Chapter Text
Shasha and Gorya had a routine, and it went something like this.
Step one: Shasha hit on Gorya. This could range from a mild compliment—your makeup looks good today—to a full on dragging of her eyes up Gorya’s body.
Step two: Gorya shot her down.
That was it. That was the whole routine.
Rarely did Shasha get a word out that didn’t make Gorya, at minimum, roll her eyes. A scoff was standard. A retort almost guaranteed, especially if it was in response to a compliment. One time, Gorya scolded her for smiling—even though Gorya had been bent over Shasha in a low-cut top, tucking a loose strand of Shasha’s hair behind her ear, and honestly, Shasha could have done a lot worse than smile.
“Stop that.”
“Enough.”
“Are you always like this?”
The rejections were endless, and Shasha loved every one of them. They felt fun, like a little game they played. Harmless barbs, flirtation for flirtation’s sake.
At least, at first she loved them. Then Woonsen got in her head.
It started with a shoot she’d overslept past—one she hadn’t even wanted in the first place, because the director was a pig of a man who made her feel disgusting whenever she was in the same room as him. Woonsen’s lecture afterwards was long and Shasha only half listened, but one thing stuck: Shasha, while talented, couldn’t see past her own feelings.
“Some day you’re going to have to do something because someone besides you wants you to, you know that, right?”
Shasha bristled. Woonsen knew better than anyone how much Shasha was willing to do that she didn’t want to, and that went far beyond whatever stupid job she’d booked for her. But that was a door neither of them ever opened, so Shasha swallowed it and let the thought fester instead.
The thought stayed with her longer than she wanted it to, burrowing in deeper the more she tried to shake it off. Woonsen was right (though seriously, fuck her for saying it anyway). Shasha was selfish. She had to be, to get this far in her career. It hadn’t earned her many friends—zero, in fact—but it had always been a survival mechanism, the thing that kept her moving forward when nothing else did.
The thought haunted her for days, and one of those days, she showed up to a shoot to find a petite, angry woman waiting in her dressing room.
“Gorya,” Shasha greeted. “You look—”
“Whatever you’re going to say, save it.”
Shasha’s mouth snapped shut.
She’d always thought Gorya shutting her down was banter. Shasha loved a challenge, and Gorya was certainly that. But what if that wasn’t what was happening here? What if Gorya genuinely wasn’t attracted to her—which, yes, would be a first, but it was possible. What if Shasha had been overstepping every single time she’d opened her mouth in the past few months?
Shasha swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Okay. Where do you want me?”
God. Even that sounded suggestive. Could she not just be normal, for once?
The rest of the shoot was a disaster. The director kept giving her notes, and she was doing her best to adjust, but every time she looked up she caught Gorya watching her from behind the rack with an expression that gave away absolutely nothing.
She thought about every man who’d ever ignored her signals on set, who’d kept pushing after she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested, and her stomach turned. Was that what she’d been doing to Gorya? Months of flirting that Gorya had shut down every single time, and Shasha had just kept going, because she thought it was fun, because she assumed the no was part of the game. What if it wasn’t?
“Let’s try the next outfit and see if we can get something fucking usable,” she heard him mutter. Shasha’s eyes dropped to the floor. She needed to get out of her head. Do her job. She refused to let whatever was wrong with her today cost her a job she was usually great at.
Back in the dressing room, she stepped behind the curtain and started changing. Gorya was behind her within seconds, throwing the curtain open and stepping inside. Shasha was half-undressed, but Gorya had seen her like this plenty of times, and—well. She wasn’t shy, no matter how much she felt like crawling into a hole today.
But something was off. Gorya wasn’t holding her next outfit. She wasn’t holding anything. She was just standing there, looking at Shasha with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
Gorya crossed her arms. “What’s going on with you?”
Shasha let the shirt she’d been holding drop to the floor. “Nothing.”
“You’re acting…strange.”
“Am I?”
Gorya didn’t answer, just blinked at her for a few seconds before shaking her head and ducking back behind the curtain. A moment later, she reappeared with the next outfit.
“This is low-cut, so you’ll need to lose the undershirt,” Gorya said, holding it up. “The fabric’s very flowy, so when you’re posing, you’ll need to lean forward just the right amount or you’re going to—”
It was quick, the way Gorya’s eyes traveled over her mostly-naked torso, but Shasha felt every millisecond. She could trace the path Gorya’s eyes took—her collarbones, the band of her bra, the slight definition in her abs she’d worked so hard to earn.
Gorya’s lips parted. Her chest rose on a sharp breath.
It was over in an instant, Gorya looking away, but it had been plenty of time. There was no misreading that look. Shasha had seen it a hundred times on other women, but on Gorya it was something else entirely, something she wanted to see again and again and again.
Gorya twisted her mouth to the side as she handed Shasha the shirt without another word. The fabric was soft as it slid over her shoulders, low-cut just as promised, with buttons that only came up to the middle of her ribcage at best.
Feeling a little braver than she had all day, Shasha took a step back and looked down at herself. “Could you help button me? My hands are tired.”
Shasha watched Gorya’s face, and—yes, there was definitely just a flash of a smirk just before Gorya’s eyes rolled. Gorya started on the buttons, and her fingers brushed bare skin as she worked, the way they always seemed to whenever she was adjusting Shasha’s clothes, quick enough to be plausibly professional but slow enough to linger in Shasha’s head for hours. Only today, when her fingers reached Shasha’s stomach on the bottom buttons, they stayed a second longer than usual, and it took everything Shasha had not to grab her by the wrist and hold her there.
That was how she figured out Gorya liked their routine just as much as she did. That Gorya, who was nothing but sweet to everyone else on set, might have liked that she didn’t have to be nice with Shasha.
Maybe it was fun for her—maybe Gorya got the same thrill out of shutting Shasha down that Shasha got from being shut down, and maybe Shasha wasn’t the only one who went home thinking about it.
Which is why, when Gorya kissed her at a party a few weeks later and told Shasha to take her home, she expected Gorya to be just as much of a brat in bed as she was everywhere else. She expected the eye rolls, the scoffs, the sharp tongue, all of it turned up and aimed somewhere new.
And at first, that’s exactly what she got.
“Are you sure you want this?” Shasha asked, because one of them had to be responsible, even if she didn’t particularly want to be. “I know you did that to spite someone.”
Gorya’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t act like you’re a saint. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.” She tilted her chin up. “You don’t want it? Bye.”
She actually moved to leave. Shasha caught her by the wrist and pulled her back onto the bed, crawling over her slowly.
“Don’t regret this later,” Shasha murmured, looking down at her. “I’m worried you might get hooked.”
Gorya smiled up at her—sharp, unbothered, fully in control. “Don’t worry. I’m not expecting much anyway. I just want to have fun.”
Everything after that happened fast—clothes pulling apart between kisses, Gorya’s skirt hitting the floor, Shasha’s shirt tossed somewhere behind them until they were on the bed together, Gorya naked beneath her except for a pair of black underwear. Lace edges, cut just right. Shasha wondered briefly who she’d put them on for tonight.
Definitely not her. Probably Prim.
Whatever. Shasha was the one who got to enjoy them now, tugged off to the side so Shasha could touch.
“Oh, fuck,” Gorya breathed as Shasha slid a finger inside her. She’d heard Gorya say “fuck” a hundred times on set—annoyed, exasperated, muttered under her breath at a broken zipper. Never like this—a near whine, just at the first touch. The sound was enough to make Shasha’s hips shift against the mattress without her permission.
She glanced up to find Gorya with her eyes closed, lips parted, head tilted back, and the sight of her like that sent a pulse of heat straight through Shasha’s chest. She smirked. “You like that?”
“God, yes. It’s amazing.”
Shasha’s hand stilled for half a second. She’d been bracing for a critique—is that all you’ve got? or I’ve had better—something bratty that matched every other interaction they’d ever had. Instead, Gorya sounded like she meant it, genuinely stunned, and Shasha had no idea what to do with unfiltered praise coming out of Gorya’s mouth.
It wasn’t like she’d never heard it before. Women told her she was good at this all the time, and she knew they were right. But none of them had made her chase them for months first, and hearing Gorya—Gorya, who had never once made anything easy for her—say she was amazing in that voice, breathless and desperate for more?
Shasha liked it.
“Good.”
She found her rhythm again, thrusting with the help of her hips, and Gorya’s breath hitched on every push forward. Normally she wouldn’t have gone straight to this—she liked to take her time, learn someone’s body, figure out what made them hold their breath. But Gorya had grabbed her by the wrist, dragged her hand down, and said:
“I need you to fuck me.”
And Shasha wasn’t going to say no to that. She gave Gorya exactly what she asked for, and Gorya took it—hips rising to meet every thrust, head pressed back into the pillows.
“Feels so good,” Gorya breathed out. Her hands were clenched in the blankets at her sides instead of on Shasha, and Shasha couldn’t figure out why that bothered her so much—if Gorya felt the need to hold on for dear life, she wasn’t going to stop her, but some selfish part of her wanted those hands somewhere on her skin.
Gorya looked amazing like this. Her cheeks were pink, her bottom lip red and swollen from the indent mark of her teeth. She didn’t hold back, moaning at practically every other thrust. Shasha pushed herself up onto one elbow so she could get a better view, wanting to memorize this in case it never happened again.
“Shasha—god, that’s—” Her name had never sounded like that before, had never made her stomach flip the way it did coming out of Gorya’s mouth. “More. Please, I need…I need more, please—”
Please? Who was this woman?
Shasha slid a second finger in and felt Gorya open up for her easily, felt her hips stutter and her walls tighten, and something hot and possessive flared in Shasha’s chest at the idea that she was the one doing this to her.
“God, yes—perfect, that’s—you’re so—perfect.”
Gorya wasn’t even finishing her sentences anymore. Shasha had never been more turned on in her life, and she wasn’t even being touched. She couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by the pinch in Gorya’s brow, the flush spreading down her chest, the way she rolled her lips together to keep herself quiet —though it didn’t work, a breathy yes or fuck slipping out every few seconds regardless.
She wasn’t at all prepared for Gorya to open her eyes and catch her staring. Shasha, to her credit, didn’t falter, keeping the rhythm they’d built together even as something jolted through her at the eye contact. Her hand was soaking wet and her wrist was starting to ache, but it was more than worth it to see just how blown Gorya’s pupils were when they found her.
One of Gorya’s hands came free from the blankets to slide around Shasha’s neck, fingers tangling in her hair. “You feel so good. Don’t—god, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
It was one thing to hear Gorya praise her with her eyes closed, lost in it, barely aware of what was coming out of her own mouth. It was something else entirely to have those words aimed at her, deliberate and direct, while Gorya held her gaze like she wanted Shasha to know she meant every syllable. Shasha’s hips thrust forward before she could stop them, her body chasing contact that wasn’t there, and Gorya’s fingers tightened into a fist in her hair. Shasha bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound that would give away exactly how wrecked she already was. But god—who could blame her?
Gorya leaned up to meet her, pulling down against Shasha’s neck until their foreheads pressed together. It was sweaty and sticky and Shasha could feel every breath rushing in and out of Gorya’s lungs against her own skin. The shift in position pulled Shasha flush against her body, filling her a little deeper, and Gorya started fucking up into her hand in earnest. There wasn’t as much room for Shasha to move her fingers like this, so she used her whole body to match Gorya’s rhythm instead, rolling her hips forward on every thrust until they were moving together like they’d done this a thousand times.
“Oh fuck, that’s so good. God that’s—ah—I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”
Shasha had no intention of stopping.
After another few thrusts, Gorya’s leg hooked around the back of hers, pulling her closer like she was afraid Shasha might disappear. As if there was anywhere else she’d rather be than right here, with Gorya tight around her fingers and gasping out, “Don’t stop, I’m so close. Fuck that feels so—”
Gorya went silent, her head crashing back against the mattress as her body arched up into Shasha. She felt the orgasm roll through the woman beneath her—the jump of her stomach muscles, the stuttering of her hips, the way her walls pulsed around Shasha’s fingers. Shasha dropped her mouth to Gorya’s neck, pressing small kisses along the curve of it, just enough to taste the sweat and salt on her skin.
Gorya’s chest rose and fell with quick, uneven breaths as she came back down.
“Wow,” Gorya exhaled. “Fuck.”
When Shasha dragged her eyes up, she found Gorya looking at her with half-closed lids. She was still panting a little, dazed. Gorya’s hand found the back of Shasha’s neck and pulled her up for a kiss—slow this time, firm, nothing like the desperate ones they’d started the night with.
It caught her off guard. Not the kiss itself, but the timing. Shasha’s hand had already stilled. They weren’t building toward anything. Then Gorya hummed against her mouth, lazy and satisfied, and Shasha’s brain clicked it into place. A thank-you. Sure. She’d just made Gorya come so hard she nearly blacked out—a little gratitude was warranted.
Gorya was slow to open her eyes after Shasha pulled away. She looked exhausted, blinking up at Shasha, eyes still unfocused and distant.
“Get under the blankets.” Shasha nodded towards the pillows.
Gorya’s brow pinched. “But you—don’t you want…”
Shasha shook her head. She’d said no to this enough times that it should have been automatic by now, and it was—it just didn’t usually require her to ignore the throbbing between her own legs while she said it. “You can go to sleep. I can tell I wore you out.”
Gorya slapped her bare arm, but there was nothing behind it. Shasha sat up so Gorya could move, then followed her under the blankets, fingers still wet.
Gorya was out within seconds.
Shasha didn’t sleep for hours.
//
The next morning, Shasha woke up before Gorya. Most women didn’t spend the night at her place, but when they did, Shasha always made sure to make them breakfast. It was only polite, and she could be chivalrous when she felt like it.
Gorya didn’t look impressed when she came downstairs. In fact, she rejected her efforts completely.
It seemed their routine was in tact.
Still, Shasha wanted to test the waters.
“How was it? Was it good?”
After the babbled praise Gorya had given her last night, Shasha was expecting something a little more than:
“It was fine. Not bad.”
Shasha bit back a grin. There she was.
“Not bad,” Shasha repeated. “Then I need to do better next time.”
//
Next time, it turned out, was the very next night.
Gorya had shown up on her doorstep, which was surprising enough on its own, but her proposal was what really caught Shasha off guard.
“Friends with benefits. No strings attached. No feelings involved.”
Shasha didn’t usually sleep with the same woman twice. It was easier that way—one night, no expectations, nobody getting attached. But with Gorya, it was abundantly clear that she was not in danger of falling for Shasha. It wasn’t a concern. Shasha had even floated the idea of being a more-than-one-night-stand that morning, and Gorya had dismissed it without a second thought.
Now, Gorya had her hands threaded through Shasha’s hair, holding Shasha’s mouth in place—which was to say, on her knees, between Gorya’s thighs, with one of Gorya’s legs hooked over her shoulder as her tongue worked beneath her skirt.
Last night, Shasha had only used her hands. Tonight was new, and Shasha was being a little… indulgent. She took her time, dragging her tongue through Gorya’s folds just enough to tease, to taste, to hear her breath catch and come out as a moan. Gorya’s thighs tightened against the side of her head every time Shasha got close to where Gorya wanted her, and Shasha kept pulling back just to feel it happen again.
She could feel her own arousal building, familiar and inconvenient, and she did what she always did—filed it away for later, for after Gorya left, for the shower or the quiet dark of her bedroom. Right now wasn’t about her.
Gorya only had one foot on the ground, and her leg had started shaking about a minute ago. When Shasha’s mouth finally closed around her clit, Gorya made a strangled noise and slid several inches down the wall before catching herself. The problem was that Gorya was short to begin with, and the new angle forced Shasha’s neck to crane too far down for comfort. She had work tomorrow. She couldn’t show up with a crick in her neck from going down on Gorya against a wall, no matter how much she wanted to.
Shasha ducked out from under the skirt. Gorya had a hand pressed over her mouth, eyes shut, chest heaving, and the sight of her like that almost made Shasha say fuck work. She could pose perfectly fine with a limited range of motion.
Just as she was about to continue, Gorya cracked one eye open. “You’re stopping?”
“Just getting started.”
“Then why—”
Shasha stood, dragging her hands up Gorya’s thighs as she went, guiding the leg off her shoulder and around her waist before scooping up the other to match. Gorya squeaked, which—adorable—and Shasha pressed her into the wall to kiss her.
Then, in a move she definitely hadn’t practiced with other women, she carried Gorya to the couch. She’d had so many dreams about fucking Gorya here after that first night she came to Shasha’s apartment. Part of her was tempted to recreate it, to sit Gorya down on her thighs and get it right this time, because god, she would look incredible riding Shasha’s fingers.
But no. She’d started something, and she intended to finish it. Besides, this wasn’t a one-time thing anymore—Shasha would have plenty of time to take Gorya any way she wanted her.
Right now, she wanted her exactly like this.
She laid Gorya down, letting her prop herself against the armrest as Shasha pulled her skirt and underwear down over her ankles. Gorya had somehow managed to kick her boots off on the walk to the couch, which was impressive considering the ridiculous platforms she insisted on wearing. Gorya shrugged out of her pink hoodie, leaving just an undershirt that was closer to a sports bra than anything else, and Shasha thought about detouring to remove that too, but then Gorya’s legs slid open a little further, and the look on her face made it very clear she didn’t want to wait another second.
Shasha shoved the pointless throw pillows to the floor, then laid between Gorya’s legs. The couch was huge—perks of being a super rich model—and there was plenty of room for both of them. Shasha pushed one of Gorya’s thighs out of the way, ignoring the urge to bite the soft swell of skin, pulling the other leg over her shoulder, and put her mouth back on her.
Gorya was even wetter now than she had been minutes ago, and Shasha couldn’t help the groan that spilled out of her as her tongue slid through. At the sound, Gorya’s hand found Shasha’s head again.
She hadn’t expected Gorya to be a head pusher. Then again, last time Gorya had guided Shasha’s hand exactly where she needed her and made it abundantly clear what she wanted her to do with it, so maybe she should have seen it coming. Shasha didn’t mind—clear direction was always useful, especially when it came in the form of Gorya moaning directly above her.
“Right there,” she said as Shasha’s tongue flattened against her clit. Gorya pushed down, grinding against it. “Yeah, fuck, that’s perfect.”
Shasha rolled her tongue against her, unable to move much with how hard Gorya was holding her in place. Her hand came up to hook around one of Gorya’s thighs, fingers sinking into the soft skin to let Gorya know she had no intention of going anywhere, and Gorya seemed to get the message, loosening her grip just enough.
With the extra room, Shasha pulled back far enough to flick her tongue—hard—grinning against Gorya when she let out a sharp little "ah!" and thrust into the feeling. Then Shasha’s tongue softened, lapping gently instead, building her back up slower this time just because she could.
Gorya let her know she liked it.
“Your mouth is amazing. That feels so—fuck.” She couldn’t finish the sentence, her hand tightening in Shasha’s hair, and the sting of it sent a bolt of heat straight down into Shasha’s stomach.
Shasha moaned against her, and Gorya’s hips jumped at the vibration.
“I can feel when you…” Gorya trailed off into a sigh, and Shasha gave another low hum just to watch what would happen. Gorya nodded frantically. “Yeah, that, that’s good.”
Something was shifting in Shasha that she wasn’t prepared for. She’d gone down on plenty of women before, enjoyed every single one of them, and not once had she cared this much about what they had to say while she was doing it. But Gorya’s voice was getting to her in a way she couldn’t explain, every breathy fuck and desperate don’t stop sending a new thrill through her.
She sealed her lips around Gorya’s clit and sucked, and Gorya’s whole body jerked beneath her.
“You’re so good at this.” Gorya words came out in a rush, jumbling together in a way that took Shasha a second to untangle. “How are you so good at this?”
Shasha would have smiled if her mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. Instead she answered by sliding her tongue in slow, firm circles, varying the pressure every few passes until she found the exact rhythm that made Gorya’s thigh tense against the side of her head.
“That’s—yeah, right there, don’t—just like that.” Gorya’s hips were rocking up into her mouth now, chasing it, and her hand in Shasha’s hair had stopped guiding and started just holding on. “So good, it’s so good.”
Shasha could feel Gorya getting close in the way her body was curling inwards, in how her breaths started coming shallow and fast, each ending a short moan before she gasped again, desperate for oxygen.
“Shasha—” Gorya’s voice broke on the second half of her name, and her hips lifted off the couch entirely. “Oh my god, I’m—please, please don’t stop, I’m so close, you feel so—”
Shasha didn’t stop. She pressed her tongue flat and firm against Gorya’s clit and let Gorya grind into her, matching every desperate roll of her hips, and when Gorya’s hand fisted so hard in her hair that it hurt, Shasha moaned into her because she couldn’t help it, because the sounds Gorya was making was going to live in her head rent-free for the rest of her life.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Gorya chanted on repeat, each breathier than the last. “Shasha—oh, fuck.”
That was the last thing she heard before Gorya’s thighs closed around her ears. The world went muffled and dark and Shasha couldn’t breathe, which was fine—she didn’t need to breathe right now, not when she could feel Gorya’s orgasm pulsing against her tongue, her entire body shaking around her. She kept her mouth soft and still, letting Gorya ride it out, and just when the edges of her vision were starting to go fuzzy Gorya’s legs finally fell open and air rushed back in.
Shasha pressed her forehead against Gorya’s thigh and took a few deep breaths, which she felt she’d earned.
When she looked up, Gorya was wrecked—flushed from her cheeks to her chest, one arm thrown over her eyes, her stomach muscles still jumping with aftershocks. Shasha wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and crawled up the length of the couch to kiss her, slow and deliberate, letting Gorya taste herself. Gorya made a soft sound against her lips and pulled her closer by the front of her shirt, and when they broke apart she kept her eyes closed for a long moment.
“Hi,” Shasha said when Gorya’s eyes fell open.
“Shut up,” Gorya murmured, but she was smiling, and her hand was still twisted in Shasha’s shirt.
It had barely been a minute since Gorya finished, but something greedy in the back of Shasha’s mind was already cataloging everything she hadn’t done yet, every sound she hadn’t pulled out of Gorya, every spot on her body she hadn’t explored. And sure, she would have more time to find out every little thing—they had an arrangement now—but still.
She pulled back just enough to nod toward the stairs. “Bed?”
Gorya’s legs were still shaking when she tried to stand, and Shasha caught her around her waist, laughing. Gorya rolled her eyes, but had to bite her lip to stop her smile.
Shasha led her up the stairs. They had all night, and she intended to use every minute of it.
//
They fell into a pattern after that. Gorya would show up, sometimes with an excuse and sometimes without one, and Shasha would take her apart with her hands or her mouth or both until Gorya was boneless and half-asleep in her bed. It was a good arrangement. It was an easy one.
In the beginning, Gorya would offer to return the favor. And every time, Shasha said no. After the first few nights, Gorya stopped asking. She didn’t make a thing of it, didn’t demand an explanation or look hurt—she just stopped, like she’d figured out the answer wasn’t going to change and decided to respect that, and Shasha was glad that she didn’t have to come up with a reason for it that would make sense to anyone but herself.
It was something of a rule of Shasha’s. She’d never had to explain it to anyone because most hookups didn’t stick around long enough to ask twice. Shasha gave, they received, and by the time they left she had the apartment to herself and could take care of the rest on her own terms. It wasn’t about a fear of disappointment. It was about what happened when she let someone in that far. Hands on her body meant trusting someone with her reactions, her sounds, the faces she made when she wasn’t performing. It meant giving someone a version of herself she couldn’t curate, and Shasha had spent her entire adult life making sure no one ever got that.
It was fine. It was better this way. She was used to it.
But Gorya—Gorya did something that most other women didn’t, whether because Shasha didn’t invite them to, or because they could plainly read what the situation was and knew better.
Gorya slept over.
It was a delicious kind of torture, trying to sleep next to Gorya, passed out after her third or fourth orgasm, her own legs clenched, thighs still wet. In her sleep, Gorya would often cling to Shasha, an arm slung around her mid-drift or a leg around her waist. Sometimes, if she was feeling particularly masochistic, Shasha would turn her head so her nose could be buried in Gorya’s hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo while she waited for her body to calm enough to sleep.
Sometimes, if it ever got too bad, she would excuse herself to take a shower afterwards. She’d come embarrassingly quickly, her back against the cold tile, hand over her mouth so Gorya wouldn’t hear her. It didn’t leave her feeling satisfied, but most of the time it was enough that she could actually get some sleep.
Still, more often than not as the days went on, she was finding herself on the edge of uncomfortably turned on at completely inappropriate times of the day.
During a meeting with her manager, when she should have been discussing her schedule for the next month but instead kept replaying the way Gorya had chanted her name the night before, over and over like a prayer, while Shasha’s fingers were inside her.
In the grocery store, of all places, because the woman in front of her was wearing the same perfume Gorya wore the night she’d fisted her hand so hard in Shasha’s hair it made her moan, and suddenly Shasha was standing in the produce aisle with her fish too tight around an avocado and no memory of what she’d come in for.
The worst, though, was at work.
Because being at work, more often than not, meant being near Gorya, and being near Gorya apparently meant seeing her in those ridiculously short skirts she insisted on wearing, and those ridiculously short skirts were going to drive Shasha out of her mind.
Gorya would kneel down to rummage through a garment bag, the fabric riding up the backs of her thighs, and Shasha would have to physically look away before her brain filled in what was underneath. Or she’d reach across the wardrobe rack for a hanger, and her skirt would shift just enough for Shasha to catch a glimpse of the mark she’d left on the inside of Gorya’s thigh the night before, still red, and whatever direction the photographer had been giving her would evaporate completely.
The worst part was that Gorya knew. She had to know, because every now and then Shasha would catch herself staring a beat too long and glance up to find Gorya already watching her with that barely-there smirk she’d mastered. Then Gorya would roll her eyes, like Shasha was being exhausting, like she hadn’t shown up at Shasha’s door at midnight three days already that week, and turn back to whatever she was doing—smoothing a lapel or adjusting a hemline with those precise little fingers—and Shasha would be left standing there in the middle of a shoot trying to remember how to hold her face like a person who wasn’t thinking about fucking her stylist.
//
The knock at her door came just after nine o’clock.
Shasha was already in her pajamas, a black tank top and a pair of grey sweatpants. She’d taken a shower once she got home, washing off all the makeup and sweat from the day. She was planning for a nice, easy night in, taking care of all the pent up frustrations from the day.
Gorya, it seemed, had other plans.
It only took a minute from Shasha to go from opening the door to her body crashing against the mattress as Gorya climbed on top of her. Gorya was still wearing the same damn skirt she’d had on earlier. It took everything in Shasha’s power not to rip it off.
“Missed me?” she asked when Gorya finally pulled away for air.
“I saw you a few hours ago.”
It wasn’t an answer, and she was sure Gorya knew it, because she rushed back in for another kiss before Shasha could call her on it. Cute. Shasha wasn’t going to let her get away with it that easily.
Shasha’s hands found Gorya’s waist, pulling her in close before she tilted her mouth just out of reach. “You must have liked what you saw.”
“Or I’m just bored.”
“If you’re bored, we can watch a movie.”
“Shut up.” Gorya kissed her again, hard, and Shasha laughed into it. Getting a rise out of Gorya was fun, if nothing else.
But there was plenty else.
Shasha’s hands moved up Gorya’s thighs. “I was thinking about this all day,” she pulled back just enough to admit. “Do you know what these skirts do to me?”
“Yes,” Gorya said. “But that’s not why I wear them.”
“Okay, sure,” Shasha snorted.
“It’s not. I’ve been dressing like this a lot longer than you’ve been fucking me with your eyes on sets.”
On the word fucking, Gorya ground her hips down into Shasha’s lap.
“But you like that I like them.” Shasha’s grip tightened on her thighs. “You like that I’m thinking about this all day.”
Gorya’s hips rolled forward again. “Maybe.”
“Good.”
Shasha’s hands slid under her, pushing Gorya slightly forward so her fingers could slip beneath the skirt. She grabbed Gorya’s ass through her underwear, guiding the roll of her hips.
Gorya’s head tilted backwards, exposing her neck. “God, your hands are big.”
Shasha smiled. There was her girl.
She squeezed again, watching the breath catch in Gorya’s chest, her hips stuttering. Shasha rocked up against her as she pulled her forward, setting a fast pace.
It reminded her of the first night Gorya came over—straddling Shasha on the couch, making her think she was about to be kissed. That was before Shasha knew what Gorya was like once the bedroom door closed. Before she learned that the brat who never backed down in daylight turned into something soft and pliant the second Shasha put her hands on her.
Shasha leaned up to graze her lips against the pulse jumping in Gorya’s neck, laughing when Gorya’s hand slid through her hair to pull her closer. She sucked the skin into her mouth, hard enough to leave a mark. Gorya would scold her for that tomorrow. Tonight, she let out a breathy whine, fingers tightening into a fist in Shasha’s hair.
Shasha tugged Gorya’s shirt down her shoulder, feeling a little bad about stretching the stitching, but not bad enough to stop. She could always buy her a new one.
She trailed kisses down the side of Gorya’s neck before finding her collarbone, running her tongue along the ridge of it. Gorya’s chest was already flushing pink the way it did when she was turned on, color blooming across her skin as she squirmed in Shasha’s lap. Shasha was about to drag her tongue lower—Gorya’s nipples were pressing through the fabric of her shirt—when Gorya’s hands landed on her shoulders.
She pushed. Shasha leaned back, opening her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Gorya’s hand slid to the center of her chest and kept pushing until Shasha fell against the pillows. Gorya looked down at her, breathing hard, eyes heavy. Then she reached for the hem of her own shirt and pulled it over her head.
Once it was off, Gorya leaned back down and kissed her again, mouth opening to Shasha’s tongue immediately. She straddled Shasha’s thigh as she did, her other leg slipping between Shasha’s, and Shasha could feel the heat of her as she began to rock against Shasha’s leg. Shasha pushed at the fabric of Gorya’s skirt so she could see better, smirking at the dark patch already visible on Gorya’s underwear.
Gorya’s rhythm was slow at first, almost lazy, grinding down against Shasha’s thigh in long rolls, punctuated with kisses. At first, Shasha put her hands on Gorya’s hips to guide her, to set the pace—but then Gorya shifted, pressing her thigh harder between Shasha’s legs, and the friction hit Shasha somewhere she wasn’t bracing for.
A moan caught in the back of her throat before she could stop it.
Gorya’s rhythm faltered. She pulled back just enough to look at Shasha’s face, and whatever she found there made her eyes darken. The next time she rolled her hips forward, the movement was slower, deliberate, like she was testing a theory.
Shasha’s jaw tightened. Gorya wasn’t touching her—not really, not the way Shasha’s rules were designed to prevent—but it didn’t seem to matter when every roll of Gorya’s hips was doing the job just fine without her hands being involved. Shasha kept her expression neutral, because having a perfect command on how her emotions were playing across her face was her job. But Gorya was watching her now with a kind of careful attention she usually reserved for adjusting the drape of a neckline, and every roll of her hips dragged her thigh against Shasha with pressure that was impossible to ignore. Shasha’s grip tightened on Gorya’s hips without her permission, pulling her closer, and the noise Gorya made when their bodies pressed flush together almost broke her composure entirely.
She could feel how wet Gorya was even through her sweatpants, the heat of her soaking through the fabric with every grind, and part of Shasha wished there was nothing between them, wished she could feel Gorya slick and bare against her skin. But if the pants came off, this would be over in seconds, and she refused to let the first time she came in front of anyone be something as mortifying as coming with Gorya barely touching her.
Not that she was doing a great job of preventing it. They were grinding against each other like teenagers, and Shasha’s hips were rolling up to meet Gorya’s without her telling them to, matching her rhythm thrust for thrust in a way that had nothing to do with making Gorya feel good and everything to do with the fact that she physically could not stop herself. If she didn’t change positions soon, Gorya was going to figure out exactly how far gone she was—if she hadn’t already.
Shasha was just about to move, to shift so that the pressure wasn’t quite so direct, when Gorya hummed low in her ear. The sound sent goosebumps up her neck.
“I think I could come like this,” Gorya said.
Shasha’s hips jerked up before she could stop them, and every plan she’d had to change positions dissolved on the spot. Her coming without being touched would be mortifying—Gorya coming in her lap was the hottest thing she’d ever heard.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm.” Gorya nodded, picking up speed.
Shasha’s fingers tightened around her waist. “Show me.”
Shasha pulled her in tighter, flexing her thigh, giving her something to grind against, and the sound Gorya made was somewhere between a whimper and a moan that Shasha felt reverberate through her own chest. Each desperate roll of Gorya’s hips dragged her thigh against Shasha in a way that was building something low and tight in her stomach, a coil winding with every thrust, and Shasha’s breath was coming faster than she wanted it to because she was right there, embarrassingly close, closer than she ever let herself get when the focus was supposed to be on someone else.
Gorya’s hips stuttered, lost their rhythm entirely, and then she was gone, trembling and gasping against Shasha, with her teeth sinking into Shasha’s shoulder to muffle the noise she was making. The pressure between Shasha’s legs vanished with Gorya’s rhythm, and the orgasm that had been building slipped just out of reach—close enough that her whole body ached with it, close enough that she had to clench her jaw and breathe through her nose to stop herself from grabbing Gorya’s hips and pulling her back.
Gorya went still against her, breathing hard, her forehead damp against Shasha’s neck. After a long moment, she loosened her grip on Shasha’s shirt, smoothing the fabric. Then she rolled off, fitting perfectly into the nook of Shasha’s arm.
Shasha was having a hard time slowing her breathing. Gorya looked over, her eyes dragging down to the flush Shasha could feel burning across her chest, then back up to her mouth, and finally settling on her eyes.
She tilted her head. If Shasha didn’t know any better, she’d say Gorya was pouting. “Were you close?”
Shasha swallowed. The answer was yes, incredibly, and she was embarrassed by how obvious that apparently was.
Gorya didn’t wait for her to speak. “You can finish, you know. If you want. Seems only fair.”
It took a second for her words to register, only completely clicking into place when Gorya’s gaze flicked down to Shasha’s hand where it lay on her own stomach.
Normally, she wouldn’t. Getting off was a strictly solo activity for her. Then again, Gorya wouldn’t be touching her. Shasha would be touching herself. That was different, wasn’t it? It had to be different, because Gorya was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, lips parted just enough to let her tongue dart out to moisten them, and Shasha was too wound up to argue with herself about technicalities.
Her fingers twitched. Gorya smiled.
The decision was made.
Shasha slid her hand beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, and the first brush of her own fingers against her clit pulled a sharp breath out of her that she couldn’t have hidden if she tried. She was so wet it was almost embarrassing—weeks of getting herself off alone in bed after Gorya left in the morning, replaying every sound Gorya had made the night before, and now Gorya was right here, watching her.
Gorya propped herself up on her elbow and reached over to brush a strand of hair off Shasha’s forehead. Her fingers trailed down the side of Shasha’s face, along her jaw, and then Gorya’s thumb traced across her lower lip, dipping just barely into her open mouth.
Shasha looked up at her. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but it sure as hell wasn’t the, “fuck, Gorya,” that ended up leaving her lips.
Gorya’s eyes darkened at the sound of her own name. “Feels good?”
A shiver rolled through Shasha before she could suppress it, because yes—it felt too good, both the sensation of her fingers sliding so easily around her clit and the flutter in her chest at the way Gorya was looking at her, eyes darting back and forth like she couldn’t decide whether to watch Shasha’s face or her hand beneath her pants.
Shasha closed her eyes, but it didn’t matter—she could still feel her gaze. God, it would be embarrassing to come this fast, barely a minute in, just because Gorya was looking at her like that. She forced herself to slow down, letting her fingers dip lower, giving her body room to breathe. She wanted this to last and right now, the way this was going, it wasn’t going to take more than another thirty seconds.
Then a hand landed on her stomach. The touch was light. Gorya’s fingers traced around her belly button, twitching every few seconds. Shasha could feel how badly she wanted to touch her. Could hear it in the breath that stuttered out of Gorya’s lungs—and for one reckless second she almost let her, almost grabbed Gorya’s wrist and guided her hand down. But letting Gorya touch her like that would mean crossing a line she’d held for years, and she’d rather not cross it for the first time only to come apart in seconds like she’d never been touched before.
Then that same breath was on her neck, warm and unsteady, traveling along her jaw and settling against her ear. Gorya’s tongue traced her earlobe before pulling it between her teeth, and Shasha’s entire body went taut.
The hand that wasn’t currently in her pants was still trapped under Gorya’s body, and her fist tightened in the blankets hard enough that her knuckles ached.
“Gor-ya,” Shasha moaned, voice breaking.
Again—embarrassing.
“You look so good,” Gorya murmured, and Shasha’s hips bucked before the words even fully registered, because okay, learning praise wasn’t just something Gorya did when Shasha was touching her wasn’t something she was prepared for. Shasha had no idea what to do with that information besides drag her fingers back up toward her clit, her whole body jolting when they made contact. “I’ve been wanting to see you like this. Do you have any idea how good you look right now?”
People had been telling Shasha how good she looked her entire career. It had never once made her feel like this. She didn’t trust her own mouth to respond. What would come out would be Gorya’s name again, or worse, a plea for Gorya to touch her. And if Gorya actually did, if those fingers slid any lower than her stomach, Shasha was fairly certain she would break into a thousand pieces and never figure out how to put herself back together.
Instead, Shasha turned her head and kissed her.
She thought it would be the safer choice. Normally, Gorya was a bit of a reserved kisser, letting Shasha take control of when to deepen, not opening her mouth until Shasha’s tongue slid against her lips.
This was different.
Gorya moaned into the kiss immediately, lips parting as she sucked Shasha’s bottom lip into her mouth. Her hand came to her jaw, cupping her, tilting her back, and Shasha realized she had never been kissed while she was this close to the edge, this exposed, with her own hand between her legs and Gorya’s mouth swallowing every sound she couldn’t hold back. Every brush of Gorya’s lips felt magnified, like the arousal coursing through her body had made her skin hypersensitive, and when Gorya’s tongue slid past her lips Shasha’s rhythm stuttered completely, her brain short-circuiting between kissing Gorya back and keeping her hand moving.
So much for staying in control. At least now Gorya couldn’t talk anymore.
Gorya’s hand drifted back down her body, fingers tracing over her collarbone—and even that featherlight touch through her shirt sent a dangerous jolt straight between Shasha’s legs—before reaching her chest. Shasha was still in a tank top and bra, but when Gorya’s palm skimmed over her, neither layer did a thing to hide how hard her nipples were. Gorya made a sound close to a whine, pressing her palm flat against Shasha’s breast before dragging her fingers down to circle her nipple through the fabric and pinch.
Shasha had no choice but to come.
Her thighs clamped around her own hand, trapping her wrist as she thrust against her fingers. She kept the kiss going as long as she could, until her jaw went slack and she couldn’t do anything but breathe, and then Gorya was just pressing kisses against her open mouth, whispering words that Shasha didn’t dare let herself hear. Because what if Gorya was calling her beautiful again as she came, and what if Shasha liked it more from her than she’d ever liked hearing it from anyone else?
//
She thought, at first, that it would maybe be easier to fall asleep next to Gorya that night, since she wasn’t trying to chase sleep while incredibly turned on. But no. As Gorya slept soundly next to her, Shasha stared at the ceiling, unable to stop replaying the events that led to her own orgasm in her head.
It was great. Sure, no surprise there—Shasha was more than adept at making herself feel good. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was everything around it.
Shasha had built her rules for a reason. Not letting anyone touch her meant she never had to be vulnerable, never had to trust someone with a part of herself she couldn’t take back. It had been that way long before Krystal, and it had outlasted her too. Shasha had no trouble bringing people home—she just made sure they never got close enough to matter.
And for weeks, that’s exactly how this had worked. Gorya showed up, Shasha took care of her, and Gorya went home the next morning. Shasha never took anything for herself because she didn’t need to—that was the whole point, that was what made the system work. She gave, Gorya received, and nobody got confused about what this was.
But Gorya hadn’t touched her tonight, and that was the part Shasha couldn’t stop thinking about. Gorya had kept her hands on Shasha’s stomach, her jaw, her hair, had kissed her through her orgasm without once trying to slide her hand lower, and somehow that restraint had undone Shasha more than any touch could have. Because it meant Gorya had been paying attention. It meant she’d noticed the boundary and chosen to respect it without being asked, and Shasha had no blueprint on how to handle someone caring enough to do that.
And now she was lying here with Gorya breathing softly against her shoulder, and instead of feeling relieved that her rules had held, all she could think about was what it would feel like to let them go.
Shasha draped her arm over her eyes.
She was so completely fucked.
//
It was the end of the week, and Shasha was getting antsy. She hadn’t seen Gorya since the other night, because Gorya was working on some big project with Prim, and Shasha was trying to be okay with that because she had no reason not to be.
Around noon, she caved. She texted Gorya a casual “tonight?” that she spent way too long composing considering it was a single word.
By two, Gorya still hadn’t responded. Her shoot today was scheduled to run late, which she knew because Gorya had told her as much last night–that she would probably be too busy until after the weekend to come by. Gorya working late with Prim wasn’t out of the ordinary—they had their own projects together that had nothing to do with Shasha—but the silence was getting under her skin in a way she didn’t want to look at too closely. Whether Gorya’s phone was face-down on a table somewhere while Prim adjusted her framing on a shot, whether Gorya had seen the text and just hadn’t bothered, whether she was wearing one of those skirts, whether Prim was looking—none of that was Shasha’s business.
Her phone buzzed at half past three, and she grabbed it faster than she’d ever admit. But it wasn’t Gorya.
Ant: stranger danger alert—it’s been weeks since you’ve shown your face at blossom. people are wondering where you are. you’re killing my business! come out tonight!!
Shasha stared at the message. Ant wasn’t wrong—she hadn’t been to Blossom since before this thing with Gorya started, which was a fact she had been actively choosing not to think about. She used to go at least once a week, sometimes more, and she almost always left with someone. It was easy. The drinks were strong, the women were interested, and Ant kept the music loud enough that nobody expected conversation.
She typed back before she could overthink it.
Shasha: tonight works
She needed this. Maybe a dark bar and a pretty stranger could remind her that Gorya wasn’t the only woman in the world, because lately her brain had certainly been acting like she was.
Blossom was already busy by the time she got there. Ant spotted her from behind the bar and grinned. Within a minute of Shasha claiming a barstool, Ant was sliding a drink to her across the counter.
“There she is. I was starting to think you’d died.”
“Missed you too,” Shasha said, and took a sip. Ant made her drinks strong, which was exactly what she needed tonight.
“So where have you been? You drop off the face of the earth for a month and I don’t even get a text.”
“Busy.”
“Busy,” Ant repeated, in a tone that said she didn’t buy it for a second. “You’re never too busy to come here. Who is she?”
“There’s no she.”
Ant raised an eyebrow but had the good sense to let it go, moving down the bar to deal with a group that had just walked in. Shasha turned on her stool and surveyed the room. It was the usual vibe—loud music, low lighting, women in various stages of flirting with each other. She used to love this. The energy of it. The possibility. The way she could walk in and know that by the end of the night she’d have options on who would be leaving with her.
Tonight it lacked all of its usual luster.
She finished her drink anyway, and ordered another, and by the third one a woman with dark hair and a nice smile had settled onto the stool beside her. She was pretty—objectively pretty—and she was looking at Shasha the way women at Blossom always looked at her, with that mix of recognition and interest that used to be all the invitation Shasha needed.
“You’re Shasha, right? I think I saw you in—“
“You probably did,” Shasha said, and smiled, because this part she could do on autopilot.
The woman laughed. She had a nice laugh. She touched Shasha’s arm when she did it, fingers lingering just a beat too long, and Shasha let her, because that was the whole point of being here, wasn’t it?
They talked. Or rather, the woman talked and Shasha performed the version of herself that worked in places like this, charming and flirtatious. She leaned in when the woman leaned in. She let her hand rest on the bar close enough that their fingers were almost touching. She was doing everything right, hitting every beat, and feeling absolutely nothing.
It was getting close to the time when Shasha would normally say something to the effect of “do you want to get out of here?” to whoever she was with, and they would inevitably end up back at her apartment, when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She knew she shouldn’t check it. She was supposed to be proving a point tonight, to herself if no one else, and looking at her phone in the middle of a conversation with a beautiful woman was not part of that plan.
Gorya: im at your apartment
Gorya: where are you?
Shasha stared at the screen. Gorya was at her door. Gorya, who hadn’t answered her text all day, who had been with Prim for twelve hours, had come straight to Shasha’s door and was wondering where she was.
The woman beside her was still talking. Shasha looked at her—at this pretty, interested, uncomplicated stranger—and then back down at her phone.
“I have to go,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
The woman blinked, mid-sentence. “Oh. Okay?”
She didn’t explain. She waved to Ant on her way out, ignoring the questioning look she got in return, and had her driver there in under ten minutes.
Shasha: on my way
The ride home was long enough for the reality of what she was doing to settle in. She was leaving a bar full of women who wanted her, to go home to a woman who had explicitly told her this was a no strings attached arrangement. A woman who had feelings for someone else. A woman who had spent all day with that someone else and then showed up at Shasha’s door anyway—and Shasha couldn’t even be smug about that, because she knew exactly what she was to Gorya. She was convenient. She was safe. She was the person who made Gorya feel good without asking for anything in return.
The elevator doors opened, and Gorya was leaning against the wall beside her door, arms crossed, looking annoyed in the way that used to make Shasha laugh and now made her chest ache. Relief flooded through her so fast it was almost nauseating. Twenty minutes ago, she’d been sitting next to a beautiful woman who was doing everything right and feeling absolutely nothing. And now here was Gorya, looking thoroughly unimpressed with her in a hallway, and Shasha couldn’t stop the stupid smile spreading across her face.
She was so, so completely fucked.