January 18th
The waiting room felt like a void.
Kamala sat slouched forward, her elbows on her knees, fingers woven through her hair. Every so often, she would shift, releasing a small grunt of discomfort, but the pain in her body was nothing compared to the war raging in her mind. The weight of the past and present pressed against her skull, blurring together into something unbearable.
'Kendra' she'd whisper only for Samara's face to flash in her mind, she couldn't remember what Kendra looked like alive...
Araminta had left the room multiple times, only to return with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands. She hadn't spoken in hours. None of them had.
Tazara leaned heavily against her mother, whispering, 'I shouldn't have left her.' Her voice cracked, raw with guilt. 'She needed me, it wouldn't have happened if I stayed.' Julia rubbed slow circles into her daughter's back, murmuring reassurances that didn't seem to sink in.
The clock on the wall ticked away the hours. The nurses passed by with unreadable expressions, some stealing glances at them before disappearing down the hallway. The doctor overseeing Samara's surgery had done the same, but hadn't said a word about her condition, eyes heavy with something Kamala didn't want to name.
They had to be hiding something, biding their time? The news couldn't be that terrible, right...
Still, none of them let the fear take root. None of them let the worst settle in their bones. Samara was a fighter. She would make it. She had to.
Then, the silence shattered.
"Tonight, we have an exclusive story on the incident at Howard University yesterday, January 17th."
All heads snapped to the television mounted in the corner.
"An armed and dangerous man was reported to have shot Kendra Bernard early that morning. Later, the same suspect after entering Dormitory 3, and shooting the first victim, took a student, Samara Jordan, hostage before shooting her as well."
"Authorities are unaware of how the suspect was able to enter the dormitory as it is a key card entrance only, there has been rest speculation that the door's key card mechanism was in fact broken"
A sharp breath left Araminta. Julia's fingers tensed against Tazara's back. Kamala started, unblinking, as the news anchor continued.
"At this time, both victims remain in critical condition. The suspect, Troy Harper, was shot by law enforcement, and authorities are still investigating the motive. However, sources have confirmed that Samara Jordan is the daughter of Oscar Jordan, a man Troy Harper murdered over ten years ago. After serving time, Harper was released on parole, with the understanding of the Jordan family's multiple restraining orders filed against him."
Kamala's stomach twisted.
They had been sitting here all night. Watching, waiting, praying, and this was the first time they were hearing details. Some false, some true, but it didn't matter.
Before anyone could react, movement from the hallway drew their attention. Police officers exited Samara's hospital room, their notepads filled, pages flipped, pens still moving as they scribbled down notes. How long had they been in there, how long had Samara been out of surgery, was she being awake, coherent? They walked briskly, avoiding eye contact, their faces trained ahead as they left.
Araminta was on her feet before anyone could stop her.
"Oh, hell no—"
She stormed to the reception desk, her voice a razor against the air. "Twelve hours. Twelve fucking hours and not a single one of you fucks thought to tell me what's going on with my daughter? But the damn cops can waltz in and out like they are the damn Pope, is she awake or not, she's going to live, tell me something? PLEASE!"
The receptionist flinched. "Ma'am, please—"
"I don't want to hear it! I want to see my child!"
A nurse arrived, trying to de-escalate. "We understand your frustration, Ms. Jordan, but Samara just came out of surgery not too long ago. Officers arrived hours-MINUTES! Ago, she's stable, but she's in a great deal of pain. We can take you to her, but-"
"I don't give a damn, you're letting the cops ask her shit and she was high? Take us to her, before I start using my masters in law to see how much of your check will be missing." Kamala cut in, her voice level, but firm.
The nurse hesitated, then nodded. "Follow me."
The group trailed behind, each step heavier than the last.
Before they entered, the nurse turned, her expression careful. "She's awake, but in and out. The pain medication is strong. You can't touch her. She's in a lot of pain." They all stood outside the door, inhaling deeply, bracing themselves.
Then, the nurse pushed it open.
And they walked inside.
The door creaked open, and they stepped inside, moving with quiet caution. The beeping of the monitors filled the room, a steady rhythm that clashed against the heavy silence between them.
Samara's eyes fluttered open at the sound, hazy and unfocused at first. Then, recognition slowly dawned. A weak, faint smile stretched across her lips.
"Hey," she murmured, voice slurred from the meds.
She looked pale, her skin washed out under the harsh fluorescent lights, but there was warmth creeping back into her pigment. The massive bandage covering her wound was stark against her skin, a dark splotch of red peeking through. Their gazes all landed on it immediately.
Noticing, Samara let out a breathy laugh, lifting her hand to cover it.
"Damn, y'all, act like you've never seen a little blood before." She giggled, the sound soft and loopy, her words tumbling over themselves.
"I'm good. I think. Wait—am I good? I feel like I got hit by a—by a—by, like, a fucking truck."
Still, no one responded, their expressions frozen somewhere between relief and devastation. They each found a place to sit or stand, still too rattled to speak.
Then, Araminta broke the silence.
"I should have been better," she whispered. Then louder, firmer, voice thick with emotion: "I should have done better."
Samara blinked sluggishly, her head tilting slightly as her mother continued.
"I should've seen this coming. I should've fought harder to stop it—all of it. I should've been a better mother to you. And I lied. I lied about so much, about your father, about" Her breath hitched.
"I am so sorry, Samara. For everything. For not protecting you."
A heavy silence settled over the room. Samara just stared at her mother, blank, unmoving.
Then, without warning, she burst into laughter.
Everyone was startled, Araminta stiffened, eyes welling with fresh tears.
Samara wheezed between laughs, clutching weakly at her bandages, voice still thick with drowsiness.
"Ma, I just almost died. What the fuck am I gonna stay mad for?" She waved a hand lazily in the air.
"Yeah, you lied about me not having a dad, and yeah, you kinda derailed my whole life for some man who ended up trying to kill me. But—" she exhaled dramatically, blinking heavily
"you're my mom. I only get one, even though you mean as hell."
With a goofy, half-lidded smile, she lazily reached out and patted Araminta's head in an awkward attempt at comfort.
Then, just like that, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped, completely unconscious.
Tazara screamed. "Oh shit!"
She immediately dropped into an offensive stance, hands out to her sides like she was ready to fight death itself. Julia gasped and bolted for the door, yelling for a nurse.
Kamala hesitated, her stomach twisting at the sight of Samara going limp, but she forced herself to move. She reached out, barely touching Samara's shoulder, before her gaze snapped to the monitors.
Steady beeps. No alarms. Everything seemed fine, so why the hell did she just zonk out like that? A nurse rushed in, Araminta sobbing openly now, but the woman simply sighed, shaking her head with a small smile.
"She's fine," the nurse reassured, glancing at the monitors. "She's just recovering. Her body is still circulating the blood back through her, and those pain meds? Strong is an understatement. She probably just couldn't handle them, she'll wake up soon enough."
Tazara exhaled so hard she almost collapsed. "Man, I swear—"
Before she could finish, Samara shot awake.
A raw, low wail ripped from her throat, her entire body tensing.
Then, her head whipped around, her wild, dilated eyes darting between them before she suddenly blurted out a string of legal jargon.
"Section—no, wait, Title—uh education connection! 2014—case law precedent—what the fuck justice?—"
Kamala stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. Samara froze.
Her gaze locked onto Kamala's, eyes blown wide like she was seeing something utterly unreal. Her heart rate spiked. Then, in a stunned, breathless whisper, she said:
"You're hot. I love you."
The room went silent. Kamala blinked. Then chuckled, shaking her head.
Araminta sniffled, wiping her eyes. "Well. At least we know that hasn't changed."
Laughter rippled through the room, light and exhausted.
The nurse groaned, rolling her eyes. "Alright, I'm leaving before y'all stress me out."
As soon as she walked out, Tazara wordlessly slid into her mother's seat.
"she cannot do that again," she muttered, clutching her chest. "I damn near shit myself."
The room erupted into laughter again.
For a while, they lingered in the hospital room, talking about anything and everything to keep Samara engaged, to see if she'd zonk out again. But she didn't. She stayed awake, cracking jokes through her exhaustion, making light of the pain still clinging to her body.
No one knew what came next. Troy was dead. The police had already taken Samara's statement, though she was high as all hell and left. Now what?
None of them had an answer.
So, they sat there, basking in the silence of survival, unsure of what the next step was supposed to be.
May 21, 2027
The air was thick with excitement. The ceremony hall buzzed with murmurs and cheers as names were called, one by one, sending fresh graduates across the stage to claim their futures. Samara stood near the back of the line, shifting her weight between her feet, fingers clenching and unclenching around the fabric of her gown. The years had passed faster than she ever expected. The classes are easy like she expected though. Four years of law school. Four years of late nights, weed-fueled fake study sessions, and exams. Four years of her and Kamala, staying together through it all.
Classes spent watching her talk as she'd imagined what they'd done just the night before. Sneaking back into her dorm late at night, only for tazara to be awake and ever so probing.
No one ever found out. No one ever questioned it.
They were happy, and for once in their lives, there was no one trying to shoot them, no one trying to expose them. Just them, moving in silence, loving each other in private, unbothered.
And now, she was about to graduate. The moment they called her name, she heard Julia and Araminta screaming from the crowd.
She wanted her father there too. So she clutched tightly to the tattered bear in her hand and waited. She laughed softly, shaking her head, then walked across the stage. Kamala stood at the end, waiting, holding her degree. Their eyes met, and for a split second, everything else disappeared.
As she reached for the diploma, Kamala leaned in slightly. "Proud of you," she whispered.
Samara fought the urge to kiss her right then and there. Instead, she settled for a tight hug before pulling away and walking off the stage.
Then, it was Tazara's turn.
She did the same, flashing a cocky grin as she snatched her degree from Kamala's hands, "watch it, don't make me tell the dean you were the one smoking up the dormitory and the law building" she joked offering tazara a smile, before she strutted off with the same ease she carried herself with every day, but muttering to herself that Kamala wouldn't do that...
'Would she?'
They had done it. Top of their law school class, not valedictorian or superlative, because they couldn't care less about that, but they had made it.
They had survived.
May 23, 2027
Boxes covered every inch of their dorm room, stacked high with years of memories and sleepless nights.
Tazara taped one shut, sighing. "I swear, this shit doesn't feel real."
Samara was quiet, staring at the last box she needed to pack, it didn't feel right.
She was terrified. Going back to Baltimore meant being stuck, waiting for her life to start again. She didn't want to stay home, trying to get on her feet, trying to find a job, trying to figure out what came next.
She could apply to the DA's office. But she'd seen how that went the last time. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to shove the last of her things into the box.
Then, shfft.
Something slid under the dorm door. Tazara turned, frowning. "The hell?" She picked up the envelopes, flipping them over. "It's got our names on 'em."
She handed Samara hers.
The room fell silent as they tore them open.
Their eyes scanned the words, jaws dropping in unison.
Kamala had found them jobs. Not just any jobs—positions at Covington & Burling, one of the biggest law firms in D.C. interns then full positions, paid of course.
"How the hell does she keep doing this" tazara questions in astonishment and in no way judging or complaining.
Their housing would be covered. Their salaries were beyond decent. The only catch? They had to sign a contract to work there, two years as their intern, then three years as a full-time employee with a bonus if they stayed after it was up.
Tazara shrieked, jumping up and down. "Oh my God! Are you serious? We got a motherfucking job straight outta law school? This is insane!"
Samara didn't move.
She sank to the floor,"This can't be real. This can't be real. This cannot be fucking real."
Tazara grabbed her shoulders. "Bitch, are you serious? We just got Covington & Burling dropped in our laps! That ain't exactly what you wanted, but girl, you know damn well this is a crazy first job out of law school!"
Samara shook her head. "I mean—yeah—but damn! Corporate law? Raiding companies? Suing people? I mean, I guess it's kinda like prosecution, but actually HELL YEAH I STILL GET TO DRAG PEOPLE SO I'M WIT IT!—"
She had a motherfucking job. She screamed. "I'm EMPLOYED!"
"Bitch, we are now elite employees!" tazara said as she struck a pose
She shot up from the floor, grabbing Tazara, both of them jumping in place, yelling. Then, just as suddenly, they stopped.
Tazara caught her breath, then smirked. "Yo. We gotta go thank her ass."
Samara laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, I definitely gotta thank her well."
Tazara snorted. "I bet you do."
Grinning, they grabbed their boxes and started loading their cars.
—
Before they even realized what was happening, they were standing outside Kamala's house.
They stood there, frozen for a moment, taking in the sight before them. Kamala stood at the door, covered in food and spices, her hands dusted with flour, and a mischievous grin on her face. The scent of something rich and comforting—garlic, cumin, and cinnamon—wafted from behind her, filling the air with warmth.
"Hey!" Kamala's eyes widened when she saw them standing there. "You two... What are you doing here?"
They shared a glance, the excitement still bubbling between them. Before she could ask again, Samara spoke up, almost breathlessly, "Thank you. For the job offers. We're definitely taking them."
Without another word, Samara leaped forward, practically throwing herself into Kamala's arms.
Kamala laughed, surprised but not hesitant, wrapping her arms around Samara as she lifted her off the ground.
"Whoa, easy there!" She chuckled, then shot Tazara a look over Samara's shoulder, her eyebrows raised in playful confusion.
"Are you sure you two aren't trying to knock me out or something?"
Tazara smiled sheepishly. "No, just really, really, really excited."
Kamala's laughter died down, and she stepped back to look at both of them. "Alright, alright. Come on in." She stepped aside, motioning for them to enter. The moment they walked in, the smell hit them again—homey, rich, and comforting. The kitchen was cluttered with spices and chopped ingredients, a pot of something simmering on the stove.
Kamala turned back to the stove, stirring as she spoke. "I was just prepping for the week. If you're hungry, though, you're welcome to stay. I've got more than enough food for all of us."
The two of them nodded eagerly. Samara slung an arm around Tazara's shoulder. "We'd love to stay. Thanks for the invite."
Kamala smiled as she continued cooking. "So, what do you two think about the job offers?"
Tazara and Samara exchanged a glance before Samara answered. "Honestly, I'm still in shock. I didn't expect to be getting a job this good, straight out of law school. It's like something out of a dream."
Kamala nodded, stirring the pot. "I had a call from Covington & Burling asking if I wanted to join their firm, but I'm not going back to practice. So, I mentioned you two. They reviewed your work, and they were more than happy to extend the offer."
The two of them just stared at her in awe, their jaws almost hitting the floor. Samara grinned. "You're a goddamn miracle worker, you know that?"
Kamala chuckled. "I just know the right people. And it's not about miracles; it's about seeing potential. I'm proud of you both."
The girls quickly gathered their senses. Samara cleared her throat. "So, um, what can we do to help with dinner?"
Kamala blinked, taken aback by their sudden eagerness. "What do you mean?"
Tazara looked at Samara before both of them walked over to the counter, grabbing aprons and some knives. Samara swung hers over her head with a grin. "We're not here to just eat, Kamala. We want to help. You've done enough for us."
Kamala raised an eyebrow, but when she saw them already armed and ready to go, she laughed. "Alright, alright, I guess you can help. As long as you don't burn down my kitchen please. But all you're doing is stirring this pot, and one of you can chop the vegetables."
Without waiting for any more protests, she handed them the ingredients they needed. Samara started chopping vegetables, while Tazara eagerly took her place at the stove, stirring the pot.
Kamala looked over at them with a smile as she got started on something else. "You two are going to make excellent lawyers—definitely good at following orders."
Tazara shot her a look over her shoulder. "Is this how you handle all of your employees, Kamala?"
Kamala laughed softly. "You two? Absolutely. You'll learn that I'm a great boss. Now get to work."
The trio continued to work side by side, making light conversation between stirring and chopping. They didn't need to say much. The peace in their laughter and the warmth in the kitchen said it all. They had made it. Together.
—
Tazara leaned back in her chair, rubbing her stomach with satisfaction. "Alright, I'm calling it a night. Might look for an apartment for the two of us while I'm at it," she said, stretching her arms above her head.
Kamala, who had just taken a sip of her wine, tilted her head. "You can take the guest room if you want."
Tazara's eyes lit up with relief. "Oh, hell yes. Thank you." She pushed herself up from the table, yawning.
Kamala stood as well. "Come on, I'll show you where it is."
As they disappeared upstairs, Samara began clearing the table, gathering the plates and silverware. She moved through the kitchen with an ease that surprised her—grabbing the dish soap without searching, putting things back exactly where they belonged. She had memorized Kamala's kitchen from the last time she was here. The thought made her pause for a moment, her fingers tightening around the edge of the sink.
When Kamala returned, she leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Samara work. "You really didn't have to do all this," she said softly. "I could've handled it."
Samara smirked, drying her hands on a towel. "After everything you've done for me? This is the least I can do... unless you had something else in mind."
She didn't miss the way Kamala's lips parted slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as Samara slowly walked toward her. The tension stretched between them like a taut rope. Kamala barely had a chance to react before Samara's hands slipped around her waist, pulling her in, pressing their bodies together, nearly chest to chest. Their breaths mixed, their heartbeats drumming against one another's chests.
Kamala hummed, her voice teasing, sultry. "All I do?" She repeated Samara's words like a slow mantra, making them sound like a promise.
"Yeah..." she added, mind swirling with the possibilities
Samara smirked before tilting her head down, capturing Kamala's lips in a deep, lingering kiss. The warmth of it spread through her like wildfire, igniting something deep and familiar between them. When they pulled back, Samara's eyes gleamed with mischief.
"So," she whispered against Kamala's lips, "you got anywhere in this place that's soundproof? Or are we risking hearing Tazara?"
Kamala chuckled, her hands sliding up Samara's back. "Guess we'll just have to be extra quiet."
Samara's pulse quickened. "Oh, I can keep it in," she murmured.
"But I get to go first. You owe me for the whole classroom thing, and telling me to turn over, it felt amazing but damn do I got an idea for you." Kamala said
Samara's smirk faltered for just a second, just enough for Kamala to know she had won this round.
But then Kamala's expression softened, her gaze searching.
"Are you sure you want to keep this going?" she asked, voice quieter now, more serious.
"You're still young, Samara. Very young. I don't want you to feel... tied down."
Samara cut her off before she could say another word. "Kamala. If I didn't want this, I wouldn't still be here. I wouldn't have stayed after Claire hit me with that damn gun."
Silence stretched between them for a beat, then they both burst into quiet laughter.
Kamala shook her head, letting out a breathy chuckle. "You really are something else."
"So I've been told."
They separated reluctantly, finishing the last bits of cleaning before Kamala poured them each a glass of wine. Without a word, they drifted to the living room, where the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the walls. The curtains were drawn, enclosing them in a private world of warmth and crackling flames. They settled onto the couch, their drinks resting in their hands, but neither of them was really drinking anymore.
Instead, their eyes found each other again, lingering. Holding. No rush. No stolen moments between responsibilities. No sneaking around, no worrying about consequences.
For the first time, they could just be.
As the fire crackled and spat, casting a warm glow over the room, Samara's voice was a gentle whisper, the air thickened in the dimly lit living room, the warmth of the fireplace playing hide-and-seek with the shadows that danced across the walls. Samara's gaze, a silent declaration of intent, met Kamala's questioning eyes.
"Lay back for me," she murmured, the softness of her voice a stark contrast to the command it held. With a grace that suggested she had done this a hundred times before, though she hadn't, she placed her wine glass on the side table, then reached for Kamala's, setting it down with a gentle clink.
Kamala complied, a mix of anticipation and apprehension painting her features. The couch cushioned their bodies as Samara positioned herself strategically, straddling her lover. The gravity of their situation, the weight of their decision, momentarily dissipated, giving way to the electricity that had been simmering beneath the surface since the first time their eyes had locked. Samara's kisses were tender, yet insistent, a silent promise of what was to come.
Her fingertips traced the contours of Kamala's neck, a delicate touch that sent shivers down her spine. The softness of her lips brushed against the sensitive skin, pausing to explore the delicate curves of her jawline before finding their way back to the warmth of her mouth. The kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, as if trying to consume every unspoken word that hovered in the air between them.
"You know what you're doing, I wanted to go f-" Kamala whispered, her voice a barely audible gasp as Samara found the pulse point at her neck that seemed to hold the key to her very soul.
"Do you want me to stop?" Samara teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"No," Kamala breathed, her voice a desperate plea, "don't stop now."
The words were like a siren's call, urging Samara to continue her exploration. Her movements deliberate and poised, and began to lift Kamala's shirt. The fabric slid up, revealing inch by tantalizing inch the canvas of her body.
A canvas that was a testament to the beauty of imperfections and the art of womanhood.
Samara's eyes devoured every curve, every thing she could find, every inch of skin that was revealed to her.
With a gentle tug, the shirt was over Kamala's head, leaving her in nothing but her leggings and bra. Samara took a moment to appreciate the sight before her, the way the firelight kissed the bare skin, painting it with a warm, golden glow. She reached down, her hands tracing the lines of Kamala's waist, her thumbs hooking into the elastic seam of her leggings. With a deft move, she tore a hole, a silent declaration of her hunger.
Kamala's eyes widened in surprise, a small moan escaping her lips. Samara paused, her gaze locking onto hers, a smirk playing on her own. She placed a finger to her lips, a silent command for silence. "Keep your hands here, I wanna see everything" she whispered, guiding her lover's wrists above her head.
Kamala's eyes fell closed, her breaths shallow and erratic as she felt the fabric of her leggings and underwear being pushed aside. She was exposed, vulnerable, yet more alive than she had ever felt. The anticipation was a sweet torture, a symphony of sensations building up inside her like a crescendo waiting to be released. And then Samara's mouth was on her, hot and wet, a fierce pressure that sent shockwaves through her core. She couldn't hold back the sound that escaped her, a guttural moan that seemed to resonate through the very room itself. Samara's eyes snapped up to meet hers, a look that was both a warning and a challenge.
She pulled back for a moment, Kamala hips following. She reminded her again "shhh" before moving back to her original position.
Their gazes remained locked, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fire and the soft, desperate sounds that were wrenched from Kamala's throat. Samara's tongue worked its magic. She knew exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply, how to coax the sweetest sounds from her.
God, she shouldn't be able to remember it all, but she does, and she loves it.
Kamala's legs began to tremble, her body responding to the fiery sensation that Samara bestowed upon her. The gentle thrill of submission running through her, as she felt the weight of Samara's body pressing into her own. The room had transformed into a sanctum of passion, the air thick with the scent of desire and the warmth of the fireplace.
She slid her hands up to cup her breasts, her thumbs playing with the nipples, rolling them gently
"Don't move." The words were a command, one that sent a shiver down Kamala's spine. She nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation. Samara's smile grew, a predatory gleam in her eye.
"Good girl," she murmured, the words sending a warm rush of wetness to the apex of her thighs. With a grace that was both surprising and erotic, Samara slid off the couch and onto her knees. She gently pulled Kamala towards her, her legs spread open, her body displayed like an offering to a deity of lust. The fabric of the torn leggings was pushed aside, and the warmth of Samara's breath washed over her, setting her alight.
Kamala's eyes fell closed again, her body arching as she felt the touch of Samara's mouth on her. The pressure was exquisite, the warmth of her breath a sweet caress that made her thighs quiver. Samara's tongue danced around her clit, tracing the delicate folds of her sex with a gentle insistence that was almost painful in its sweetness.
With her legs spread wide, Kamala was a picture of desire. She bit her bottom lip, trying to hold in the sounds that wanted to escape, but it was futile. Samara's ministrations were too much, too perfect. Samara's eyes remained on hers, a silent challenge that sent a thrill through her. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace and the soft, wet noises of her pleasure. The smirk on Samara's face grew as she watched the effect she was having, as though she took great pleasure in reducing her to this quivering mess of need.
The moment she felt Kamala's body begin to tense, Samara paused, her tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness she had drawn forth. She placed a gentle hand on her lover's thigh, a silent command to stay still, to hold the precipice at bay.
The anticipation was a knot in her stomach, a delicious agony that made her ache for release. "Please," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea that seemed to hang in the air.
Samara leaned back, her eyes never leaving hers. "Not yet," she murmured, her voice a dark promise.
With a sigh that was almost a whine, Kamala nodded, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. Samara chuckled, the sound low and dark, and then she was back, her mouth on her again, her tongue swirling and flicking with a renewed vigor that had Kamala's hips bucking upwards. The world around them fell away, leaving only the two of them in their cocoon of passion. The flames cast a warm, flickering glow over Samara's skin as she worked her magic, her eyes never leaving her lover's face. Kamala's skin was flushed, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as she felt the climax building within her. Samara's eyes narrowed, watching her closely, timing her movements with a precision that was almost cruel. And then, just when she thought she couldn't take any more, Samara's fingers slid inside her, filling her in a way that made her gasp.
The combination of her tongue and her fingers was too much, and she couldn't hold back the cry that escaped her. The room seemed to spin, the firelight blurring as she climaxed, her body shuddering with the force of it. Samara didn't stop, her mouth and hands moving in perfect harmony, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from her trembling body. It was as if she wanted to consume her.
And then, as the waves of pleasure began to recede, she pulled away, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Kamala's legs gave out, and she collapsed back onto the couch, her chest heaving with the effort to catch her breath. Samara's eyes never left hers, a smug smile playing on her lips as she slowly climbed back up to straddle her, her own desire evident in the hard peaks of her nipples and the dampness between her legs.
Without a word, she leaned down, capturing her lover's mouth in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender.
As Samara's eyes locked onto Kamala's, a sly smile spread across her face, illuminating the dimly lit room with a warm, inviting glow. The air was thick with anticipation, heavy with the scent of desire and the promise of forbidden pleasure.
"Are you going to take your turn?" Samara asked, her voice husky with desire, the words barely above a whisper as she leaned in closer to Kamala.
Kamala's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she stole another kiss, her lips brushing against Samara's in a gentle, teasing caress. The touch sent shivers down Samara's spine, and she felt her body respond, her nipples hardening, her breasts swelling with desire. Kamala's hands wandered, tracing the curves of Samara's body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. As they broke apart for air, Kamala's eyes never left Samara's face, her gaze burning with an inner fire that seemed to sear Samara's very soul.
With a gentle push, Kamala sent Samara tumbling back onto the couch, the soft cushions enveloping her like a cloud. Kamala wobbled to her feet, her legs still trembling from the earlier climax, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. She grabbed a nearby jacket and wrapped it around herself, covering her nudity, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Samara watched, confused, as Kamala walked out of the living room and headed upstairs, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the silence like a death knell.
The room seemed to grow quieter, the shadows deepening, waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next. Samara's eyes never left the spot where Kamala had disappeared, her mind racing with possibilities, her body thrumming with anticipation. Moments later, Kamala returned, an object hidden behind her back, a devilish grin playing on her lips. The air seemed to vibrate with tension as Kamala walked back into the room, her eyes locked onto Samara's, the connection between them crackling like a live wire.
"Get undressed for me," Kamala said, her voice low and commanding, the words sending a shiver down Samara's spine.
Samara smirked, obeying the order, her hands moving slowly, deliberately, as she began to undress. She took her time, making it a sensual experience, her fingers tracing the curves of her body, her eyes never leaving Kamala's face. The air seemed to grow thicker, heavier, as if the very atmosphere itself was charged with desire.
As Samara shed her clothes, Kamala sat on the couch, a smug smile on her face, her eyes drinking in the sight of Samara's nudity. The room seemed to grow darker, the shadows deepening, as if they themselves were drawn to the spectacle unfolding before them. Samara was too focused on being sensual to notice the erect strap-on sitting on the couch beside Kamala, its presence seeming to fill the room with an unspoken promise of pleasure and pain.
It wasn't until she was completely bare, her skin glowing in the dim light, that she saw it, and her eyes widened in surprise. The strap-on seemed to loom over her, its presence both intimidating and exhilarating. Kamala chuckled, a breathless joke escaping her lips, the sound sending a shiver down Samara's spine.
"I think you were the one who suggested we get one, weren't you?" She added, her voice low and husky
"It's a little gift. I was going to let you have the first go, but since you took my turn, I thought it was only fair I got to see your pretty self fall apart on it first"
Samara stood there, slightly shocked and apprehensive, her eyes darting between Kamala's face and the strap-on. The room seemed to grow quieter, the air thickening, as if the very moment itself was suspended in time.
Kamala noticed her hesitation and paused, asking, "Is this okay? Are you okay with this? It's new, and we haven't tried it before." The question seemed to hang in the air.
Samara nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, the sound almost lost in the silence. "Yes."
The word seemed to hang in the air. With a deep breath, Samara began to straddle Kamala, her eyes locked onto hers, the connection between them crackling like a live wire. She slowly lowered herself down, her gaze fixed on the strap-on, and then on Kamala's face, the anticipation building, the tension growing.
As she descended, her eyes closed, and her head fell forward, resting in the crook of Kamala's neck. The sensation was intense, the feeling of the strap-on filling her, stretching her, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Kamala's hands rubbed small circles into her lower back, coaxing her to move, the touch sending shivers down her spine. At first, it was a steady, slow rock, but as Samara's body adjusted, she began to move more confidently, the rhythm building, the pleasure growing.
Kamala's hands tightened on Samara's hips, her fingers digging into the soft flesh as she bucked her own hips upward. Samara gasped, her head falling back as the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her. Her thighs trembled, but she didn't stop, couldn't stop, the rhythm of her hips growing faster, more erratic.
"Take it all," Kamala murmured, her voice low and husky, barely above a whisper.
"Be as wild as you need to be. I'm here for you. Forever and always."
Samara whimpered, her hands gripping Kamala's shoulders as she leaned forward, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She felt the pressure building inside her, the pleasure coiling tight in her lower stomach, threatening to burst. She tried to stay quiet, biting down on her lip, but a low moan escaped her anyway, the sound raw and unfiltered.
Kamala's hands slid down to her lower back, rubbing small, deliberate circles into the curve of her spine. The touch was electric, sending shivers through Samara's entire body. She didn't know she loved that, needed that, until now. The combination of the strap-on filling her and Kamala's hands on her skin was overwhelming, and she felt herself losing control.
Her hips moved faster, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, mingling with their heavy breathing and desperate moans. Samara's entire body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. She could feel Kamala beneath her, her hips moving in perfect sync with hers, their bodies moving together as one.
"Kamala," Samara gasped, her voice trembling. "I'm so close. I can't—I can't—Oo"
"You can do it," Kamala urged, her voice firm but gentle. "Let go, baby. I've got you."
Samara cried out as the pleasure finally overtook her, her body shaking with the force of her climax. She slammed her hips down hard, her thighs trembling, her entire body convulsing with the intensity of her release. Kamala held her close, her hands still moving in those small, comforting circles, coaxing her through it.
For a moment, they stayed like that, Samara's body still twitching with the aftershocks, her breath coming in ragged gasps. And then they heard it a loud, exaggerated groan from upstairs, followed by Tazara's yelling,
"Get a damn room! And burn the couch first—I don't wanna see Kamala's ass cheeks again!"
Samara burst out laughing, the sound light and carefree as she collapsed onto Kamala's chest. Kamala chuckled too, her arms wrapping around Samara's waist as they both caught their breath.
"Well," Kamala teased, her voice still breathless. "I guess we've been caught."
Samara lifted her head, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Guess so," she said, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "Guess we'll just have to be quieter, because I'm not done with you yet."
Kamala's eyebrows shot up, a surprised laugh escaping her lips. "Oh, really?"
Samara nodded, her hips shifting slightly, and Kamala gasped as she felt the strap-on push against her as Samara brought herself down. Samara's eyes locked onto hers, the connection between them crackling like a live wire.
"Really," Samara murmured, her voice low and husky. She began to move again, her hips rocking slowly, deliberately, and she moaned, her hands tightening on Samara's hips.
"You're being loud, I didn't say you could," Kamala breathed, her voice trembling.
"And?" Samara shot back, her smile widening as she increased her pace.
Kamala laughed breathlessly, her head falling back against the couch as Samara rode her, she wasn't the one receiving, but god was this thing pressing against her in all the right ways, pleasure already building again. She could feel the pressure coiling tight in her lower stomach, the sensation electric, overwhelming. She knew she wasn't going to last long—not with the way Samara was moving, her hips moving in perfect, deliberate rhythm.
"Samara," Kamala gasped, her voice trembling. "I'm so close. Please—don't stop— ride me baby"
"I won't," Samara promised, her voice low and husky.
Kamala cried out as the pleasure finally overtook her, her body shaking with the force of her climax. Samara didn't stop, her hips moving faster, harder, until Kamala was a trembling, panting mess beneath her.
When Samara finally slowed, her own body trembling with exhaustion, she collapsed onto Kamala's chest, both of them breathless and spent.
"We're definitely burning the couch," Kamala muttered, her voice still trembling. Samara didn't respond, just nodded, too exhausted to do much else. They stayed like that for a while, their bodies still tangled together, their breaths slowly returning to normal. And then Kamala shifted slightly, her hips rocking upward, and Samara gasped, her body trembling with the sudden sensation.
"Kamala," Samara breathed, her voice trembling. "What are you doing?"
Kamala smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Round three?" she suggested, her voice low and husky.
Samara's eyes widened, and then she burst out laughing, the sound light and carefree as she leaned in to capture Kamala's lips in a deep, passionate kiss.
"Round four you mean," Samara agreed, her voice low and husky. "But this time, you on top. I'm gonna wear you out"
June 7th
Samara stepped into the apartment, juggling a large bag of Chinese takeout. She barely had time to set her keys down before she noticed Tazara sitting on the couch, arms crossed, a slow smirk creeping onto her face.
Samara paused mid-step, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why do you look like you're about to kill me? Should I turn back around?"
Tazara scoffed. "Relax, I'm not about to kill you. But I am about to ask you something."
Samara set the bag on the counter, kicking off her shoes. "Okay, shoot."
"How long's it been since you saw Kamala?"
Samara hesitated. "Uh..." She leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of her neck.
"A month? Maybe more? We talked once about going out, but then things got crazy with work, and I barely had time to sleep, let alone see her." She exhaled, shaking her head.
"I hate it, but the money's good, so I try not to harp on it." She started pulling out food containers, distracted. "Anyway, I got us—"
Her words died in her throat as she finally looked up.
Kamala stood beside Tazara, arms crossed, a teasing smile on her lips.
Samara froze. For a moment, silence filled the room. Then— "WHAT THE HELL?!"
She practically launched herself across the kitchen, throwing her arms around Kamala, who giggled as she hugged back.
"What are you doing here?" Samara demanded, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.
Tazara snorted. "You're welcome, by the way."
Kamala smirked. "Tazara told me about your big case coming up and how stressed you've been. I figured I'd pay you a visit... maybe help you find time for a date."
Tazara grinned. "I also told her you've been running up our damn electric bill by keeping the lights on all night."
Kamala laughed. " I remember those days, burning through the night, convinced an extra hour would win me the case. But trust me, that's not how it works. All I got for it was exhaustion, and once, I almost passed out in court."
Samara chuckled but sighed, pressing her forehead against Kamala's for a moment. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," Kamala murmured.
A few minutes later, they settled around the dinner table, eating, laughing, catching up on everything they'd missed in each other's lives. It felt normal. Easy. Like no time had passed.
At some point, Samara excused herself and disappeared into her room.
Kamala raised an eyebrow. "What's she doing?"
Tazara smirked. "Probably grabbing a blunt."
Kamala gasped in mock offense. "Y'all better not be getting high. Law firms do drug tests."
Tazara waved her off. "Nope. Ours doesn't."
Before Kamala could argue, Samara reappeared, moving slowly, almost nervously. In her hands was a small box.
Tazara's grin widened instantly. She knew exactly what that was. Kamala, however, was still oblivious, until Samara got down on one knee.
Kamala inhaled sharply, covering her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. "Marry me," Samara said simply, voice steady despite the way her heart pounded.
For a split second, Kamala just stared. Samara braced herself for rejection.
...
...
...
"Yes," Kamala breathed, nodding before laughing through her tears.
"okay, damn wasn't expecting this, but you do realize I'm sixty-something years old, and you just hit your late twenties?" she said, wiping tears from her eyes. Samara rolled her eyes and shoved the ring onto Kamala's finger. "I don't car?" Then she practically tackled Kamala into a hug.
Tazara, still lounging on the couch, dramatically sighed. "God, I love being a third wheel."
Samara ignored her, burying her face in Kamala's neck. "Good thing you said yes," she murmured, "because I already told my mom and Tazara's that we were getting married."
Kamala pulled back, blinking in shock. "You what?"
Samara grinned. "Manifested it?"
Kamala burst out laughing, shaking her head. "You are unbelievable." But she was hers.
And that was all that mattered.
THE END
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