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Yolanda Garcia was exhausted. She just finished a shift from hell, one that had her feet sore and the beginnings of a headache pinching at her temple. She didn’t know what was in the air today, but for whatever reason, the emergency room was packed, causing her to make her way down to the ED for what felt like at least fifty times.
Usually, a shift like this would have her going straight home and crashing headfirst into her glorious, queen-sized bed. Not without a long, hot shower, of course. But it was a Friday. And on Fridays, she takes herself to the bar, one that’s walking distance from PTMC, and orders herself a drink. It’s her reward for surviving another week. A tradition she’d formed with her long-time friend, Emery. They’d been roommates throughout med school, and after completing their rotations and residencies in different states, they’d both found out they’d moved to Pittsburgh for their permanent surgery positions. It was a wild coincidence that they both landed at PTMC, but one she found herself grateful for every day. Having her best friend with her at work made things interesting. It gave her someone to confide in about the absurd happenings there, someone with an inside perspective on any situation. The surgery department is by far quieter than the ED, but the rumor mill still moves fast, and sometimes the most efficient way to get through the day is to talk about your colleagues. A lot of the time, the entire hospital will know something about someone if it’s deemed interesting enough.
Recently, much to Emery’s exasperation, Yolanda’s main topic of conversation had been none other than intern Trinity Santos. She couldn't help it. She still felt so guilty and embarrassed by the way she reacted on Trinity’s first day. Santos had trusted her enough to confide in her about a serious situation, but the accusation took Yolanda so aback that she hadn’t taken her seriously. She’d acted without thinking, the bold claim made against her admittedly arrogant, sure, but otherwise well-respected colleague stunting her. Claims made by an intern who knew him for at most a few hours, and one who had been clouding her mind all day, no less. Once she heard the news of Langdon’s departure, though, she figured the intern had been right.
Whenever she thought back to that day, she cringed. The look on Santos’ face after she called her “trouble” was an image that would remain in her head for a long time. The comment itself was a projection, one that Yolanda definitely felt about herself, and about the feelings she’d managed to develop for the girl in such a short time. Shortly after Langdon’s disappearance, Yolanda did manage to corner Trinity and apologize. She told her that she never should’ve reacted that way, and that she was sorry. That was all she could think of to say at the moment, a stark difference in how she was usually so sure in her words. Trinity had seemed shocked by the apology, pausing for a moment before nodding in acceptance, only for the chaos of the emergency department to sweep them apart again.
Even after her attempt at an apology, it was clear that the younger woman was still avoiding her. She didn’t blame her. Yolanda gave her her space, not even daring to start flirting with her again for fear of coming on too strong. She wasn’t even sure if Santos had been interested, even before the whole Langdon situation went down. She didn’t want Santos to feel like she had to avoid her either; she just wanted things to be somewhat civil between them again. She wanted to find a way to make it up to her, even if things didn’t turn out the way Yolanda may have wanted them to, back on Santos’ first day.
She relayed all this to Emery, who, in her blunt fashion, simply told Yolanda she was overthinking it, that it “wasn’t that deep.” Yolanda had rolled her eyes, but Emery continued, urging her that it’s important to find “work-life balance,” a not-so-subtle way of telling her that maybe she shouldn’t be searching for her romantic partners in the place where they work. Even going on to make a crude joke—something about not shitting where she eats—that had Yolanda scrunching up her face in disgust and almost shoving her off the couch where they had been sitting, Emery laughing that throaty laugh of hers. Yolanda disagreed. She has a great work-life balance; that’s what yoga is for! And she hadn’t even bothered to mention that Emery was being a total hypocrite, too. She’d noticed the way Walsh looked at the third-year resident, Doctor Mohan. The way her usually playful cutting remarks toward Abbot turned seething whenever he’d made one too many borderline flirtatious comments toward the younger woman. She wasn’t even sure if Emery had dissected that for herself yet, so she kept quiet for the time being.
Either way, the bar is an attempt to shake herself out of the headspace being in the hospital puts her in. Taking another stab at the life portion of “work-life balance.” On the rare occasion Emery switches to a day shift, usually if she’s covering for someone (or maybe that’s just an excuse for wanting more face time with Dr. Mohan), she’d join her, but she’s on the night shift this evening. And so Yolanda finds herself alone, nestled in a corner booth all by herself. She’d been nursing just one drink for the past half hour, the dry martini she’d ordered getting watered down by the single ice cube inside. She’d briefly perused the bar’s patrons to see if any of them piqued her interest. See? Not shitting where she eats. Take that, Emery. But no one there was satisfying her tastes.
She was just about to close out her tab at the bar, preparing to chug down the last of her drink and gather her things to leave, when she spotted her. It couldn’t be. She thought. Surely, her mind was playing tricks on her; maybe they’d mixed her drink with something stronger than usual. But as she continued to look, her suspicions were confirmed.
There she was, Trinity Santos. The woman who’d been plaguing her mind for the past few weeks, walking up to the bar with the same cockiness in her step that Yolanda had seen her traipse through the emergency room with. Yolanda stared, not able to help herself. It was clear Santos had gone home to change and shower, probably, after work, as the woman had shed the scrubs she had donned earlier in the day for something more appropriate. The brown slacks and leather jacket combo fit the other woman’s figure almost too well, Yolanda thought, as she watched Santos bend over the bar slightly to flag down the bartender to order herself a drink.
As the bartender turned away to get started on Santos’ order, Yolanda watched as the girl pursed her lips and mindlessly scanned the space with her eyes. In the midst of her perusal, Santos’ gaze eventually landed on hers, as she still hadn’t managed to stop staring. They held eye contact for a moment, Yolanda watching as Santos blinked and quickly glanced away, as if pretending not to see her at first. Yolanda, a bit amused by the audacity, continued to stare, eyebrows raising, corners of her mouth rising in a shocked smirk. After a moment, Santos returned her gaze to her, having the decency to at least look a little guilty. Yolanda playfully narrowed her eyes before nodding her head toward the seat next to her, a mere suggestion, a shot in the dark all at once. She sees Santos perhaps grapple with the idea in her head before the bartender catches her attention again, alerting her that her drink is ready. Santos says something to the bartender, gesturing at her drink and making a peace sign with her fingers. Two, please.
Santos takes a cautionary sip of her drink while she waits for its duplicate. When the bartender hands her the second glass, she marches her way over to Yolanda, the older woman watching the entire exchange with a fond expression.
“I didn’t know what you were drinking, so I just got you one of mine,” are the first words out of Santos’ mouth as she approaches, sitting down where Yolanda had scooched over in the booth to make room. Yolanda smiles at her, all her teeth on display.
“That was sweet of you.” She replies, just to watch Santos fluster. Santos nods a tad awkwardly, taking another sip of her own drink. Yolanda holds her gaze as she picks up the glass and takes a sip, humming at the taste. “Tequila’s a bit sweeter than I would have pegged you for.”
Santos shrugs. “I contain multitudes.” Yolanda chuckles, her gaze softening.
“So…how are you?”
Santos shrugs again. “I’m okay.” She replies quietly.
Yolanda holds her gaze, silently pressing for more of an answer. She watches as Santos fidgets in her seat.
“What? I am.”
Yolanda’s gaze remains skeptical. “Are you really?” She questions again.
“Do I not seem okay?” Santos fires back defensively.
Yolanda backtracks. “I’m just saying that it’s been a few weeks since your first day. Pittfest was a lot, and after everything that’s happened, I’m just checking in.” She replies in a soft voice, subtly touching on the Langdon of it all.
Santos deflates, looking to the side. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?” Yolanda asks.
“Check in with me, invite me up here to sit with you. I know you’re just being polite. You don’t have to be.” Santos says. Yolanda scoffs out a laugh.
“Trust me, I don’t do things just to be polite. I asked you to sit with me because I wanted to.” She clarifies. “Do you not want to be here?”
Santos shakes her head, eyes wide. “No! I mean–I don’t know. I guess I just thought you kind of hated me.”
That could not be further from the truth. Yolanda thinks. “Why would you think that? If anything, I thought you hated me.”
Santos blows out air from her lips, making her cheeks puff up before replying. “Well, you stopped…flirting? With me? That was my main indication.”
“Well, you basically run away from me like I have the plague every time we so much as end up in the same room together, how was I supposed to get the chance?” Yolanda counters. “And besides, I didn’t want to come on too strong; I may have laid it on a little thick, that first day.”
It’s true. Sure, Yolanda can definitely be direct. She’s not one to shy away from going after something she wants. But her actions on Santos’ first day weren’t something she made a habit of, in the workplace, at least. Something had come over her. The intern lit a flame inside her so powerful she couldn’t help but act on it.
“I guess I just figured you’d still be mad? I didn’t want to overstep again.” Yolanda hates to see the usually so-confident girl cave into herself like this. Hates that she’s the cause of it. “But you definitely weren’t laying it on too thick, don’t worry.”
Yolanda’s mind chooses to focus on that sentence. “So, you liked it? The flirting.”
Santos has a private little grin on her face as if she’s reminiscing. “I definitely didn’t hate it.”
Yolanda nods, smirking. Noted. After a brief quiet moment, she continues, “I do just want to reiterate how sorry I am for the way I reacted when you tried to tell me about Langdon. I shouldn't have shut you down like that.” She shakes her head at herself. “I want you to know you did the right thing.”
Santos looks a little sad. Yolanda curses herself at the sight of it. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
Yolanda knows she’s referring to the way the rest of the staff responded to Langdon’s disappearance. They may not know exactly what went down, but they know he’s gone, and that it had something to do with Santos. That damned rumor-mill. She can only imagine the way Santos is being treated by her colleagues.
“You did,” Yolanda states, voice serious. “He was the one in the wrong. He endangered patients’ lives and risked his own career in the process. He’s lucky he didn’t get off worse. All you did was report your suspicions, something we’re mandated to do. That was very brave. And now he’s able to get the help he needs. You did the right thing.”
She watches the words fall over Santos. She takes a deep breath, her shoulders beginning to untense. Perhaps she needed to hear that. A small smile graces her face. “Thank you, Doctor Garcia.” She replies softly.
Yolanda halts at the formality, smiling a little. “Please. We’re not at the hospital. You can call me Yolanda.”
Trinity chuckles a bit, too, nodding. “Trinity.” She offers, gesturing to herself.
“Oh, I know,” Yolanda replies, intent laced in her voice, eye contact heavy. She watches Trinity flush at the tone.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, Yolanda asks, “So, what were you planning on doing before I lured you up here?” She perches her face on her fist, elbow on the table.
Trinity looks to the side, out at the liveliness of the bar. “Oh, I’ve actually never been here before. I just wanted to try it. I live nearby.”
Yolanda nods, taking in the words. “What do you normally do at places like this?” Santos looks back at her, a smile growing on her face as she responds.
“Drink, mainly.” That was a given. “Dance, sometimes.” Would love to see that, Yolanda thinks. Maybe some other time, though. She watches Santos glance over to the small dance floor. She continues to browse the space, her eyes lighting up as they settle on something in the far corner of the bar.
Yolanda turns around to see what Santos’ gaze caught onto. A pool table. She turns back to question, “You play?” A cocky smirk grows on Santos’ face. There she is. She shrugs, feigning nonchalance.
“A little.” The expression on her face says otherwise. Yolanda smiles, a competitive spark igniting in her chest.
“You’re on.”
—
Yolanda was getting hustled.
She should have known Santos’ comment regarding her level of expertise at pool was a farce, but she’d fallen for it anyway. The beginning of the game deemed it to be true, at least. Santos was missing shots left and right, claiming she must be “off her game” today. That, and the way she kept lasciviously draping herself across the table when it was her turn, making heated eye contact with those large green eyes of hers, had Yolanda more than a little distracted.
Yolanda herself was alright at the game, but when she began gaining more points than Trinity, she admits she got a bit cocky, gloating all the while. Trinity had scoffed, claiming she must be cheating. The little charade had Yolanda convinced. In the midst of her winning streak, she’d teasingly shot back: “Cheating? Or maybe you just suck?” That had been her mistake.
Trinity had paused, looked at her defiantly, and then proceeded to make every single shot she attempted after that moment. What the fuck? Swagger radiated off of her in waves as Yolanda stared, simmering in astonishment. The stupid grin on Santos’ face hadn’t faltered in ages. The intern had successfully played her. She’d almost be offended if she wasn’t so turned on.
Now it was Yolanda’s turn to meet her with a challenging gaze. Oh, it’s on. For real this time.
She knew she couldn’t beat the girl by pure skill. Trinity was obviously better at this game than her, as much as she was reluctant to confess. She would have to do so by other means. Luckily, the surgeon was skilled in far more than just pool.
“Doctor Santos,” she begins, sarcasm in her voice, “It seems like your skills have tripled by the minute. It’s quite impressive.” Santos shrugs with an air of indifference, smug smirk still gracing her lips.
Yolanda continues, “They were so lacking in the beginning. I almost thought you might have needed some help. I was going to offer you some…guidance.” Yolanda lets out a put-upon sigh, balancing her weight onto her pool stick. “But I guess you don’t need it, huh?”
She watches Santos catch onto the implication of her words, eyes glinting with interest. Still, though, the girl remains skeptical. “You’re not just saying this because I’m beating your ass, right? Because I’m literally about to win.” She says, voice petulant. Cocky as ever.
Yolanda isn’t phased. “Are you saying you don’t want my help?” She continues, crossing over to Trinity’s side of the table, standing right beside her. “You should always be receptive to the advice of your superiors, Doctor Santos. We just want what’s best for you.”
“I thought you said no hospital talk.” She mutters. She looks Yolanda up and down, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “But, okay. I’ll bite. What do you got?”
Yolanda grins sharply, all teeth. “Bend over.”
Trinity’s face drops. “What?”
Yolanda tries to stifle her laughter. “Get into position to take your shot. The same way you’ve been doing all night?”
Santos huffs at being caught, but follows her instruction. She grabs her cue stick and prepares to shoot, angling her body over the table. Her jacket was left behind in their booth, leaving only the thin fabric of her cropped, green baby tee. From her place behind her, Yolanda can see the way the shirt rides up, exposing an expanse of creamy skin from the waistband of her pants to the small of her back.
Impatient, Trinity turns her head back to face Yolanda. “Okay, what now?”
Yolanda smiles. This was the fun part. “You have a perfect shot lined up right there.” She points to one of Santos’ designated pool balls. “But you need to shift your stance just a little.” She uses one foot to push Santos’ farther outward, widening her posture. She then leans her body over Santos’, brushing her fingertips down the length of her arm, using her grip to help Trinity line the shot up perfectly. The cue ball lined up directly behind the target ball. She can feel Trinity’s muscles tense up the slightest bit underneath her.
Sure, there were people around, but Yolanda didn’t care. No one was paying them any mind in the dimly lit corner of the crowded bar. They were in a world all to themselves.
She lowers her voice, breath hitting right at Santos’ ear. “The 8-ball is right there, okay? You’re going to have to make sure you don’t sink it instead.” Yolanda’s hands leave Trinity’s arms, instead lightly placing them at her bare waist. She can feel Trinity shiver, see the goosebumps rise on the skin of her back.
She leans down to her ear once more. “And Doctor Santos?” Her accent curves deliciously around the consonants in the younger woman’s surname. “Try not to hit too hard.” The reminder falls on deaf ears. She squeezes slightly before resting her hands on the edge of the pool table, one on either side of Trinity’s hips. She remains behind her, not bothering to move as Trinity takes her turn.
She can see Trinity’s back expand and contract as she takes a deep breath, attempting to take the shot. She tries to shift, but Yolanda is right behind her, causing her ass to brush against Yolanda’s front. Yolanda doesn’t move out of the way. Trinity doesn’t ask her to. Trinity proceeds with the shot, but she overestimates her aim. She hits the cue ball with too much force, failing to heed Yolanda’s warning, and ends up hitting the 8-ball instead. They both watch as the dark ball rolls along the table, dropping into a corner hole with a dull thump. The person who sinks the 8-ball automatically loses. Yolanda is the winner.
“See? I knew you needed to brush up on your skills.” Yolanda finally says, smug, victorious.
Santos is having none of it. She quickly straightens up off the table and turns to face Yolanda with an affronted look splayed across her features. Yolanda still barely moves. Their bodies remain close together, Santos having to lean against the pool table to keep balance.
“That was not fair. You cheated!”
Yolanda merely smiles, enjoying the rebuttal. “I did not. I was helping. What, did you get distracted or something?” Santos grumbles.
“And besides, was cheating not what you were doing earlier?” Yolanda retorts, referring to Trinity’s little ruse.
“That is called hustling. Ever heard of it, Yolanda?” She uses the older woman’s first name for the first time tonight. Yolanda quite likes the sound of it.
“Whatever. I win. Better luck next time, Trinity.” Santos huffs again, rolling her eyes. Yolanda even thinks she’s pouting a little. Sore loser. She takes the opportunity to step even closer, Santos still resting her bottom half against the table.
“Aww, it’s okay, baby.” Yolanda croons, voice condescending. She raises a hand, tucking a dark strand of hair behind Trinity’s ear. Her fingertips brush against her skin. “You want a consolation prize?”
She watches Trinity inhale deeply, flushing, at the contact or at the pet name, maybe. Her wide eyes blinking up at her. She knows Trinity isn’t one to give in easily, probably not one to accept a consolation prize in the face of a loss, but Yolanda has a feeling she might be more receptive to this one. Yolanda already has a few inches on Trinity, but with her halfway seated on the table, the difference is even more noticeable. Santos’ breath picks up as her eyes flit downward, toward Yolanda’s lips. Her head moves with an almost imperceptible nod.
Yolanda’s eyes are on Trinity’s lips as well, but she’s able to catch the consent. She wants to tease, make her wait for it, rile her up even more, but she’s desperate, too. There’s a chance she might even want this more than the other girl.
She wastes no time, leaning forward and capturing Trinity’s lips in a firm kiss. The sound of her pulse in her ears drowns out the noisiness of the bar, everything narrowing down to the feeling of Trinity’s lips on hers. Her lips are just as soft as they’d looked.
Deepening the kiss, she breathes through her nose, her hand going from Trinity’s neck to her waist, holding her steady. Trinity’s hand makes its way to the side of Yolanda’s face, fingers tangling in the curly hair at the base of her neck; the other is propped on the table behind her. Her tongue brushes the opening of Trinity’s mouth, causing the girl to sigh into hers, their tongues mingling together.
Yolanda takes it a step further and shifts her leg between Trinity’s thighs, using her grip on her waist to pull her even closer. She’s able to hear and feel both the inhale and the muffled noise the girl makes against her lips. Sharp heat pools in her belly at the sound. Her legs widen just the slightest amount in order to accommodate Yolanda’s leg better.
It isn’t until the force of someone accidentally bumping into the pool table–likely the result of the bar’s crowd becoming increasingly inebriated as the night goes on–that they’re jostled apart. Their breaths are ragged as they regain awareness of their surroundings. Their very public surroundings. Yolanda takes Trinity in: the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her dark eyes, and flushed cheeks. Knows she herself probably looks the same. She speaks first, her voice rough.
“You wanna get out of here?”
Trinity’s nodding before she even gets the words out.
—
Trinity had mentioned earlier that she lived nearby, walking distance from the bar, so that’s where they were headed. Yolanda’s car was still in the hospital parking garage, but she’d worry about that later. She had more important things to focus on.
The walk was short, only about ten minutes. They didn’t say much during; just a brief comment Trinity made about her roommate working a night shift tonight, which Yolanda hummed absentmindedly at. Her brain kept replaying images of what they’d begun back in the bar; she was eager to get back to it. She had a feeling Trinity was in a similar state, if the way they both kept stealing heated glances at each other was any indication.
They’d soon arrived at Trinity’s building. She followed Trinity upstairs to her third-floor apartment, unable to help but maintain heavy eye contact during the short elevator ride. As soon as Trinity had gotten her front door unlocked, Yolanda was pushing her up against it, finally getting her lips on hers again. Trinity moaned directly into her mouth, her arms wrapping around Yolanda’s neck. Trinity let herself be kissed for a moment before gently pushing her back by her shoulders.
“My room’s this way, come on.” She’d whispered, before she grabbed Yolanda’s hand, only allowing Yolanda a cursory glance at the apartment’s decor before she was dragged into Trinity’s bedroom, the door closing behind them.
After turning on the light, Trinity turned to her with a slow smile that Yolanda returned. Trinity was the one to back Yolanda against the door this time, pressing a languid kiss to her mouth that quickly picked up speed.
Yolanda’s mind was reeling. She’d wanted this for what felt like so long; she felt scatterbrained with the number of things she’d wanted to do now that she was here. Her hand goes to the girl’s waist, the other tangling in Trinity’s hair. She feels Trinity’s fingers tighten at their place on her hips. She’s about to start pushing her backward toward the bed before Trinity breaks their kiss again; Yolanda has to stop herself from chasing her lips.
“Can I eat you out?” Trinity asks hurriedly, cheeks flushed a bright pink. Yolanda raises her eyebrows, smiling, even as heat goes directly to her core at the request.
“Trying to call the shots already?”
“I just,” Trinity licks her lips, seemingly at a loss for words. “I really want to.” She settles on.
God, she’s cute. Yolanda wants to see just how sweet the brash girl can be for her.
“Can you ask me a little nicer?”
Trinity scoffs out a laugh, “What, are you gonna make me beg?”
Yolanda just stares, raising a single brow.
Trinity’s smile fades. “Fuck.” She sees that Yolanda is serious. She flushes even darker, attempting to gather her wits. Swallowing, she hesitantly gets out, “Please? Can I please eat you out?”
Her face is entirely red. It’s pretty. Trinity’s demeanor has completely shifted from what she’s used to seeing her like at the hospital. Yolanda wants to make her say please more often. She presses another kiss to her lips in lieu of an answer. When she pulls back, she pushes herself off the door and sits cross-legged on the end of the bed. Trinity turns around to stare dazedly at her.
“Take off your clothes.” She requests, leaning back just to watch. Trinity rushes to comply, kicking off her shoes and tugging her shirt and sports bra off with record speed. “Easy,” she teases. “There’s no rush.” She works on getting her own clothes off, too, leaving only her underwear.
Looking back up, she eyes Trinity’s boxers with interest. “Keep your underwear on, for now.” She beckons Trinity over with a single digit. Trinity follows, capturing Yolanda’s lips again as she leans over her; their heights are flipped with Yolanda sitting on the bed. Yolanda doesn’t waste more time; Trinity had a request after all. She breaks their lips to say, “You wanted to eat me out, right?”
Trinity nods, her gaze half-lidded as she stares at Yolanda’s lips. She’s breathing heavily. Yolanda raises a finger to Trinity’s chin to catch her attention. Once their eyes meet, Yolanda looks intently toward the floor, gesturing with her eyes. Trinity sinks to her knees.
Yolanda’s used to being in charge in the bedroom. Most of the time, when she takes a girl home, she spends time diligently getting her off, using dexterous fingers or her tongue to drive her into endless pleasure. Sometimes, if she really needs to let off some steam, she’ll whip out her harness and fuck a girl into her mattress until she’s crying out, falling apart on her strap. Other times, she wants this. A pretty girl on her knees, begging to please her. She wasn’t expecting it from Trinity. She’d been so caught up in what she’d wanted to do to the other girl, she hadn’t even considered the possibility. Now, with Trinity blinking up at her, she can’t help but notice how perfect she looks down there.
Trinity helps Yolanda peel off her underwear, gazing at her with something like reverence. Like she can’t believe she’s real. Yolanda feels her stomach flutter at the sight. She cards a hand through Trinity’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching at her scalp. Trinity takes that as her cue. She begins pressing soft kisses up the expanse of Yolanda’s thighs, her already heavy breaths fanning over where Yolanda’s most desperate. It makes Yolanda shiver. Right before Trinity’s mouth reaches the place she needs it most, she looks up again, eyes searching. Asking for permission. Fuck.
She nods, trying to keep her composure. Suddenly, Trinity’s mouth is on her.
Trinity eats her out like she was made for it. Yolanda had an inkling that Trinity was gay immediately just from looking at her, but if she didn’t before, she’d definitely know it now. Yolanda can’t stop a moan from escaping her throat at the feel of Trinity’s tongue between her legs, much louder than she intended. She can feel Trinity grin against her at that, and the promise of teeth makes her shudder. Cocky. She chides, internally. She wraps a leg around Trinity’s shoulder, using her grip on her hair to pull her in even closer between her legs. She sees Trinity’s eyes flutter close, focusing.
Trinity puts her entire being into eating her out. She’s sloppy with it; eager. It’s clear she knows what she’s doing. Her tongue picks up a steady pace, starting by lapping between her folds, exploratory, then proceeding to circle her clit with precision that catches even Yolanda off guard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Her arms are wrapped around Yolanda’s thighs, keeping her legs apart where Yolanda’s desperately trying to close them against the onslaught of pleasure coursing through her body. Trinity’s mouth is making her head spin; she can already feel an orgasm building relatively fast.
“Fuck, Trinity,” she manages to get out. “That’s really good.”
Trinity moans against her, the vibration causing her to groan too, a feedback loop of pleasure. Trinity’s fingertips tighten against her thighs, probably leaving bruises. Yolanda hopes it does. She can see Trinity squirming on the floor, her thighs pressed together. She must like praise. Yolanda probably could’ve guessed that.
Her legs spread wider to allow Trinity even deeper. The first press of her tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, nodding without really knowing why. Trinity begins fucking her with her tongue in short thrusts. Shit. She’s getting close. Trinity probably doesn’t even realize it, but she’s making these little noises into Yolanda’s cunt like she’s the one getting off on this. Maybe she is. Either way, they’re making Yolanda feel dizzy with pleasure.
Letting out another loud moan–never really been one to be able to control her noises in bed–she tightens her hand in Trinity’s hair, making her whimper. She wrenches Trinity’s head back toward the place where she really needs it, her mouth immediately latching onto her clit without even having to ask.
She hisses as Trinity sucks on her clit, that one action veering her so quickly toward the edge she gets a little lightheaded. She whines, the noise caught in her throat, trying to relay this fact to Trinity. The heat tightens in her abdomen, a pulsing thing that threatens to boil over soon.
“Trin–shit, baby, just a little faster.” Yolanda moans; she can barely get the words out. “I’m close.”
Trinity moans against her again, but keeps it up, not stopping for a second. She speeds up the flicking of her tongue. So good at following instructions, Yolanda somehow has the mental capacity to think before all her thoughts cease, her orgasm emptying her head completely. Both her hands grasp at Trinity’s head, keeping her exactly where she is.
Distantly, over the rushing in her ears, she can hear herself moaning loudly, again. She knows she’s loud; she really can’t help it. And she’s not one to be shy about it either. If she’s feeling good, why should she hide that? She can feel her thighs clenching around Trinity’s head, but Trinity remains steady, her tongue slowly working her through the last remains of her orgasm.
Yolanda releases the tight grasp her legs inadvertently trapped Trinity’s head in, her chest heaving. Trinity doesn’t look much better; her face is flushed, hair mussed from Yolanda’s ministrations. The lower half of her face is drenched from Yolanda’s wetness, mouth open as she tries to catch her breath. Despite her panting, there’s a breathless smile on her face, a knowing glint in her eyes as she takes in Yolanda’s state. Basking in her success of completely taking Yolanda apart.
“Was that good?” Trinity asks. Yolanda almost rolls her eyes at the question. She doesn’t bother answering. Instead, she helps Trinity up off her knees, scooching back against the pillows and helping Trinity into a straddle on her lap. Yolanda’s able to recover quickly from her recent orgasm. She has an agenda after all.
“Was that good?” Yolanda mocks, licking herself off of Trinity’s chin and jaw, before kissing the grin off of Trinity’s face, deliberately licking into her mouth. She hums at the taste of herself on Trinity’s tongue, feeling Trinity shiver on top of her. “Was that good?” Yolanda repeats, breaking away to punctuate her words with kisses down Trinity’s neck, nipping as Trinity fights not to squirm in her lap. Yolanda sucks at the curve of Trinity’s jaw, causing her to hiss, as her mouth hovers over Trinity’s ear.
“I’ll show you how good that was. Lie down on the bed.” The command falls over Trinity; Yolanda can feel her almost snap to attention, rushing to follow her instruction.
This is what Yolanda was waiting for. She admits Trinity is good with her mouth–she’s gonna have to make use of that more later–but the sight of her splayed out underneath her is one that she’d pictured almost a countless number of times.
Finally, Yolanda thinks as she spreads out on top of Trinity, capturing her lips again. Her free hand travels down Trinity’s torso, squeezing her breast. She tweaks at a nipple, causing Trinity to moan against her mouth, her back arching into the touch. She trails her kisses down Trinity’s neck, saving any marks for underneath the scrubs. Yolanda herself enjoys leaving marks, but she’s not sure where Trinity stands on them yet, especially since they work together. She’ll hold off on them for now, but she quite likes the idea of Trinity having some evidence of tonight on her skin for a while, even if Yolanda is the only one who knows about them.
She wraps her mouth around a nipple. Trinity lets out a harsh cry at that, fingertips scrambling to find purchase against something; one in the sheets, the other tangled in Yolanda’s hair. She’s squirming, her thighs attempting to squeeze together against the amount of heat gathering in her core. Yolanda finds this reaction delicious; her responsiveness something unexpected. Trinity seems to be surprising her a lot today.
“Please,” she hears Trinity babbling above her, voice stretched high and thin. “Please don’t tease, Yolanda.” It’s clear Trinity is worked up; it only makes Yolanda want to push her even further.
“What do you want?” She questions, her face the picture of innocence, as even her mouth goes to the other side of Trinity’s chest, sucking at a nipple. Trinity groans, both due to Yolanda’s attention to her breasts and in exasperation at the question.
“I don’t give a shit,” Trinity whines. “Just touch me.”
Yolanda can’t help but tease. “I am touching you.” She emphasizes this by running her hands up and down Trinity’s thighs, carefully skipping where Trinity must be aching by now.
Trinity’s head shoots up in outrage. “Yolanda.” She’s all flushed and frustrated. Lips swollen and hair disheveled around her head. Pupils so large her eyes are almost black with pleasure. Yolanda’s heart skips a beat at the sight. She’s beautiful. She can feel herself getting turned on again, seeing Trinity worked up to this point. It makes her compliant.
“How do you want me to touch you? Use your words.” Yolanda replies.
Trinity huffs out a breath, her head falling back against the bed in resignation. She swallows, trying to think through the haze in her brain. “Your fingers, please.” Yolanda spots Trinity eyeing her hands longingly, and she smirks.
“Good girl,” Yolanda whispers, granting her a kiss for her troubles. Trinity sighs.
Deciding she’s kept her waiting long enough, Yolanda finally drags Trinity’s ruined boxers down her legs. They’re soaked through; her mouth waters at the sight of a string of Trinity’s wetness sticking to the fabric. Nostrils flaring as the scent of Trinity fills the air. Yolanda raises her eyebrows at Trinity, who’s currently covering her face in embarrassment.
“Shut up,” she whines, even though Yolanda hadn’t said anything.
Yolanda ignores her. “Okay, I have to taste you. Can I?”
“I don’t care what you do, as long as you do some–” Her words taper off on a near-sob as Yolanda shoves her head between Trinity’s legs, tonguing through her folds. Trinity’s so wet that the entire lower half of Yolanda’s face is immediately covered in her wetness. Yolanda groans at the taste; she feels like she’s in heaven.
Trinity’s in a similar state. She’s thrashing around; she can’t stop arching her hips up to meet Yolanda’s mouth. Yolanda has to use an arm to hold Trinity down. She’s whining, placing a hand in her hair that has Yolanda shivering. Yolanda’s sharp tongue is pushing Trinity toward the edge faster than anticipated. She can’t quite catch her breath.
“Yolanda,” Trinity moans. “Fuck.”
Yolanda can tell she’s close. She takes the initiative to honor Trinity’s earlier request and thrusts two fingers inside Trinity’s entrance in a way that has her clenching around them immediately, a whimper leaving her lips. She can feel Trinity’s legs shaking around her head as she presses them into her, purposefully hitting a spot against her front wall that has her letting out these choked-out whines with each thrust. Yolanda feels high off the sound.
The dual combination of both her fingers and her mouth sends Trinity hurtling over the edge, not even able to warn Yolanda as a high-pitched moan leaves her lips and a gush of wetness drenches Yolanda’s face and the sheets. Yolanda keeps going, continuing to thrust her fingers with surgical precision until Trinity plummets into a second orgasm, her air intake reduced to heaving pants against the waves of pleasure Yolanda pulls from her.
Yolanda’s in awe, stunned as she looks up from in between Trinity’s legs to watch her face shatter in pleasure. She feels short of breath at the sight, or maybe that’s just due to the way Trinity’s thighs have her head trapped in an iron grip as she comes down from her orgasm. Yolanda doesn’t mind; she’d die here happily, she thinks, as she continues to carefully lick around Trinity’s clit through the aftershocks. It’s not until Trinity hisses in overstimulation that she pulls away, sliding her fingers out as she does.
Trinity is staring down at her with a stupefied look on her face. Yolanda smiles, sticking her own fingers into her mouth to clean them, making eye contact as she does. Trinity’s expression morphs into a pained groan at that, but she’s smiling.
“You’re insane,” Trinity says. Yolanda just laughs, licking the last of Trinity’s wetness off her thighs, sucking kisses into them, causing Trinity to flinch from oversensitivity.
Trinity’s had enough. She pulls Yolanda up by the shoulder into a kiss, her turn to lick her own taste out of Yolanda’s mouth, before lying back on the bed, still catching her breath. Yolanda lies beside her, delighting in the blissed-out smile permanently fixed on Trinity’s face. She looks softer. She’d done that.
It’s only then that Yolanda notices the muffled sound of beats coming through the wall. Is that…funk? She makes eye contact with Trinity, the other girl’s widening in recognition. She watches as Trinity fumbles to find her phone, still naked (it’s in her pants pocket on the floor), the whites of her eyes growing even larger as she reads her unanswered text messages.
“Shit.” Trinity curses. “Huckleberry.”
“What?” Yolanda questions. Why is Trinity bringing up fruit right now?
“My roommate.” Yolanda continues to stare blankly at her. Trinity doesn’t notice; she’s still frantically tapping at her phone. She watches as Trinity clicks on the calendar app. “Dr. Whitaker, from the hospital.” She mindlessly tacks on.
Yolanda has to think for a moment to even remember who that is. When his face appears in her mind, her brain racks through a series of emotions before landing on amusement. The image of the timid Dr. Whitaker she remembers and the headstrong Trinity Santos she’s become so enamoured with, living together, is almost laughable. “The mousy one? He’s your roommate?”
“Yes,” Trinity grumbles. She doesn’t elaborate further. She seems to have found what she was looking for on her phone: Their shared schedule. Whitaker was, in fact, not on the night shift tonight. He was home, and he heard everything. “He’s gonna kill me.”
Yolanda can’t imagine Whitaker doing much harm. She should probably feel worse about how loud they were, but it’s not her fault they didn’t know he was home. She’s still stuck on the fact that they’re even roommates.
A wide grin grows on Yolanda’s face at the knowledge. She’s about to start cooing. “You guys share a calendar?”
Trinity finally looks up to fix her with a glare. She looks so offended, it’s cute. Yolanda can’t help but burst into laughter.
“Shut up!” Trinity yells, affronted, before picking up a pillow and hitting her with it. “It’s not funny!”
Yolanda’s still laughing as she tries to defend herself against Trinity’s wrath, harder than she has in a while. She hopes this thing between her and Trinity—whatever it is—can happen again soon.
Take that, Emery.