19

Karina went home after we finished our second scary movie. Well, after I forced her to watch them with me. She hates scary movies and meanwhile I love them.

I cleaned up the living room. Wiping down the coffee table and sweeping up any crumbs that were dropped accidentally. I finished cleaning up and got a text message notification from Kamala🫦.

"Hi, honey. How was your day?"

Me: "My day was good, I went to visit my dad and my best friend came over."

Kamala🫦: "Sounds like you had a fun day.. do you plan on going to the student panel tomorrow?"

Me: "I was thinking about it, but I wouldn't want to go by myself."

Kamala🫦: "you can come by yourself, but you won't be leaving by yourself.. I'm speaking tomorrow."

Me: "ohh okay 🤭 well then I guess I'll see you tomorrow sexy pants."

Kamala🫦: "see you tomorrow, sweetheart. Wear something pretty for me, please."

Me: "always.🤍 goodnight baby."

Kamala🫦: "goodnight."

Ugh she makes me so horny.

I decide to get my outfit for tomorrow ready before I got into the shower. I chose a long black dress, it showed my cleavage and it would be really easy for Kamala to take off. Gold accessories and I think I wanna wear my hair down. For the first time in forever I'm gonna get a blowout.

I check the time on my phone and it's 9:30 on the dot. I walk into my bathroom and turn on the shower. I take care of everything. I shave my cat even though I know Kamala won't mind, but I mind a lot. Shaved my legs and I washed my hair using 4U by Tia.

I checked my phone again and it was 10:05. I did my skincare and decided that I would just go get my hair done before the panel. When I step out of the bathroom I decide to put on an oversized shirt and some basketball shorts. ____________

The student center auditorium buzzed with energy—soft chatter, occasional laughter, heels clicking against tile. I smoothed down the front of my dress and tried not to fidget, even though my legs were already bouncing under the seat.

Kamala stood up front, dark gray slacks hugging her waist perfectly, a crisp white blouse tucked in neatly, and a thin black belt that cinched her silhouette in a way that was very much school appropriate—and still completely ruining my focus. Her sleeves were rolled just enough to show the smooth skin of her forearms, and she wore those gold-rimmed glasses that made me want to misbehave.

She looked so composed. So sure of herself.

I bit my lip and crossed my legs tighter.

Then she began.

"I was twenty three when I stepped foot onto Capitol Hill as an aide," she started, her voice cutting through the room like silk over stone. "I was underpaid, underestimated, and often the youngest—and only Black woman—in the room."

The audience quieted instantly.

"I learned quickly that politics is not about loud voices. It's about leverage. Position. Precision. I learned to observe first, speak second—and when I did, speak with purpose."

She walked slowly as she spoke, every moment deliberate.

"Today, I teach political theory not because it's required, but because I believe in cultivating minds that will challenge systems, not just survive within them. Some of you will work in campaigns. Some of you will run for office. But all of you—every single one—will walk into rooms where you weren't invited."

Her gaze scanned the audience.

"Make them regret not asking you sooner."

Scattered applause broke out, but I couldn't clap. I was too busy staring, heart thudding. The way she carried herself—like she knew exactly who she was, and everyone else just had to catch up—made my stomach flip.

She smiled faintly, then nodded once. "Thank you."

As people began standing, collecting their things a girl i didn't recognize slid into the seat next to mine.

"You okay? You look like you stopped breathing halfway through," she laughed, gently nudging me. She was pretty—soft brown curls, winged eyeliner, nose piercing. Her name tag said Tayla.

"Just... tired," I offered, shaking my head. Lie.

"You in her class?" She asked, nodding toward Kamala.

I nodded.

"She's hot as hell."

I laughed a little too fast. "She's also faculty."

"So?" Tayla said with a grin, placing a hand on my arm. "Doesn't mean we can't admire."

Before I could answer, I felt it.

That heat. That weight.

Kamala was watching. Her eyes locked on mine from across the room, unreadable, but not casual. Her jaw ticked, just barely.

I gently pulled my arm away from Tayla's touch.

"Nice meeting you," I mumbled.

As I stood, I made my way toward the back exit, heart pounding—not from Tayla, but from her. From the way Kamala's stare had burned holes into my skin. From the heat still pooling low in my stomach.

I made it barely three steps into the hallway before a voice behind me said, low and sharp—

"Mariah."

I turned.

Kamala was there, hand gripping my wrist before I could process what was happening. Her expression unreadable, eyes dark, chest rising slowly like she was holding herself back.

"Come with me."

No explanation. No chance to argue.

She led me out the side door, across the lot, and straight to her car.

I didn't ask where we were going.

Because I already knew—wherever it was, she needed to get me alone. _______The car ride was silent.

Not cold, not awkward—just thick with everything we weren't saying. Kamala's jaw was clenched the whole time, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh. Her eyes stayed on the road, but I could feel her heat radiating through the small space between us.

She was fuming. Not loud. Not pretty. Just simmering with that dangerous calm that always came right before the storm.

And I was soaked in it.

By the time we pulled into her driveway, I was practically vibrating.

We walked up the front steps without speaking. She unlocked the front door like muscle memory, stepped aside for me to enter first, then closed it behind us with a soft click.

Still no words.

The second lock turned, I felt her behind me. Close. Heavy. Watching.

"Go upstairs," she said, taking her heels off. "And by time I get up there you'd better be naked."

I obeyed. My heart pounding even more, each step it took. When I reached her bedroom, it wasn't what I expected, it was huge. Gold and white accents. As I was admiring the room I heard footsteps and I quickly got undressed. Throwing my clothes anywhere.

She pushed open the door and started to unbuckle her belt. And moved toward me.

"Give me your hands," she said and I obeyed. "I don't like anyone touching you." She said, voice low as she secured my wrists with the belt. "And since you just let her touch you, you won't get to touch me."

"I didn't ask her to."

"Yea, but you didn't stop her either."

She tightened the belt just enough to remind me who was in charge. My wrists were pressed gently together, secured and resting above my belly, the lather warm against my skin.

Kamala circled me slowly like a storm building—controlled, calculated, and ready to ruin me. Her blouse was still tucked in, but she'd unbuttoned the top few buttons on her way up the stairs, revealing a teasing sliver of skin. Her pants clung up to her hips like they were molded there.

"You think i didn't see the way she looked at you?" Her voice was calm—deadly calm. "Like she had a right to you."

I opened my mouth to speak, but she stepped closer, finger brushing the underside of my chin.

"You like that kind of attention?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Girls who don't know you... touching what's mine?"

"No," I whispered, breath shaky.

"No?" She echoed, like she was testing me. Her hand moved slowly—up my waist, over my ribs, stopping just before the edge of my breast. "You sure? Because you didn't look like you hated it."

"I didn't want her to—"

"Doesn't matter," she cut in, leaning forward."You're here now. And I'm going to make sure you remember exactly who you belong to."

The belt creaked softly as she walked me backwards, my bound hands powerless. She kissed me—slow at first, but full of warning. Like she was branding me with her mouth. Like every part of her was saying mine, mine, mine.

Her grip tightened in my hair, tilting my head back, exposing the column of my throat.

"You don't get to be touched," she murmured against my skin, trailing kisses along my jaw. "You get to be owned."

And just like that, every thought left my mind except her.

Her hands moved slowly—purposefully—tracing every inch of me like a warning. Like she was making a map she already knew by heart, but needed to redraw just to make sure no one else ever would.

"Look at you," Kamala murmured, gaze sweeping down my body like it was hers to keep. "Always so obedient for me."

Her fingers trailed down the center of my chest, stopping just below my navel. I twitched under her touch—helpless and aching—and she smiled.

"You don't get to touch me tonight," she reminded, softly. "You have someone else permission to try."

"I didn't," I breathed. "I didn't mean to—"

She placed a finger on my lips, silencing me. "You don't get to explain. Not yet."

She kissed me again—slower now, deeper—and I melted into it. Everything outside that room faded. All I could hear was the sound of her breath and mine, ragged and uneven, the slide of her palm over my skin, the soft drag of her mouth down my neck.

And then she pushed me gently back onto the bed.

I fell into the pillows, wrists still bound, chest rising and falling as she stepped out of her pants. Her movements were unhurried, calculated, like she wanted me to watch. Her body was smooth and strong and everything I had ever wanted in one impossible, dangerous package.

"I should make you wait," she whispered, crawling up onto the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress on rather side of me. "But I've missed you too much." ____________

UGH SORRY SORRY SORRY