you talking about?" Maya asks, concerned threading through her voice.
You swallow, blinking hard, staring at each memo, each small piece of a puzzle you should have seen.
"It's all here. Every time she asked to be driven back and forth from her place, these little things that I brushed off. And here," your voice breaks, the last memo crumpling slightly in your grip,
"she got a request from Vanessa Young to visit...a federal inmate, Maya. Kamala's been reaching out to her? Or she's been reaching out to Kamala, and I just... I didn't see it. I didn't want to."
You hear Maya's breath hitch on the other end of the line, and she's quiet, letting you continue.
"I pushed her away. I thought... if I just distanced myself, she just wanted to protect me, but I was so... I was so scared, Maya? I was scared of what she was becoming and what she'd said to me. If I'd listened, I shouldn't have taken it so personally—she wouldn't be wherever she is right now, doing God knows what."
A heavy silence follows, and then Maya speaks, voice steady but filled with urgency. "Jess, this is Kamala's fight, not yours. You did what you could; you weren't supposed to know all that and that's what Kamala had planned for."
" I could have helped her..."
"No, Jess." Maya's voice is firmer now.
The strength in her tone cuts through the spiral of guilt. You nod.
"Maya, that isn't all..." You admit
The line goes quiet for a beat, Maya's silence thick with dread before she finally speaks. "She's calling me, Vanessa? She has her gun, and I'm the only other person who knows she has it, and she set up a sit down with trump... alone?"
"No one knows she has it?" Maya asks in shock
"Yeah"
Maya lets out a sharp sign. "Alone? Hell no. And nobody knew she even had her gun?!" she pauses before she asks another question, "How bad is it, Jessica?" Maya's voice is soft, but there's an urgency in her question.
You swallow, fighting back the panic welling up in your throat. "She... she told me she's going to visit Gretchen."
Maya lets out a worried laugh. "Jessica, that's not a visit. Kamala would like to be and say she was going to visit Gretchen when they were secretly bumping chooches, "She's up to something." Her tone hardens,
"Get off the phone with me, and call her details right now. Find out where she is, Jess."
Your hand trembles as you nod, already searching for the next number to dial. "Maya, what if—"
"Don't even go there," Maya says firmly. "Call her team and tell them. Kamala wouldn't hurt anyone, not when she's worked so hard to get here"
The call drops, but her words echo in your mind, grounding you. You steel yourself and dial, praying you're not too late, or she isn't in the middle of sparing prison guards to escape. With a trembling hand, you press the number for Kamala's Secret Service head. Your pulse races, hoping for a straight answer. The line picks up, and you waste no time.
"Where's Kamala?" you ask, voice tight. "What's she doing right now?"
The agent's response is calm, almost routine. "Ma'am, she's returning to the White House after visiting with an inmate."
You breathe a small sigh of relief, a question slipping out before you realize it. "And... that inmate... are they in good health?"
Silence stretches on the other end. A split-second of quiet, but it feels like an eternity. And then, a cold, familiar voice slips through, slicing the stillness.
"You think I don't have any self-control?"
The iciness in her tone makes you cringe, uncertain if she's upset or—God, is she toying with you?
"No, Kamala... I didn't know. I'm sorry, I... I was worried. Can we talk about things?" You're almost pleading, hoping she hasn't turned stone-cold on you, that there's still room to reach her.
She doesn't answer immediately, and each second stretches painfully. Then, her voice filters through, low and laced with something unreadable.
"Jessica... are you still at the White House?"
The question hangs in the air, and your heart sinks. You bite down hard on your lip, replaying her words in your mind, trying to read between the lines. Why was she asking this? Is she testing you? Gauging your reaction?
Finally, you muster a response, clear and decisive.
"No," you lie, hoping it sounds convincing.
A low hum comes from her end, but she doesn't respond. The line goes dead, and you sag against your chair for a moment, but then it strikes you like a lightning bolt—you're still in your office, in the White House. And Kamala's on her way back.
Panic surges through you, propelling you to your feet. You scramble to gather your things, your mind racing. You need to be out of here before she arrives. Throwing files into your bag, you shove the chair back, practically flying out of your office, the heavy door echoing behind you as you dash down the hall.
— — —
You spot Kamala's car pulling up as you approach your place. Your heart leaps, dread and relief mingling in a strange, unsettling dance. She steps out, calm and collected, her hands buried in her pockets, her gaze half-lidded and unreadable. She falls in line behind you, each of her footsteps a shadow to yours. You keep your eyes forward, willing your breath to stay steady despite the racing panic in your chest. Had she figured it all out? Caught you in the lie? And why hadn't she said anything if she had?
As you reach your door, you pause, fingers fumbling with the key. Kamala waves off her Secret Service agents, and when you look back at her, her gaze is steady, almost probing.
"You wanted to talk?" she asks, her tone unreadable.
You nod slowly, forcing yourself to keep calm as you step aside, letting her enter first. She walks in, making her way directly to the kitchen without another word, her movements steady. You close the door, setting your things down on the nearby table, crossing your arms as you follow her, still uncertain.
Kamala glances over her shoulder, catching the tension in your stance, and a slight smirk tugs at her lips, one you can't quite read.
"Let's make something to eat. Talking's easier on a full stomach."
You nod stiffly, watching her as she sets to work, pulling ingredients from the fridge, grabbing a cutting board. Her focus shifts entirely to the task at hand, and there's something surreal about the domesticity of the moment, the calm in her movements—so at odds with how'd you come to perceive her.
"Kamala..." you begin, your voice soft, hesitant. She glances up briefly, a small acknowledgment to continue, but her hands never stop moving, slicing vegetables with a precision that somehow adds to the unease.
"I wasn't trying to undermine you, I was worried, you've been acting strange, and I don't know what to do, my job, you won't talk to me, a-and that stunt you pulled in your office!" you start, but stop sensing yourself flush with heat.
You open your eyes, and look down.
You find yourself as watching her hands as they masterfully manipulate the ingredients, you kind for wanted to be them you though but snapped out as her slicing suddenly became harder
You had not continued what you were saying.
"Stay focused darling... You were saying something important?" She said in a deadpan tone that made you feel almost as if she was carefully crafting a response
She pauses, the knife stilling in her hand, but she doesn't look up.
"You were so rough? And-"
"I thought you liked that?" She said as she turned away for a moment dropping the board's contents into a bowl behind her, you press your lip together curving the punch of the sensation growing between your legs and continue
As Kamala chops the vegetables, her focus narrowed, you move slowly around the counter, inching closer to her side. Her hands work methodically, each slice a deliberate motion, until you reach out, your fingers brushing against hers. Startled, her hand stops mid-motion as you gently push the knife from her grasp, setting it aside.
She raises her eyebrows, a flicker of surprise crossing her face, but before she can react, you bring your hand to her cheek, fingertips brushing against her skin, and tilt her chin so she's looking directly at you. Her eyes are still half-lidded, but you sense her guard slipping, if only for a second.
"Yes!" you say, agreeing only a little
"But that's not the point, Kamala, you're scaring me." You swallow, words tumbling out in a rush as you finally let it out.
"You were calling me Vanessa. The text messages, the outbursts..."
Her gaze shifts, a flash of guilt stirring in her expression, but you press on, tightening your grip just slightly to hold her attention.
"Kamala, I don't understand. You went and got your gun, you didn't tell anyone! You told me to do my job, and now..." you pause, "Now you are quite literally my job, Kamala. I was supposed to set the date for you and Trump, and you did it yourself. Thank you, but...damn it, Kam."
Her gaze hardens, but you see a flicker of something other than contempt for your words for once.
"I'm trying my best here," you continue, your voice softer now, your thumb brushing over her cheek.
"As your girlfriend and your chief of staff. I want to fix things, for us, for your presidency." You hesitate, looking down for a brief moment, gathering your thoughts before you meet her gaze again.
"You say you'd kill her if I asked... I thought, maybe, just maybe, you actually did it."
"Did you still want me to?" she asks as you bring your gaze to her eyes, you stare into them searching for a glimmer of understanding, you see it but clouded.
The words send a chill down your spine, and as your mouth opens to respond, the click of metal pulls your attention to her hands. She places her gun on the counter with a hard, echoing clank, the sound sharp against the silence between you. You take an instinctive step back, eyes darting between the gun and her, and you know she notices your discomfort.
Kamala sighs, planting her hands on the counter, her shoulders tense. She looks down, her gaze fixed on the things she'd been preparing, as though she can't quite bring herself to look at you.
"Jessica," she says softly, her voice careful, controlled.
"I don't want to hurt you, and I never will. Things have been hard lately. Everything Is... stressful, and I know you understand." Her eyes finally meet yours, almost pleading.
"But you can't be so worried, especially when, like you said, you have a job to do. I'm sorry for how I've been acting... I'll do better. I can't lose you... and I won't."
She steps forward, her arms reaching to pull you in, but you hesitate, blinking as the weight of her words sinks in.
Lose you.
The words echo in your mind, unsettling in their certainty.
You step back slightly, feeling the tension in the room shift.
You can tell she hates this topic...
"Kamala..." you begin, your voice catching. "Are you still afraid someone's going to try to kill us?"
She meets your gaze again, this time her expression stony.
"No," she says, voice low, almost a whisper.
"I'm not scared of them killing me." She swallows hard, eyes darkening. "No, I'm scared of them killing you. I can't bear the thought of losing—"
"Control," you interrupt, the word slipping out before you can stop it
Kamala's face hardens, her expression unreadable as she abruptly turns back to the counter. Her grip on the knife tightens, and she resumes chopping with a force that makes each cut sound like a deliberate snap, echoing sharply against the cutting board. The tension is present more than ever.
"Kamala," you murmur, trying to soften the edge that's settled between you both. She doesn't respond, shoulders squared, her focus fixed on the chopping. Her silence stings, but you press on, moving closer.
"Are you going to help me cook you something to eat, or should I let you enjoy that days-old Chinese takeout that exploded in the break room microwave?" Her words are cold, clipped, the petty jab unmistakable and meant to sting, her voice as sharp as the knife in her hand.
You bite back a retort, knowing it's her way of deflecting, and instead, you make your way to the stove top.
Stirring the pot of simmering gravy, you can feel her eyes flick to you, her gaze lingering even as she tries to mask it.
Each time a bubbling drop of sauce splashes up, catching your skin, you let out a small yelp, hoping she doesn't notice.
But you catch her watching, her jaw set, her lips pursed, yet she says nothing.
The tension between you is almost suffocating, an unspoken tension that feels impossible to break. You try to focus on cooking, stirring as the seconds tick by, but just as you reach for the next ingredient, Kamala stops you, her hand reaching out to steal yours.
"You never answered," she says, her voice low, barely above a whisper, but there's an urgency beneath it that's impossible to ignore. Was she really asking you right two you wanted Vanessa killed?!
"Kamala, you answer that, do you want Vanessa dead?" You scoff, knowing that she'll be gone as long as you let her, your lips pressed together as you steel your nerves and turn to face her.
Kamala's eyes narrow, her jaw tight as she catches the sarcasm in your tone. She takes a step closer to the stove top, brushing past you with a firm nudge, her body language making it clear she's done with your questioning.
"Move, Jessica," she mutters, voice tight as she stirs the pot, refusing to look at you.
You feel the heat of frustration rise, matching her coldness with stubbornness of your own.
"Kamala, this—this is exactly what I'm talking about! The constant mood swings, shutting me out, keeping everything from me!" You press on, refusing to let her ignore you.
"I'm frightened, Kamala! I don't know where you're at half the time, mentally or physically. One minute you're fine, the next, I'm terrified of what you'll do!"
Kamala keeps her attention on the food, her movements mechanical as she tries to shut you out. Her silence only fuels your resolve. Finally, you snap, tone shaking as you lay down an ultimatum.
"Kamala, tell me what's going on—right now—or we're done. I love you, but I refuse to be with someone I don't understand, someone I can't help when they need it." Your voice wavers, but you don't let yourself back down.
She slams the spoon down, the clang echoing through the kitchen as she spins to face you, voice rising. "I don't need your help, Jessica!"
You laugh bitterly, folding your arms.
"Then why are you asking me to tell you to kill Vanessa? Why haven't you done it already, if it's what you want? You had the chance, didn't you?" Your voice softens, but you press forward, shaking your head.
"Kamala, I don't know Vanessa enough to hate her outside the hell she put us through. She almost got us both killed, and that's it. I don't care about her, as long as she's far away from us and not helping Trump's people scheme. You... you can't control every little thing."
You pause, the weight of everything unsaid heavy between you. "If you could just let go of that, we could figure this out," you say quietly, dropping your hands.
"But if you're not going to listen... then leave. I'm done. I can't keep this up anymore."
The words hit hard, even for you. Your voice breaks as you throw your hands up in resignation, turning on your heel and leaving the kitchen. You make your way to the bedroom, feeling Kamala's gaze on you as you go, the door slamming shut behind you.
In the kitchen, Kamala stands motionless, watching the empty doorway, the echo of the slammed door still resonating. She clenches her fists for a moment before releasing them, turning back to the stove top. Her jaw sets, and she picks up the spoon, stirring the pot again as though nothing happened.
Kamala started down in the swirling pop as she let her mind drift,
'I didn't fuck up, she'll understand sooner or later'
The bathroom is filled with a soft, rose-scented steam, warmth lingering in the air as candlelight flickers across the walls. You settle back into Kamala's arms, feeling the soothing heat of the water envelop you both. She sits behind you, her legs cradling yours as her arms wrap gently around your waist, fingertips tracing idle circles along your skin. It's a slow, peaceful rhythm, one that makes you feel secure, anchored in her presence.
The long day has finally faded away, and here, in this quiet moment, it feels like nothing else exists. You lean your head back against her shoulder, closing your eyes and letting the scent of roses wash over you, comforting and delicate. Kamala's breath is steady, her presence grounding as she holds you close.
"Your nieces... they were adorable today," you say, a smile tugging at your lips.
"The way they ran up to you, all smiles, so proud of their Aunt." The memory brings a soft laugh to your voice as you recall the joyful chaos of the moment.
"I loved watching them look at you like that, like you were a superhero in real life."
Kamala lets out a quiet chuckle, her chest vibrating gently against your back. "They're my heart, you know that," she murmurs, her voice low, like she's sharing a cherished secret.
"It meant everything to me to have them there, to let them see all of this..." She lets out a sigh, and her hand moves from your waist, fingers brushing gently along your collarbone, a slow caress that makes you feel cherished.
You smile, closing your eyes as you let yourself melt further into her warmth.
"I can see why it means so much," you say softly. "Today felt so surreal, watching you up there, seeing everyone cheering, believing in you. And all I could think was... that's my Kamala."
She hums appreciatively, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, lingering there as if savoring the moment as much as you are. "I couldn't have done any of it without you," she whispers.
"Having you by my side... that's what gives me the strength to keep going."
The words settle over you like a blanket, wrapping around your heart in a way that makes you feel seen, cherished. The water ripples gently as she adjusts slightly, her arms wrapping around you a little tighter.
"I love you," you murmur, your voice barely audible as you soak at this moment. "Being here with you tonight... It's like nothing else matters. Just you and me."
Kamala's hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent promise. "Tonight, it's just us," she murmurs in agreement. She rests her chin on your shoulder, her face close to yours as she presses a gentle kiss to your temple, lips lingering there in a gesture of adoration.
A comfortable silence falls, the two of you simply existing in each other's presence, basking in the tranquility of the moment. The soft warmth of the water, the calming scent of roses, and the feeling of her heartbeat against your back all combine to make this one of those rare, precious moments when everything feels perfectly right.
"I don't want this night to end," you say softly, turning your head just enough to meet her gaze.
Kamala's eyes, warm and gentle, hold yours, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Then let's stay here a little longer."
The warmth in Kamala's arms suddenly shifts, the tension in her grip tightening in a way that pulls you from the lull of relaxation. Her fingers dig into your arms, her nails pressing uncomfortably against your skin, and her breath grows uneven behind you.
"Kamala...?" You murmur, but her hold only tightens.
"Vanessa," she hisses, her voice no longer soft but sharp, dripping with a familiar hatred.
"You think you can just walk back into my life, ruin everything, and get away with it?"
Your heart pounds as you realize her eyes aren't seeing you—she's somewhere else, wild. You try to pull back, to bring her back to reality, but she presses down, her hand finding your shoulder and pushing you down toward the surface of the water.
"Kamala, stop! It's me—Jessica!" You choke out, struggling as your head dips dangerously close to the water, but her grip doesn't loosen.
"You'll never touch me again," she snarls, her voice almost unrecognizable, as if it's someone else entirely.
Her hand presses on the back of your neck, forcing you closer to the water's edge, panic flooding your mind as her words blur together in a feverish tirade.
"You'll never get another chance... never!"
Your fingers scramble against the edge of the tub, trying to find some leverage, and just as the water laps dangerously close to your face, her hands loosen.
She gasps as if waking from a dream, her eyes wide, realization, and horror dawning as she stares at her hands, then back at you.
Kamala blinks, standing in the kitchen now, her hands shaking slightly as she finishes stirring the sauce, her face pale and blank, haunted by whatever thoughts linger. The plates are set, the meal prepared, but the room feels colder, silent but for the steady, rhythmic sound of the spoon scraping the pan.
— — —
You sit on the edge of your bed, head buried in your hands, tears streaming hot and heavy down your cheeks. Each sob catches painfully in your throat, leaving it raw, as if you're trying to rid yourself of all the hurt that's taken root. Your eyes are swollen, your face blotchy from the endless stream of tears, and it all feels surreal—a raw disbelief that you actually broke things off, even if it was only in the heat of the moment.
But the reality of it presses down on you: that she was willing to let you go rather than face her own fears. She'd rather ignore you, shut you out, even risk your relationship, than confront whatever was lurking in her mind. The thought twists painfully, and a new wave of tears wells up as you bury your face in your hands again, your shoulders shaking.
The house feels too quiet. You'd assumed she left after you walked away, but a gentle knock suddenly breaks through the silence. You wipe your face hastily, half-expecting it to be Maya checking on you. You shuffle to the door, dreading what you'll see on the other side.
As you unlock and slowly pull it open, Kamala stands there, looking almost... timid. There's a faint embarrassment in her expression, and her usual confidence is dimmed by something more vulnerable, as though she's a child caught doing something wrong.
"Come eat... please," she says, her voice low and unsteady. She glances down, her fingers fiddling at her side, her vulnerability almost palpable.
"I-I should apologize... you... you deserve that much."
You don't respond immediately, just staring at her, raw emotions tangled between wanting to hold her and the hurt that lingers. Finally, you nod slightly and follow her to the kitchen.
At the table, you sit as far from her as possible, the distance thick with everything left unsaid. The meal she prepared sits steaming on your plate, but you barely touch it, keeping your eyes down. Each bite feels heavy, the silence between you almost louder than words...
Kamala's words start softly, but soon her frustration takes over, she's finally letting you hear it all.
"I'm terrified that Vanessa got so close to me without me noticing. I was a prosecutor, Jessica. My job was to notice the tiniest details, to pick at seams until they unraveled. And then she did it to me, to my life...she held that video for nearly a year, planning every detail of the assassination, and I couldn't even see it. I'm supposed to protect people from things like that. I couldn't handle it, like I should have, "she admits, her fists clenching by her side, her voice low and raw.
You place your hand on hers, your arm slightly stretching to reach, your touch meets hers, and she doesn't tell you to back up or curse at you, her hand flips and you hold.
You can feel the tension in her fingers.
"Kamala, none of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong by trusting someone, someone you paid to be able to trust, you aren't worse of a person for letting someone close. Vanessa's actions are hers alone, and you shouldn't have to bottle all of this up."
Her jaw tenses, but she doesn't pull away, a glimmer of vulnerability in her gaze.
She's listening.
You continue, your voice steady. "That control—that drive to have everything under control, doesn't mean you should go back to what happened earlier... how things got." The words are cautious, you want to express how uncomfortable you felt, threatened even, knowing they might sting, but they're necessary.
Kamala's eyes meet yours, a flicker of pain flashing through them, yet she nods slowly. It's clear she's taking it in, processing her silence more tellingly than words or once. She picks at her food in between thoughts, as if grounding herself, trying to piece together a sense of control without losing herself to it again.
She leans back, exhaling deeply.
"I don't want to lose you, Jessica," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll do what it takes. I know I need to change. I'm willing to... if you'll stay."
The weight of her words settles over the room as you both finish your plates, the silence no longer suffocating but filled with an understanding that feels rare, precious.
When the plates are empty, the air feels lighter, yet two questions still burn in your mind. You gather your strength, meeting her gaze head-on as you ask, "Will you see someone for help, long-term? You told Fox you were getting help... If you don't they'll find you, itll only stay under wraps for so long."
Kamala shifts uncomfortably, her expression hardening momentarily, there's a flash of defiance, but the spark in your eyes compels her to answer. She sighs, her reluctance visible, yet after a pause, she nods. "Alright... I'll seek someone out. I don't want to give them ammunition, but I'll do it. I'll work with someone. For you. For us."
You nod in acknowledgment, relief beginning to ease the weight in your chest. But there's one last question that remains, one final point of trust you need from her.
"Give me your gun, please?" Your voice softens, a pleading edge slipping in as her eyes flick over to where the weapon rests on the counter
She looks back to you, hesitation in her eyes.
"No, I need it," she says, her tone stubborn, almost defensive.
"For what, Kam? You have the Secret Service; they're by your side every second."
Her voice drops, her gaze intense. "To protect you, Jessica. I can't lose you."
A tension spreads between you, but you refuse to back down. "You won't lose me. I'm with you all day, every day, with protection that practically shadows me. Please... if you're serious about us, about showing me that you're trying, I need you to put it away."
Kamala hesitates, her resolve flickering, until finally, she nods slowly. "I'll talk to the head of my detail. I'll keep it locked up in my office drawer...I'll only take it out when we travel"
"Okay fine, but before meeting with Trump you show me your hip"
She nods. And you nod. You both agree, you finally got your chance to talk. It went better than the last time.
It isn't everything you wanted, but it's a step. And at that moment, sitting across from her, both of you softened by your reconciliation. You can't help but smile as you wipe a year from your face as Kamala starts rubbing light patterns across your hand. Before you know it, Kamala clears the dishes, moving quietly around the kitchen as you sit back, watching her work.
Neither of you speak, but the silence between you feels softer, almost comforting.
You let yourself breathe, the tension that's weighed so heavily on you both beginning to lift.
When Kamala finally turns, your eyes meet, and you can see exactly what she's thinking. She steps forward, standing right in front of you where you're seated, her gaze intense but softened, her expression open in a way you haven't seen in what feels like ages. She's beautiful like this, her defenses down, her brow smooth, her shoulders relaxed. There's something undeniably magnetic about her, and at that moment, you realize you're captivated.
Slowly, she leans down, her hand reaching up to trace gentle patterns along your neck, her touch featherlight and lingering. Your breath catches as her fingers find their way to the nape of your neck, her warmth spreading through you as she holds you there, her face just inches from yours.
"Let me take things right... a redo?" she murmurs, her voice a low, hushed whisper. "Please?"
Before you can answer, she leans down, capturing your lips in a hard, intense kiss, her hand slipping up to cradle your face. You melt into her touch, feeling the strength of her resolve, her quiet plea to make things better radiating through every touch, every press of her lips against yours.
You pull back just enough to look into her eyes, your hands sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding yourself in her presence, her solid warmth.
"I'd want that too," you whisper, and Kamala's eyes shine as she smiles, a small, soft thing that holds a world of promises.
She pulls you to your feet, her hand resting gently on your back as she leads you out of the kitchen and down the hall. You feel your heart race as Kamala's hand rests on your back, guiding you along. The world outside fades, and it's just the two of you, the promise of a redo hanging in the air between you.
Kamala stops in the bedroom door, her eyes locked on yours. She reaches out, her hand sliding up your chest, her fingers tracing the outline of your muscles. You feel a shiver run down your spine as she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear.
"I'm going to make it up to you," she whispers, her breath warming against your skin. "I promise."
You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. Kamala smiles, a small, soft thing that fills you with hope.
"Get undressed," she says, her voice low and sultry.
You obey, stripping off your clothes as Kamala watches, her eyes roving over your body with an intensity that makes you feel alive. When you're naked, she steps closer, her hands running over your skin, her touch electric.
Your breath hitches as Kamala's fingertips graze your skin, a featherlight touch that sends shivers down your spine. The sensation is almost unbearable, a tease that makes you ache for more. She leans in closer, her voice a low murmur in your ear.
"Get on the bed," she commands, her tone firm but gentle, a blend of authority and tenderness that leaves no room for refusal.
You do as she asks, lying back on the mattress, the softness of the sheets a contrast to the heat already building inside you. Kamala follows, climbing onto the bed beside you with an effortless grace. She straddles you, her body pressing down on yours, the weight of her both comforting and electrifying. Her lips brush against your skin, a series of delicate kisses that trail from your neck down to your collarbone.
It's oddly erotic how you're so exposed, but she's covered from head to toe still.
"I'm going to take my time with you," she whispers, her voice a promise, a sultry invitation that sends a thrill through your body.
You moan softly, unable to contain the sound as her mouth moves lower, her tongue darting out to taste the sensitive skin of your chest. The sensation is intoxicating, each flick of her tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel her hand slide between your legs, her fingers finding your entrance with ease. She probes gently at first, just a hint of pressure that makes you whimper in anticipation.
"Kamala..." you breathe, your voice thick with desire as you arch up into her touch
She responds by pushing her middle finger inside you, slow and deliberate, filling you inch by inch. You gasp at the intrusion, your hips bucking involuntarily as your body adjusts to the feeling. She circles her finger, searching for that perfect spot, and when she finds it, you cry out, your back arching off the bed.
"That's it," she murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she increases the pressure, her finger thrusting in and out of you with a steady rhythm.
"Let me hear you."
Your mind is focused entirely on the way her finger feels inside you. Each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your breaths coming faster and shallower as you near orgasm. When it finally hits, it's explosive, a wave of pleasure that crashes over you, leaving you trembling and breathless.
Kamala doesn't stop, even as you writhe beneath her, your body still convulsing from the aftershocks. Instead, she shifts her attention, moving her mouth to your nipples. She sucks one into her mouth, her teeth grazing the sensitive nub before flicking it with her tongue. Sharp contrast to the more gradual build-up earlier, and you groan, your hands gripping the sheets tightly.
"Please," you beg, though you're not sure what exactly you're asking for. All you know is that you need more, something to take you there again.
Kamala understands, releasing your nipple with a wet pop and moving lower.
She pauses just above, her breath hot against your most sensitive area. You shiver, desperate for her to touch you, but she doesn't give in right away. Instead, she teases you, her tongue flicking out to trace a line from your clit down to your entrance, only to retreat just as quickly.
"Do you want this?" she asks, her voice a seductive purr as she looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire.
"Or do you want something else?"
OH, SHE IS FANCY SHE GAVE OPTIONS
You nod frantically, too overwhelmed to form words. Your hips buck up, trying to press yourself against her mouth, but she holds you firmly in place with one hand while the other strokes your thigh reassuringly.
"Ask nicely for it," she commands, her voice firm, Although her words almost childish
"Please," you whisper, your voice barely audible, but she catches it.
"Nu huh, Louder," she demands, her eyes shoot up at you, catching the look on your face as you hold yourself up to stare down at her
"Please, Kamala," you say, your voice stronger this time, your eyes begin to roll and your toes curl
She rewards a wicked smile before diving in, her tongue delving deep inside you. The sensation is overwhelming, a flood of pleasure that makes you cry out her name. She doesn't let up, her tongue working in tandem with her fingers, stroking and probing relentlessly to drive you wild.
You push against her head, a half-hearted attempt to slow her down, but she continues unfazed, determined to bring you to the brink. It becomes a battle of wills, her insistence versus your pleas for release.
"Kamala, please," you beg once more, your voice breaking as you reach your limit.
But she doesn't listen, her determination unwavering. She knows what you truly want, even if you can't admit it to yourself. Her face is now buried between your legs, thighs closing around to trap her, her hands find purchase on your ass, planting, gripping and pulling at you to bring you closer.
You almost shy away but find her softer approach more your style as you invite the dull tug of your skin against the fingers.
For a moment you find some relief, but it's quickly stripped as her finger go back to working in tandem.
Kamala's fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside you, her thumb pressing firmly against your clit. You feel another wave of pleasure building, your body tensing as you approach your second orgasm. Her tongue laps at your folds, her breath hot against your sensitive skin. You can hear the faint slurping sounds as she devours you, her determination evident in every movement.
"Kamala... I'm..." you gasp, your voice trembling with the effort to speak.
"Shh," she murmurs, lifting her head for a moment to meet your gaze. "Let it happen, Jessica."
Your hips buck against her face as the orgasm consumes you. Kamala doesn't stop; she continues to devour you, her hands moving with precision as she milks every last drop of pleasure from your body.
Finally, when you can take no more, Kamala pulls back, her face glistening with your desire.
She looks up at you, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "There you are," she whispers, wiping her chin with the back of her hand.
"Did you enjoy that?"
You nod, too spent to form words. Kamala moves up your body, straddling you once more. She leans down, her lips pressing against yours in a deep, lingering kiss. You taste yourself on her tongue, a mix of sweat and desire. When she pulls back, you see the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
"I think you deserve a little treat," she says, her voice soft but firm. She shifts off you and stands, stretching her arms above her head. Her body is strong and supple, skin pressed against eh button up now loosely tucked, a perfect blend of power and grace. You watch as she walks to the bathroom, her hips swaying with each step.
She returns a few moments later with a warm, damp cloth. She kneels beside you, gently cleaning your thighs and abdomen, her touch tender and careful.
"There," she says, tossing the cloth aside. "Now, let's get you cleaned up properly."
Kamala helps you sit up, then guides you to the bathroom. The steam from the tub fills the room, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling your nostrils. She helps you into the warm water. You sink into the bubbles, sighing with relief as the heat soothes yo.
Once you're settled, Kamala grabs a bottle of massage oil from the shelf. She sets it on the edge of the tub, then steps back and starts to undress. You watch, mesmerized, as she strips down to nothing. Her body is flawless. She slides into the tub behind you, her presence enveloping you in warmth.
Kamala pours some oil into her hands, rubbing them together to warm it. She begins at your shoulders, her fingers digging into the knots there. You moan softly, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. Her touch is firm but gentle, each stroke deliberate and effective.
"Relax," she murmurs, her lips brushing against your ear. "Let me take care of you."
You close your eyes, surrendering to her ministrations. Her hands move down your back, massaging every inch of your skin. The oil makes her touch slick and smooth, each caress sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, calming relaxation.
Kamala's fingers trace down your sides, skimming over your ribs before moving to your hips. She grabs your waist, pulling you closer to her. Her chest presses against your back, her nipples hard against your skin. You can feel her breath against your neck, slow and steady.
"How does that feel?" she asks, her voice low and intimate.
"Good," you manage to reply, your voice thick and lazy.
Kamala's hands move lower, tracing the curve of your ass. She squeezes gently, then trails her fingers down your thighs. She spreads your legs slightly, positioning herself between them. Her fingers dip into the water, finding your entrance once more.
"Still sensitive?" she teases, her voice a purr.
You nod, unable to hide your arousal. Kamala smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder.
"Good," she whispers.
With that, Kamala's fingers slide inside you again, you moan. She starts slow, her movements languid and deliberate. The sensation is almost too much, your nerve endings singing with pleasure.
Kamala's other hand reaches around, cupping your breast. She tweaks your nipple, rolling it between her fingers.
She continues to work with you, her touch both gentle and commanding.
"You never came the third time that night"
Your eyes widen when you understand what he's saying.