She took a deep breath in. Her feet almost instinctively carried her into a slow walk towards Kamala, her eyes low and a faint smile playing at her lips, the air in the room seemed to thicken...
For so long she only knew the guiding touch of another.
Kamala looked up at her, a smile of her own growing as she leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement and curiosity. Samara kneeled down before her, keeping eye contact as she began to creep her hands up Kamala's thighs, pushing her skirt up.
The allure of just losing control, willingly, 'ugh' how she loved it. But where'd it gotten her now, right where she was before...
Kneeling before a woman three times her age.
Nonetheless, having been her boss, still is her professor, and once again her lover.
Kamala's giggle was barely contained as she realized where things were going.
"You better not tease me," she whispered, "or we might get caught."
Who gave a damn anyway, she could always enroll elsewhere. Besides, she wasn't in the mood to carry on being a rag doll.
Not for Siobhan
And certainly not Kamala.
Samara just lowered her head between Kamala's thighs, pushing her underwear aside and beginning to eat her out relentlessly. There wasn't the gentle probe before, Samara didn't stop to admire the growing wet spot that had soaked its way through her underwear, or how she glistened ever so slightly under the lecture halls fluorescent lights.
Just the sound of Kamala's ragged breathing began filling the room as she writhed beneath Samara's mouth, struggling to contain her moans.
"Oh God, yes," Kamala breathed out, "just like that." She reached down and gently brushed a strand of hair behind Samara's ear.
"I've been waiting for this for so long, then-Ooh shit-" she whispered.
That's what she wanted to hear. God, she loved the praise she gave her. The pride that would swell in her voice. As Samara started fingering Kamala and eating her out at the same time, Kamala's body began to tremble with pleasure. Samara wasn't looking at her; she was lost in lust, eyes hazy and half-lidded as she devoured Kamala like a starved person.
The only sound was the wet slurping of Samara's mouth and Kamala's muffled moans.
"More," Kamala urged softly, "give me more. Baby please..." Her voice was husky with need as she arched into Samara's touch. The slight creek from the chair only adds to the knowledge of their location. Her hands came to rest on the back of Samara's head, pulling her face deeper into her.
Samara obliged, tongue probing every inch making sure Kamala's whole body felt every few seconds of sheer ecstasy, making it hard for Kamala's voice come through clearly yet somehow words slipped through
"Harder...like that, yes...right there..." The words tumbled from Kamala's lips broken by gasps
Just when it seemed like Kamala couldn't take anymore, she came in Samara's mouth shuddering violently clutching the chairs arms for support yet Samara unending continued. Even after first wave pushed past another climax bigger stronger rose taking over again building waves of never-ending pleasure
"Oh my god don't stop!" She cried louder now having lost any sense restraint or fear being caught
They had been caught.
Mouth agape, an audible gasp escaping their lips as they stood in the doorway. Eyes wide with fury, jealousy, betrayal, heartbeat. Siobhan stood frozen eventually amidst the moans Kamala gasped out finding coherence enough force herself turn around stumble backward leaving still trying wrap head what had walked into.
It felt so good to hear her moan above her.
To draw what she knew Kamala so easily pulled from her lips any chance she had, she'd been too caught up on trying to spite her.
Trying to show this woman she had her lips wrapped around, that she had half the maturity, half the sex appeal, half, the charm she processed to pull another into her orbit.
But now she was back In Kamala's. Back where she belonged. Back where deep down she wanted to be.
She pulled her head back, eyes glassy but focused on Kamala as she slowly readjusted Herself to as she leaned down to plan a soft kiss to Samara's lips.
Reverent and well deserved.
Hand firmly planted below her chin, coaxing her ever so closer, breathless Samara pulled back, lips parted as if to speak but only a shallow breath escaped her lips.
"What will I do with you?" She asked as she stared Samara directly in the eyes, for the first time she'd asked that question not wondering if the dean would care, if her other students would find out, her colleagues, none of them mattered.
Right now this shit was for them and no one could ruin it.
What would come from this, if they kept going.
Kamala sighed, smoothing her skirt back down as she glanced at Samara, her lips still swollen, her breathing still shallow. She reached out, tucking a loose curl behind Samara's ear.
"Go home," Kamala murmured, voice softer now. "Get cleaned up. Later, we can get dinner, if you want. If not, come by my office hours later, we'll talk."
Samara just nodded, her body still thrumming from the high of moments ago. But something in Kamala's tone made her stomach twist—like she was already trying to set a boundary, trying to put distance between them.
Samara didn't push it.
She wouldn't let herself get caught in that idea again.
She just grabbed her bag and slipped out of the room before either of them could say anything else.
—
The hot water scalded her skin, but Samara barely felt it. She let the steam swirl around her, let it seep into her bones. Relaxation.
It wasn't until she stepped out of the shower, steam billowing off her skin, that she heard it.
Her phone vibrates violently against the counter.
She wrapped a towel around herself, heart sinking as she read the name on the screen.
Mom.
Samara hesitated.
Her mother never called unless she needed money or something was catastrophically wrong. And if she was calling now in the middle of her first semester, it didn't seem good.
She exhaled sharply and answered.
"Hello?"
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!"
Samara flinched, holding the phone slightly away from her ear as her mother's voice screeched through the receiver.
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me, Samara! Are you seriously fucking some old lady? Your professor? YOUR BOSS MARA! Do you even care about your future? About the plan?"
The blood drained from Samara's face.
Her stomach curled inward, like she'd been punched.
She sucked in a breath. "Who told you?"
There was a pause, just a second, just enough time for Samara's mind to race before her mother's voice came back, sharper, dripping with venom.
"Some woman named Clair! SHE SAID YOU WERE WORKING WITH THE WOMAN YOU'RE FUCKING AGAINST HER IN A CASE! YOU BETTER WIN AND YOUR CL-"
"That was an internship, there was nothing to win, sorta..." she said with the last part hidden beneath her breath
Samara cursed under her breath.
'Of course. Of fucking course.'
Clair must've found her number out somehow. She must've dug into her life, gotten her info, sniffed out the one person who could just make everything worse.
"Ma, I can explain—"
"No, you can't!" Her mother cut her off.
"I didn't send you to school to waste your time sleeping with some woman three times your age. What about our five-year plan, huh? What about our dreams?"
Not your dreams. Ours.
Samara gritted her teeth.
"I'm—"
"You're coming home."
Samara's chest tightened. "No, I'm not."
"You are. Or I'm done. No more tuition. No more school. No more D.C. You'll be back here by Saturday morning, or you're on your own."
The words hit like a death sentence.
Samara stared at her reflection in the foggy mirror, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. She already knew the answer. It didn't matter if she fought. Didn't matter if she begged.
Her mother had the final say, just like always.
"Fine," she whispered.
"Good." There was a rustle on the other end, the sound of clicking keys. "I just sent your ride details. Two days, Samara."
The line went dead.
Samara dropped her phone onto the counter, gripping the edge of the sink as the feeling settled in.
What the hell would her mother get by dragging her back there. What difference did it make that she be with Kamala, she was an adult, and on her own.
She was passing everything.
She'd just gotten out of whatever she had gotten herself in before and now... it seems like everything was falling apart again
Later that afternoon.
Samara sat in Kamala's office, her body slumped into the chair, her arms crossed tight against her chest. She didn't look up when Kamala greeted her, just stared blankly ahead, mind racing, heart pounding.
Kamala frowned, setting her pen down. "What's wrong?"
Samara exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face.
"Clair found my mother's number." The words tasted like acid on her tongue. "I don't know how, but she told her about us. And now my mom's demanding I come home."
"Humph, one last gab on her way out, not surprising..." Kamala leaned forward, concerned flickering across her face. "But that's the focus of this, do you want to?"
Samara barked out a laugh, humorless and bitter. "Of course not." She shook her head. "But I don't have a choice. She's threatening to end my enrollment."
Kamala studied her for a moment, then asked, voice careful, "Are you okay?"
Samara wanted to say yes. She wanted to brush it off, make it seem like it wasn't a big deal. But the truth was sitting heavy in her chest, clawing at her ribs, making it hard to breathe.
She didn't want to leave DC, tazara, or Kamala. She didn't know how long it would be. She could easily drive back home and drive back, but of course her mother wanted her trapped.
"I came to D.C. to get away from her," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Now I have a prepaid cab ticket sitting in my inbox, and I feel like I'm suffocating." she blurted out as she fought to keep her breathing somewhat normal
Kamala didn't speak right away. She just reached for her phone, turned the camera on, and held it up, so Samara could see herself.
Tears streamed down her face, silent, unrelenting.
Samara blinked. "I'm not—" She cut herself off. The proof was right there.
Kamala lowered the phone. "Talk to me."
Samara inhaled sharply.
"My mom wants me to follow this plan—this damn plan she drilled into my head before I even got into college. I was supposed to go to Coppin, study criminal law, defense. That's what she wanted. Not what I wanted." She swiped at her face angrily.
"I want to prosecute, not defend. But I can't let her find that out."
Kamala's confusion deepened, but she didn't push, just nodded slowly.
"Why, what would be so bad about that?"
"She'd cut my tuition off. I'd be forced to drop out in the middle of the semester!" Samara said almost in a sob as she leaned forwards letting her head fall into her hands
"Do you plan on telling your mother that you don't want to do these things?" She asked as she turned in her chair
"No... well, I have, but she cursed me out so badly and threatened to burn my room down! I don't know why she wants me to be a defense attorney so badly, but she does..." Samara sighed
Kamala watched as Samara sank deeper into herself, her knee bouncing rapidly, fingers gripping the hem of her hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. Her eyes darted around the room, her breaths coming quicker, more uneven.
"Samara," Kamala said gently, trying to pull her back. "Do you have anyone in your family facing legal trouble? Someone already incarcerated or waiting for trial?"
Samara blinked, startled, like she hadn't even realized Kamala was still there.
"What? No. No one's in trouble." She shook her head, but her fingers twisted tighter in the fabric of her hoodie. "At least, not that I know of."
Kamala didn't look convinced. "I've seen this before. Parents pushing their kids into law for their own benefit. Some of my classmates went through it...being pressured into studying defense law so they could get someone out of trouble, or clean up messes they had nothing to do with." She tilted her head, studying Samara's expression.
"Are you sure there's nothing like that going on?"
Samara let out a harsh laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I mean... that would make sense, wouldn't it? That would actually be logical!" She gestured wildly, voice rising.
"There's no way she's dragging me back to Baltimore because I'm screwing my professor. That can't be it! She has to be getting something out of this."
Kamala frowned. "Maybe she—"
"Because it's ridiculous!" Samara cut in, eyes wide, desperate. "I'm an adult. I'm twenty-something years old! She can't possibly care that much about who I'm—who I'm—" She broke off, pressing her hands against her temples.
"She has to be using this as an excuse for something else. Maybe she—maybe she found out I changed my focus, but that isn't even something that gets put down on paper, ugh! What the hell does Clair get out of this, what does she get out of this..."
Her breath hitched, and she curled forward, gripping the desk like she needed something solid to hold onto.
"I never told her," she whispered. "I never told her I switched to prosecution. She'd lose her fucking mind."
Kamala leaned in. "Do you plan on telling her?"
Samara let out a short, bitter laugh.
"I tried. Once. You know what she said? She cursed me out so bad I thought my ears were gonna start bleeding. Then she threatened to burn my fucking room down!" She scoffed, shaking her head, but her voice was trembling now.
"She has to want something. She has to. There's no way she's this mad over me sleeping with you" tears came harder this time
Her voice cracked, and suddenly, she was blinking rapidly, wiping at her face as if just realizing she was crying.
Kamala reached for her, hesitating only a moment before brushing her fingers against Samara's wrist.
"Samara," she said softly, "you're spiraling."
"I'm not," Samara mumbled, even as her hands shook.
"You are," Kamala insisted. "And I need you to slow down. Just for a second."
Samara swallowed hard, her breaths still uneven.
Kamala squeezed her wrist gently. "Are you hungry?"
Samara hesitated, then gave a weak nod.
Kamala stood, smoothing down her blazer. "I'll be right back."
She left, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the quiet room.
Samara sat frozen for a moment, then slowly lowered her head into her hands. Her stomach churned, exhaustion seeping into her bones, but even now, her thoughts wouldn't stop racing.
She was doomed.
Even if she got in that car, even if she went back home, she knew she wasn't walking into anything good.
And for the first time, she truly wasn't sure if she'd make it out.
The door opened again, and Kamala stepped inside with a paper bag in one hand. The smell of warm spices filled the office, grounding Samara just enough for her to lift her head.
Kamala set the bag down, pulling out takeout containers. "Eat," she said simply, pushing one toward Samara.
Samara swallowed thickly, her throat still tight. "You didn't have to—"
"I did," Kamala interrupted softly. "Just eat, Samara."
She did.
The scent of spices lingered between them as they ate in silence. Samara picked at her food, absently twirling bits of rice with her fork. Across from her, Kamala ate steadily, the occasional clink of her utensil against the container filling the quiet office.
Outside, the sky had turned black, the only light spilling in from the hallway. The law building was on the verge of closing for the night, and Samara knew they had to leave soon.
Kamala wiped her hands with a napkin, carefully folding it before speaking. "Everything's going to be okay."
Samara scoffed but said nothing.
Kamala continued, her voice even, reassuring. "Your mother won't be so bad to face. Especially if she doesn't know about your focus on prosecution instead of defense. And from what you've told me, it doesn't seem like she does."
Samara nodded slowly, but then she let out a humorless laugh. "You don't get it, though. My mom is crazy. Not in the 'fun, quirky' way, like actually crazy. She wasn't always, but when high school started to matter? When can I actually choose my classes?" She shook her head.
"That's when it began."
Kamala leaned forward slightly, listening.
"It started off small," Samara continued, voice thick. "Take AP Government, constitutional law, take AP U.S. History, AP World History, anything remotely related to politics, and she was shoving me into it. And I—I didn't mind, you know? I love this stuff. Politics, law—I have a passion for it." Her grip tightened around the fork.
"But she only wanted me to care about a certain part of that world. And anything outside of it? She didn't want me touching it."
Kamala watched as Samara's hands began to tremble again, her breathing turning uneven.
Kamala said softly. "What if I go with you?"
Samara's head snapped up. "What?"
"I can go with you," Kamala repeated. "I'll make sure she doesn't trap you. I'll be there if you need a shoulder to cry on. And I'll have a hotel room ready in case you need an out."
Samara stared at her, stunned. Slowly, a small, tired smile formed on her lips, but she shook her head. "I can't put you in danger."
"Samara—"
"My mom's never committed any violent crimes, but come on." She let out a dry laugh. "I don't think it would go too well if I showed up with the woman who's three times my age, my professor, my boss, who I'm also romantically involved with to meet her. Especially when I'm only going home because of that."
Kamala chuckled, shaking her head. "I insist."
Samara rolled her eyes but smirked slightly.
"Send me your home address," Kamala said, pulling out her phone. "I'll book a hotel nearby."
Samara hesitated, then sighed, pulling out her own phone to type.
Kamala watched her for a moment before standing. "Now, go back to your dorm. Get some rest. Pack. And don't think too much about it, alright?"
Samara let out a slow breath. "Yeah. I'll try."
Kamala smiled, brushing her knuckles under Samara's chin, tilting her face up slightly. "I'll see you bright and early for class tomorrow. And if you need to talk about anything—anything at all—you know where to find me."
Samara swallowed, her throat tight again, but this time, it wasn't from panic.
"Thanks, Kamala."
Kamala only nodded, and with that, they finally left for the night.
—
"You're late again. What'd you do this time? Or were you with Siobhan?"
"Seriously? Are you never letting that go?" Samara scoffed as she dropped her bag by the door. "I was with Kamala in her office. We didn't do anything, we just talked. Well, I talked, and she listened. But either way, I'm heading back to Baltimore."
"What?!" Tazara shot up from her bed, panic flashing across her face. "You can't leave me here—not like this!"
Samara barely had time to react before Tazara rushed over, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.
"I'm not leaving for good! I'll be back, well, at least, I hope I will," she muttered, pulling away as Tazara groaned and flopped back onto her bed.
"You got me acting crazy for nothing," Tazara grumbled, rubbing her temples. "Why do you have to go back to Baltimore?"
Samara sighed, running a hand through her hair. "My crazy-ass mom. Clair told her about me and Kamala, and she lost it. Screamed my head off and told me I better come home, or she's cutting my tuition."
Tazara's jaw practically hit the floor.
They both knew Clair and Kamala had more than a few tricks up their sleeves, but somehow, they always found a way to outdo themselves.
Samara sighed again, already feeling the exhaustion settle into her bones. "After classes tomorrow, I'm hitting the road."
Tazara frowned but didn't push. Instead, she watched as Samara climbed into bed, pulling the blankets over herself with a heavy sigh.
"Good night, Taz."
"Night, Sam."
As silence settled over the room, Samara stared at the ceiling, her stomach twisting with unease.
Was she really coming back?
January 3rd
Samara tapped her pen against the desk frantically, the rhythmic click-click-click barely registering over the sound of her own racing thoughts. Her eyes darted between the clock and Kamala, who paced at the front of the room mid-lecture.
As always, effortlessly weaving together her point.
Samara should have been paying attention—hell, she was paying attention—but it was only to keep herself from spiraling. Her notebook was filled with notes she didn't need, her handwriting messier than usual. If she didn't keep writing, she'd be staring into oblivion.
She hadn't been able to focus since she'd woken up. Now, she was mere minutes away from leaving for Baltimore.
She hoped it wasn't for good.
She prayed.
She never prayed, but God, she had to keep the faith that she wasn't being transferred to Coppin, or somewhere else she didn't want to be. That her mother wasn't about to rip her life out from under her.
A sharp thunk against the desk made her flinch.
Her pen had slipped from her fingers.
The room was too quiet. She glanced up, suddenly hyperaware of the eyes on her. People were staring. The tapping, she'd been doing it so long, so fast, that it had become a distraction to everyone.
Her chest tightened. Heat crawled up her neck.
She needed to get out of here.
Samara shoved her notebook shut and stood abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. She ducked her head and hurried out the door, her pulse raging in her ears.
Outside, she pressed her back against the wall next to the door, inhaling sharply, trying, failing, to slow her breathing.
The door swung open a moment later.
"What the hell was that?" Tazara hissed, stepping out after her.
Samara shook her head, rubbing her palms over her face.
"I can't help it," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I just—I can't calm down. All I can think about is what my mother wants, what she's planning to do, what I'm even supposed to say when she starts grilling me about everything. I don't have the answers, Taz. I don't know what she wants from me!"
Tazara sighed, resting a hand on her hip. "Look, just take a breath, alright? Come back inside."
Samara swallowed hard and shook her head. "No. I—I have stuff to do. I have to pack," she said quickly, tripping over her words.
"Sam—"
"I have to pack," she repeated, already turning away. Her hands were shaking.
She didn't wait for Tazara's response. She just walked.
By the time she reached their dorm, her heart was still racing. She grabbed a backpack and started shoving things inside—clothes, shoes, whatever she could grab without thinking too much about it. The mess didn't matter. She didn't care. She just wanted to stop thinking.
She had just zipped the bag when her phone buzzed.
Her mother.
Samara stared at the screen for half a second before answering.
"Your ride is outside," her mother said, voice clipped.
"Get in that damn car, Samara. Don't test me. I'll know if you don't."
Samara's grip on the phone tightened. "I still have classes," she tried, her voice barely steady.
"I don't care," her mother snapped. "The only thing I want to hear from you right now is 'yes, ma'am.'"
She paused, then scoffed.
"Actually, don't call me that. I'm sure that's what you call that cougar you've been sleeping with."
The line went dead.
Samara stood there, seething, shaking, fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms.
She had no choice.
Shouldering her bag, she stormed out of the dorm.
Outside, a man stood by a sleek black car, holding a sign with her name on it. She snatched it from his hands, ripped it in half, and let the pieces scatter into the wind. Then, without waiting for introductions, she shoved past him and into the car, slamming the door shut.
"Drive," she snapped, voice sharp with barely restrained fury, and loud enough to be heard through the car.
The driver got in and before Samara could even look abc at her dorm, one last time, the car pulled away, and again like so many other times Samara felt like she couldn't breathe.
"I can't catch a fucking break" she muttered, letting her head fall back against the headrest.