Kamala leaned against the door frame, as she studied Samar. "So, what do you want for dinner?" Kamala asked, her voice smooth and inviting. Samara hesitated, glancing down at her wine. "I... I don't know. You don't have to cook anything special. Honestly, I would've been fine just driving back home."
Kamala's lips curved into a sly smile as she stepped closer.
"I invited you to dinner, Samara. The least you can do is choose something." Her tone was light, but her gaze was anything but. Kamala's attention wasn't on the food; it was squarely on Samara.
"I... um, I..." Samara stammered, her cheeks warming under Kamala's scrutiny. She lifted the wine glass to her lips and took another sip, desperate for a distraction.
Kamala stepped behind her, her presence towering yet gentle. "Sit," she instructed, her hand pressing firmly but gently on Samara's shoulder. The touch sent shivers down Samara's spine as she sank into the couch. Kamala's other hand tilted Samara's head back, her fingers cool against her chin.
Samara's breath hitched as she stared up into Kamala's piercing eyes. "Well?" Kamala murmured, her voice a low caress. "What do you want?"
Samara's words caught in her throat, her pulse hammering as she finally blurted, "Anything you make is fine."
Kamala chuckled softly, running her hand down the column of Samara's throat before letting it drift lower, brushing briefly over her chest. The sensation was fleeting but left Samara breathless. Kamala straightened, stepping away with a knowing smirk.
"Finish your drink," she said over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.
Samara stared after her, her heart pounding. She quickly drained the rest of her wine, the alcohol hitting her system faster than she expected. She stood, wobbling slightly, and followed Kamala into the kitchen.
Kamala glanced over her shoulder as Samara entered. "You don't have to help," she said, her tone light. "But I wouldn't mind the company."
Samara nodded, leaning against the counter for support. The wine was already making her head swim, and she tried to focus on Kamala's words.
"Thanks for the drink, Professor Harris," she said, her voice tinged with nervousness.
Kamala's expression darkened slightly as she turned, closing the distance between them. She placed a hand on Samara's chest, her fingers splayed over her racing heartbeat. With her other hand, she gently caught Samara's chin, tilting her face upward. "Outside of school," Kamala said, her voice a soft command, "call me Kamala."
Samara's breath caught as Kamala leaned in, her lips so close that her words brushed against her skin. Just as quickly, Kamala pulled away, leaving Samara reeling.
"Now, try that again," Kamala said, turning back to the counter. Her tone was casual, as if nothing had happened.
Samara swallowed hard, struggling to find her voice. "Th-thanks for the drink, Kamala," she managed, the name feeling foreign yet exhilarating on her tongue.
Kamala glanced over her shoulder with a smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "See? That wasn't so hard."
Samara swayed slightly as she took her place at the counter, her head still buzzing from the wine. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the proximity to Kamala, but she felt a heat building in her cheeks. Her eyes followed Kamala's every movement as she began to prepare the meal, chopping things Samara hadn't noticed her grab with grace. Samara couldn't help but notice how the soft light from the kitchen illuminated the curve of Kamala's back, the way her shirt stretched over her shoulders as she reached for ingredients.
How the fabric would shift tightly around her chest as she leaned into every motion.
The silence between them remained, but it was comfortable, at least for Kamala. Samara felt out of place, her thoughts scattered. She swallowed hard, unsure of whether she should speak or just watch.
Finally, her voice came out, tentative. "Kamala... would you mind if I had another glass of wine?"
Kamala glanced over her shoulder with a sly, knowing smile. She said nothing, just turned back to the stove, her expression unreadable but amused. Samara couldn't help but notice how her gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than usual, before Kamala spoke, her tone light but tinged with something else.
"You're asking for another glass now? After all this time?" Kamala said, her voice playful, as if she had been waiting for Samara to ask again.
Samara shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of how much she had already drunk. Her eyes fell to her hands, twisting nervously in her lap. She could feel Kamala's eyes on her, and it made her stomach twist. Samara was used to being in control, but here, with Kamala... she wasn't sure what she was doing, what she even wanted.
Kamala set down the knife she had been holding and turned to face her, giving her an almost teasing look. "You don't have to ask. You know you can just help yourself."
Samara blinked, her lips parting in surprise. Kamala knew just how to push her buttons. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or Kamala's presence, but suddenly Samara felt emboldened, or maybe just reckless.
"Alright," Samara muttered under her breath, more to herself than Kamala. "I'll take another glass."
Kamala smirked as she walked over to the counter and grabbed the wine bottle. She didn't say anything as she opened it and poured both herself and Samara another glass. The clink of glass on glass broke the silence, and Kamala raised her cup toward Samara with a look that made her stomach flutter.
"To... whatever this is," Kamala said, her smile cool but genuine, her eyes flicking over Samara in a way that made the younger woman feel exposed.
Samara quickly mirrored the gesture, lifting her own glass, her hand trembling slightly. "To whatever this is," she echoed, the words coming out as a little more of a breath than a toast.
Kamala laughed softly, a sound that was almost a purr.
"Good," she said.
"Now, drink up."
Samara did, nearly draining the glass in a few long sips. She set it down with a sigh of contentment, only to feel her cheeks burn hotter at Kamala's approving look. Samara felt herself leaning in toward Kamala's presence, her eyes tracing the older woman's movements as she began to cook. Kamala's hand brushed her cheek when she leaned close to grab a dish from the shelf, and Samara's breath hitched, the touch sending a jolt through her. She had to bite back the nervous giggle that threatened to escape her lips.
Kamala didn't acknowledge the reaction. She was too busy with the task at hand, expertly stirring something in the pan.
But Kamala was aware.
Kamala always knew.
Samara shifted uncomfortably, trying to distract herself, but the more she watched Kamala, the harder it became to ignore the heat between her legs. Kamala was in control of every moment, every look, and Samara found herself desperate to be in her orbit, even as she got lost in it.
Kamala paused, turning to her with a sly smile. "I'm making pasta. Hope you're hungry."
Samara blinked, realizing she had completely lost track of time, her head still fuzzy from the alcohol.
"Oh, um... thanks, Kamala," she said, believing she was catching herself before she slipped back into formalities.
"I mean... Professor... uh, Kamala." She let out a stressed laugh, covering her face with her hands, the heat in her cheeks making her head spin.
Kamala smiled softly at her flustered response, clearly amused by the effect she had on Samara.
"Tiring for the day? That's alright." she said with a hint of playfulness in her tone.
"But... if you're in the mood to drink more, we could always finish the bottle."
Samara hesitated for a moment, looking down at her glass. She wasn't sure if she should, but Kamala was waiting, her eyes soft and inviting. Something in her made Samara want to say yes.
"Okay," she finally agreed, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.
"If you're sure."
Kamala didn't wait for a second invitation. She smiled, leaning over the counter to grab the bottle, refilling both of their glasses. As she poured, she raised an eyebrow at Samara.
"Don't think you can get away with just one more, though," Kamala teased.
Samara's throat went dry at Kamala's words, but she didn't protest. She didn't even care anymore. She just wanted to stay here, with Kamala, letting the night slip by. The evening passed slowly, Kamala effortlessly filling Samara's glass while she focused on preparing the food. Samara, on the other hand, didn't notice how much she was drinking, the warmth of the alcohol mixing with Kamala's attention. She was lost in it.
By the time the food was ready and Kamala went to answer the door, Samara was barely able to keep her eyes open. The alcohol had done its work, and her mind felt like it was floating somewhere far away. Kamala spoke sharply to Tazara, telling her to leave her coat and shoes at the door, before leading her into the kitchen.
Tazara raised an eyebrow at the two empty wine bottles on the counter and Samara, slumped over the counter, barely holding herself up.
"What happened to you?" Tazara asked, her voice full of concern as she took in the sight of her friend.
Kamala chuckled, wiping her hands on a towel.
"She's drunk," she said, her voice light but amused.
"But don't worry, she'll wake up for food."
Samara shot Kamala a wide-eyed look, the sudden realization that she'd probably made a fool of herself sinking in. But just as quickly, her stomach growled, and she found herself more awake than she had been in the past hour. The thought of food pulled her out of her stupor, and she pushed herself upright, earning a surprised laugh from both Kamala and Tazara.
Kamala beckoned them to the table, and Samara, blinking away the last remnants of drunkenness, shuffled over to join them. As they sat down to eat, Kamala and Tazara exchanged amused glances, and Samara couldn't help but laugh along, despite the effects of the alcohol still lingering.
—
Tazara glanced at Samara, who was shoveling food into her mouth like she hadn't eaten in days. "You are good there, Sam?" she asked, half-laughing, half-concerned.
Samara waved her off with a drunken smile, mumbling something incoherent through a mouthful of food. Tazara shook her head, her amusement clear.
"This is a new look for you," she teased, earning a small, sheepish laugh from Samara.
Kamala leaned back in her chair, her glass of wine in hand, watching the two with an easy smile. "She's just enjoying herself," she said, her tone light but with an edge of amusement.
"So, how's the class going?" Kamala asked Tazara, changing the subject as she took another sip of her wine.
Tazara perked up, grateful for the distraction. "Good! The material's challenging, but nothing I can't handle. You know, the perfect memory n' stuff. I'm actually excited about the next project..."
"Glad to hear that," Kamala said with a nod.
"Speaking of class, it's almost time for you all to start looking for internships, and you two are just in luck. I had a few opportunities to cross my desk recently. Thought I'd mention them tonight." she was playing chess
"internships you say?" Tazara's eyes lit up with interest.
Kamala smiled, setting her wine glass down as she rose from her seat. "One moment," she said smoothly, heading toward her study.
Tazara looked at Samara, who was still focused entirely on her food. "Are you hearing this? She got the hook-up, Sam!"
Samara grunted in acknowledgment, too far gone to process the significance of Kamala's offer.
Kamala returned moments later with a sleek black folder, which she placed on the table. =She opened it, sliding two papers toward Tazara.
"One's for a corporate law internship at Kaplan and Bridgett. It's paid, which is rare. The other is more criminal law-focused, working with an independent legal advocacy group, it's defense focused, but I'm sure it could give insight of prosecution. Both are excellent."
Tazara practically glowed with excitement as she skimmed the descriptions.
"You can't be serious. These are amazing. Kaplan and Bridgett told me I didn't dress well enough to even get an interview" she said, her voice brimming with gratitude.
"Are you offering these to us?"
Kamala's gaze flicked to Samara, who had finally slowed her eating enough to notice what was happening.
"If you're both willing to accept?" Kamala retorted, almost as if to make a deal with them, her eyes lingered on Samara as she awaited an answer
Tazara jumped in before Samara could respond, her enthusiasm evident. "Absolutely?!"
Samara blinked, still trying to piece together what was happening.
"Um... sure," she mumbled, her drunken state preventing her from fully grasping the gravity of the moment.
Kamala's lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Good." She let out a low hum, "I'll follow up with the details later."
The conversation lulled, and the group fell back into the rhythm of eating. Kamala sipped her wine, her eyes drifting between the two young women. Inwardly, she smiled to herself. So easy, she thought. Samara, so drawn to her, practically putty in her hands. And Tazara, eager and ambitious, hanging onto every word. She would follow Samara to the ends of the earth, and dispute her better judgement if she trusted Kamala.
Kamala sighed softly, her smile widening.
"This is going to be fun," she murmured, her voice low enough that neither Tazara nor Samara noticed.
She tilted her glass slightly, watching the way the light caught the wine's deep red hue, already considering her next move.
—
The night stretched on, unspoken tension lingered between the trio. Kamala watched the clock as it neared 8 PM, her sharp eyes noting how the evening's energy had faded. Tazara fidgeted, glancing at her phone before finally attempting to gather Samara, who had drunk herself into a stupor.
"Samara, come on. We need to get back to campus," Tazara said, her voice firm as she tried to lift her friend from the chair.
Samara, however, was completely uncoordinated, her limbs refusing to cooperate. She mumbled something incoherent before suddenly perking up, her voice slurred but enthusiastic.
"Did you know... that in State v. Butler, the court... they rule... inadmissible....uh COERCION!? Was involved? Right?" silence.
"CRAZY"
Tazara sighed, exasperated, but Kamala chuckled softly. "She really knows her facts," Kamala said, her tone almost fond.
"Yeah, well, that won't help me get her to the car," Tazara muttered as she adjusted Samara's arm around her shoulder.
"Come on, Sam. Work with me here."
Samara groaned, her head lolling back. "My car... I need my car!" she exclaimed suddenly, her voice louder than it had been all evening.
Kamala's smile faltered for the briefest moment, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"She's in no condition to drive," Kamala said quickly.
"And honestly, Tazara, you look like you can barely hold her up, let alone get her to the dorms."
Tazara hesitated, her gaze flicking between Kamala and Samara. "I don't know... I mean, I don't want to just leave her here," she said, her voice tinged with unease.
Kamala stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Tazara's arm.
"She'll be fine. She can stay in the guest room. I'll make sure she's comfortable and safe." Her tone was soothing, but there was a finality to it that made it hard to argue.
"It's better this way. Trust me."
Tazara's shoulders sagged as she struggled to keep Samara upright. Kamala's logic was hard to refute; she really couldn't carry Samara all the way to her car, let alone up the stairs to their dorm.
"I guess..." she murmured reluctantly, lowering Samara back into the chair.
"I'll be sure to have her text you if she needs anything I can't provide," Kamala said smoothly, her words leaving no room for objection.
Tazara nodded reluctantly, her concern etched into her features as she gathered her belongings. She hesitated at the door, glancing back at Samara slumped in her seat. "Just... take care of her, okay?"
"I will," Kamala answered as she leaned to cover the Tazara view of Samara with a calm smile before closing the door firmly.
---
As Tazara walked to her car, a sense of unease settled in her chest. Something about how quickly Kamala had dismissed her didn't sit right. She shook her head, trying to convince herself that she was overthinking. But as she started her car and glanced back at Kamala's house, her stomach twisted.
Through the window, she saw a shadowy silhouette moving across the room. It looked like someone dragging something, Samara, along.
Tazara gripped the wheel tightly, her instincts screaming at her that something was wrong.
But logic and fear held her back.
What could she do?
Go back and accuse her professor of... what, exactly?
She shook her head and pulled away from the curb, her headlights illuminating the empty street as she drove off. A creeping dread settled over her like a storm cloud. Something wasn't right. She could feel it.
—
Kamala grunted as she dragged Samara's half-limp body up the stairs, her arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Samara mumbled incoherently, her feet barely cooperating as Kamala guided her toward the guest bedroom.
"Come on, Samara," Kamala muttered under her breath, her tone a mix of annoyance and amusement.
"Almost there. Damn your heavy"
"HEY! That's not...cool man..."
"Sorry" Kamala said quickly
Reaching the room, Kamala pushed the door open with her shoulder and hauled Samara onto the bed. Samara flopped down hard, a groan escaping her lips as Kamala pulled the blanket up over her.
Kamala straightened, her back cracking, before brushing a stray lock of Samara's hair out of her face. A small smile played on her lips as she studied her for a moment, lightly stroking Samara's hair.
Then, she turned and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Not tonight.
Downstairs, Kamala methodically cleaned up the wine glasses and empty bottles, her movements calm and efficient. She picked up the folder she had shown Tazara and carried it back to her study, placing it neatly on her desk before retreating to her bedroom.
By the time Kamala slipped under her own covers, it was nearing midnight. Her body relaxed against the mattress as she closed her eyes.
December 11th
At 2 a.m., Kamala jolted awake.
Her breath caught in her throat as she felt someone climbing into bed with her, their arms wrapping tightly around her torso. Her heart raced, panic rising as she reached out blindly to the side of her nightstand. Her fingers found the small safe screwed into the wood. With practiced precision, she pressed her thumb against the fingerprint scanner, the lock clicking open. She retrieved her handgun, her movements silent and controlled as she flipped off the safety and slid her finger to the trigger.
Kamala stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, her heart thudding as she tried to steady her breath. Then, she spoke, her voice low and firm. "Hello?"
She glanced down, her finger ready to pull the trigger, but froze when she saw Samara's eyes fluttering open.
Samara's head tilted up, resting on Kamala's chest. Her arms tightened around Kamala, and she mumbled weakly, "didn't mean to... I can leave" She tried to sit up, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
Kamala exhaled sharply, her panic dissipating into stunned disbelief. She quickly tucked the gun under her body and shifted her focus to Samara, holding her gently to stop her from moving.
"It's alright," she murmured softly, her tone calm and caring.
"You're drunk and probably confused. Just relax."
Her hand found its way back to Samara's hair, stroking it soothingly. Kamala's lips curved into a teasing smile as she leaned slightly closer. "I have to admit, though, I didn't expect to find you in my bed tonight."
Samara let out a soft laugh, her head nuzzling against Kamala's chest. "Wanted... wanted to be with you," she slurred, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kamala's brows lifted in surprise, her smile widening. "Oh, is that so?" she asked, her tone playful as her hand trailed down Samara's side, her touch lingering at her thigh.
Samara's face flushed, and before Kamala could say another word, Samara pressed her lips to hers in a clumsy, drunken kiss. Kamala froze for a moment, her mind racing, but then she felt the heat of Samara's mouth and the insistence of her hands pulling her closer.
The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, Samara's movements driven by intoxication and impulse. Kamala hesitated only briefly before giving in, her own excitement mingling with the surprise. She deepened the kiss, her hand smoothing over Samara's back and down to her waist, pulling her closer.
"Samara," Kamala whispered against her lips
"You're going to regret this in the morning."
Samara giggled drunkenly, her fingers tangling in Kamala's hair.
"Don't care," she murmured before kissing her again, her body pressing against Kamala's with newfound determination.
Kamala deepened the kiss, her lips pressing firmly against Samara's as her hand wandered, smoothing over Samara's back and resting possessively on her waist. She felt Samara's need radiating through every touch, every muffled sound against her mouth.
Samara's body pressed closer, her hands clinging to Kamala with a desperation that made her intentions crystal clear. Kamala pulled back briefly, her breathing ragged as she cupped Samara's flushed face.
"Samara," she murmured, her voice low and commanding. "Why are you doing this?"
Samara blinked, her gaze hazy but earnest. "Because..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "Because I've wanted this. I've wanted you."
Kamala's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. "How long?" she asked, her voice softer now, coaxing as her lips traced a path down Samara's neck, the kisses slow and deliberate.
"Since..." Samara gasped, struggling to find words through the fog of her drunken mind.
"Should have been the first time I... met you. But really, before we went out for the break..."
Kamala flared to life, her grip tightening around Samara's waist as she kissed her harder. "Are you sure you want this?" she murmured against Samara's skin, her teeth grazing lightly against the delicate curve of her throat.
"Yes," Samara breathed, her voice shaking but sure.
She shifted, pulling herself up to straddle Kamala's lap, her hands settling on Kamala's shoulders.
Kamala smirked, sliding her hands down Samara's sides. With a calculated move, she flipped Samara onto her back, pinning her against the mattress.
But as Samara tilted her head, her hazy gaze landed on Kamala's gun lying uncovered on the sheets.
Her eyes widened in alarm, the earlier haze of intoxication replaced by a sudden, sharp panic.
"What the hell is that?!" she stammered, pushing at Kamala's chest.
Kamala froze, her expression darkening as she realized what Samara had seen.
"It's nothing, just calm down," she said quickly, her tone trying to soothe.
But Samara was already scrambling out from under her, her movements clumsy and frantic. "I—I need to leave," she blurted, her voice rising in panic.
"Samara, wait—" Kamala started, reaching out, but Samara was already stumbling out of the bedroom.
Samara's heart raced as she darted down the hallway, her vision blurry and her breathing shallow. She reached Kamala's study, frantically looking for her laptop, then staggered into the kitchen in search of her jacket. Everything felt surreal, like she was moving through a dream.
Her jacket and shoes were by the door, but her frantic mind couldn't register their presence. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she heard Kamala's footsteps approaching down the hall.
Panic surged again, and without thinking, Samara bolted through the back door, finding herself in the darkness of Kamala's backyard. She stopped short when she saw the tall wooden fence enclosing the space.
Desperate, she tried to climb it, her limbs shaky and uncoordinated. She barely made it halfway up before losing her grip and tumbling back into the yard, landing in a thorny bush.
She lay there, staring up at the moon, her chest heaving as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Her body felt heavy, and the world around her spun slightly.
The light was cool but still did little to pull the drunkenness keeping her down.
Kamala appeared moments later, her silhouette cutting through the soft moonlight. Her expression was unreadable as she crouched down and reached for Samara.
"Enough of this," she said firmly, her voice laced with a mix of irritation and concern.
Samara didn't resist as Kamala grabbed her arms and hoisted her up, dragging her back inside. The door shut with a sharp click, the night air replaced by the heavy silence of the house
Kamala guided Samara to the living room, her grip steady as she sat her down on the carpeted floor in front of the couch. She sat on her leg behind her, gently combing through Samara's disheveled hair, picking out bits of leaves and twigs from the thorny bush she had fallen into.
"I'm sorry," Kamala murmured, her tone softer now, almost apologetic.
"I should've been more careful. I didn't mean for you to see that, let alone feel unsafe. That was reckless of me."
Samara, still dazed, didn't reply right away. She glanced back at Kamala with a tentative expression.
"It's okay," she finally whispered. "I just... I didn't expect to see... a gun."
Kamala hesitated, brushing the last leaf from Samara's hair. She sat back and sighed.
"I was a prosecutor for a long time. It comes with risks, even after you leave the courtroom. There are people from my past who might still hold grudges. I keep it because... I refuse to be anyone's victim."
Samara studied her, her expression softening slightly, but doubt lingered in her eyes.
"That's not the whole story, is it?" she pressed gently.
Kamala's posture stiffened, her eyes darting away.
"That's all you need to know," she said, her tone firm and final. She stood up, brushing her hands on her thighs. "Come on, let's get some sleep. We'll both feel better in the morning."
Samara felt the tension rise, like a storm brewing in the room. She knew better than to press further. "Okay," she muttered, letting Kamala help her to her feet.
Kamala walked her back to the guest room, her steps brisk and measured. She tucked Samara back into bed, pulling the blanket over her with a faint smile.
"Get some rest," she said softly before stepping out of the room.
Samara watched through the crack in the door as Kamala headed back down the hall and went back down the stairs. Her curiosity burned brighter now, fueled by the unease that lingered in the air. She waited until she could no longer hear Kamala's footsteps before quietly slipping out of bed. She crept to the door and peered out, her heart pounding as she made her way to the top of the stairs. From her vantage point, she could see Kamala in the study, her silhouette illuminated by the desk lamp. Kamala sat at her desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a small, ornate key. She used it to unlock the bottom drawer, retrieving a photograph.
Samara squinted, trying to make out the details, but she couldn't see clearly. She could, however, see the way Kamala's shoulders slumped as she stared at the photo, her fingers tracing the edges delicately.
Kamala's lips trembled as tears began to spill down her cheeks. She whispered something, too quiet for Samara to hear, before she pressed the photo to her chest and put it back.
Samara stayed frozen at the top of the stairs, her breath shallow. Whatever memory the photograph held, it was enough to break the Stoic, composed Kamala she thought she knew.
Downstairs, Kamala wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her expression hardening. She placed the photo back in the drawer, locked it, and returned the key to its place. Her gaze lingered on the desk for a moment longer before she turned off the light and headed for the stairs.
Samara quickly retreated to the guest room, slipping under the covers and closing her eyes just as Kamala walked past. Her mind raced with questions, but one thing was clear, there was more to Kamala's story than she was willing to share.