Chapter Text
Emery Walsh had a working theory. She didn’t want it to be true, but it was a theory nonetheless. She was a night owl, practically nocturnal when it came to her time at PTMC and she liked it that way. Sure, it was crazy down in The Pitt, but in the operating room, it was calm. Just the way she liked it. However, the one thing she didn’t like was not knowing what the hell was going on during the day shift. Particularly with Dr. Mohan.
She heard about the doctor, of course, day shift rumors and gossip always made it up to the surgical floor regardless of shift rotation—she knew about Slow-Mo and all the shit Robby gave her. Perlah said she was lonely, Abbot thought she was cute. It drove her insane that Abbot thought she was cute because Walsh thought she was cute and the last thing she needs is another thing to compete with Abbot against. However, that was all a non-issue, because Walsh had a theory.
She’d picked up an odd day shift—having too many days off in a row made her antsy—so she was coming down for surgical consults while Garcia was up in surgery with Miller, putting her closer to emergency medicine doctors than she usually was. While she was down there, she noticed something… odd. The intern. Santos, Walsh thinks her name is. All she knows about the intern is that apparently she got Langdon fired (Walsh never liked him anyway—she doesn’t like men who are loud and reckless when they don’t have to be, which is why she and Abbot are always chewing each other’s heads off) and she had a thing with Garcia. Allegedly. Garcia won’t talk about it because despite how close they’ve gotten over the course of her residency Garcia is “not going to talk about my sex life with an attending.” Fair, but Walsh liked knowing things. And it would disprove her theory.
Her theory, of course, being that she’s fairly certain the intern and Mohan have a thing going on. She always sees them huddled in corners in between patients, chatting, giggling. It drives her nuts. The intern—Walsh knows she has a name, but she hates her, so now she’s the intern— is impressive. She did an unsupervised REBOA at the tail-end of last month’s MCI, of course she’d pull a doctor like Mohan after that. She knew Mohan well enough to know the woman was clearly attracted to competence—it was why she worried Abbot had a chance with her after that pigtail catheter during the MCI, why she had an inkling she was suddenly seeing Santos. Santos was also cocky, arrogant, and clearly knew how attractive she was. Which is despicable because Walsh is all of those things, she’s just a bit less showy about it. Maybe if she were a bit more showy, she would have gotten to Mohan first.
Not that she has a crush. She’s a grown woman. A surgical attending. She doesn’t busy herself with nonsense crushes on residents. However, her eyes linger. It doesn’t help that the first time she really got to work alongside Mohan was during that shooting, when she looked devastatingly gorgeous. It’s unfair for someone to look so beautiful when half her hair is hanging out of her ponytail and she’s covered in blood, but Mohan did. It’s ridiculous.
“Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?” Garcia asks, coming up beside a grumbling Emery waiting for the elevator. Her hands are in her pockets and she’s got a smug look on her face. If anyone knows about inappropriate work crushes, it would be Garcia. She remembers hearing rumors about the woman’s non-stop flirting with the intern on her first day. However, she’d rarely heard about it since and it made her nervous. Because if Garcia didn’t have a thing with the intern, then there was a non-zero chance that Mohan did.
“Don’t worry about it,” Walsh sighs. Her shift just started and Garcia will be going home soon—along with the rest of the day shift, her subjects included. She wishes Mohan would just pick up a night shift or something. So she could observe her, of course. Inch closer to her, maybe make some quip about the intern and see how she reacts. It’s all in the name of the scientific method, of course. Step one: observe. She’s seen the intern and Mohan looking a bit more than friendly, which is inappropriate because they’re at work. Step two: ask a question. Are they dating? She needs to delve deeper into her background research—cozy up to the day shift nurses, but Perlah and Princess keep to themselves, always whispering in Tagalog and it got so bad that Walsh almost downloaded Duolingo.
“Well, it’s not good to go into surgery in a bad mood—”
“Who’s the teacher here?”
Garcia snorts, “Fine. Not my business.”
The elevator finally arrives and Emery steps inside, Garcia following her. She waits for the subject to drop, but Garcia keeps going. “I don’t usually see you here this early, you know.”
“Miller worked a longer shift, he needed relief a bit earlier,” Walsh lies. Truthfully, she’s been popping in a bit earlier almost every shift to catch a glimpse of Mohan— and the intern. To build her theory. Not because she has a crush. She doesn’t get crushes.
“I’m sure.”
“If you have something to say, Dr. Garcia, I suggest you say it.”
“There’s money on you or Abbot snagging that resident first.”
This piques Emery’s attention. Abbot. No mention of the intern. She tries not to let her interest show on her face. “Funny. I don’t know which resident you’re talking about.”
Garcia snorts. “I think you do.”
She watches the numbers on the elevator rise much too slowly for her level of patience right now—which is zero. “Isn’t she dating that intern anyway? What does it matter?”
She knows she’s given something away because Garcia gets that look on her face like she’s just won something. She curses Fred Miller for giving the surgical resident such an ego because now Walsh just feels embarrassed, like she’s shown her hand too early. “Trinity? I’d hope not considering she left my apartment at five o’clock this morning.”
The doors open and for a moment, Emery doesn’t move. She just stands there, arms crossed as Garcia steps out of the elevator, turning to look at her with a smug look on her face. When Walsh doesn’t speak for a bit, Garcia hums, “I’ve got my money on you. Abbot’s too old for her.”
“Betting is a reckless habit. Unbecoming of a surgeon.” Walsh finally steps out of the elevator. She doesn’t know what to think. So—the reason Garcia got quiet about the intern is because things did happen and now she has to keep it under wraps. That makes sense. Walsh didn’t think to work that possibility into her hypothesis. Now, her entire theory is all warped.
“I’m heading out, have a good shift, Dr. Walsh. Maybe try talking to her instead of working yourself up,” Garcia advises as she breaks off into the locker rooms to get ready to head home.
Walsh stands there for a moment, biting back a comment about how it’s unfit to discuss the love life of a superior. With her hands in the pockets of her scrubs, she feels a bit… shell-shocked in the middle of the hallway. Mohan is single. So then what is all the schoolgirl giggling about? No—there has to be something going on there. Maybe Garcia and the intern aren’t exclusive, maybe she’s seeing Mohan on the side, but somehow that only pisses Walsh off more. Mohan shouldn’t be some second option, some side hook-up to flirt with at work.
Before she knows it, she’s turning on her heel and heading back towards the elevator. Emery often prides herself on being a bit of a brick wall at work. She’s unreachable, she’s strict about her standard of care and the way patients are treated in her hospital. She’s mean, a biter, and someone who shouldn’t be crossed. Clearly, though, somewhere along the line she gave something away. Something that was enough for people to realize she’s crushing on— not crushing—on Mohan. That means there’s a slim chance that Mohan noticed. However, considering Abbot, who is just as subtle, if not more so, as Walsh, hasn’t made any progress either, that means maybe she hasn’t. Maybe Walsh just needs to get over herself and be an adult about it. She’s a grown woman. With a bit of a crush—an attraction— towards a co-worker. They work in separate departments, she doesn’t report to Walsh except for the odd case where she’s delivering a surgical consult or, apparently, during mass casualty incidents. There’s no reason Walsh can’t be an adult about this and just… ask her for a drink. If she says no, she says no. It’s fine.
Walsh finds herself back in The Pitt, mind racing. Dana sees her first, shrugging on her jacket over by the lockers, asking, “Forget something?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Walsh shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant.
She finds Mohan staring at the screen, hands in her pockets and strands of her hair hanging out of her claw clip. She looks a bit like she did after the MCI—a bit dazed, stunningly beautiful. It was unfair. When Walsh is at work, she tries not to care what she looks like—right now, her wavy dark hair is shoved back in a claw clip, strands hanging out around her face and curls going haywire outside the clip—but she can’t imagine just… looking like that after a thirteen hour shift. It’s almost rude.
“Shouldn’t you be heading home?” Walsh finds herself asking, hands in the pockets of her purple scrubs, badge swinging against her thigh. Standing like this, she realizes Mohan has a few inches on her, which is another thing that feels unfair.
Dr. Mohan just shrugs, “It was a busy day. I want something to clear my head.”
“You should head home,” Walsh says, a small chuckle lining the words. Another thing she’s heard about Mohan—she’s an anti-social workaholic. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t picked up on Abbot’s flirting or Walsh’s staring at her from across the room. It’s funny—Walsh has game. She pulls when she needs to. She’ll head to the local lesbian bar any free weekend and can be home with someone within the hour, but when it comes to Mohan, she feels at a loss. All she’s been able to do is stare from across the room and wonder what the woman thinks about her.
Okay. Maybe she has a crush.
“I will. Soon. You down here for a consult?’
Walsh opens her mouth to lie before she closes it, rolls her eyes a bit to herself, and says, “I actually wanted to talk to you.”
“Am I in trouble?”
Walsh laughs a bit, which earns her a stare from Nurse Lena, who knows her well enough to know that Emery has probably never laughed at work once in her life. Walsh’s eyes dart over to hers, feeling a bit embarrassed, before clearing her throat and looking back at Mohan. “No, no, you’re just—you’re really not dating that intern?”
This time, Mohan laughs. “Trinity? No, no. You came down here on company time to ask me that?”
It’s a joke, of course, Mohan is joking with her, but Walsh still feels a bit like a fish out of water. Maybe she should have called Mohan up to the surgical floor to ask this. “Gloria can shove it. You’re not dating her? Are you dating anyone else?”
Mohan tilts her head, looking delightfully confused because of course Walsh is unlucky enough to have a crush on someone this oblivious. “No. Did Trinity put you up to this? I—she found out I was bisexual and now she keeps trying to set me up with random girls in the hospital, which is cute, but like, I’m not desperate, you know—”
So, that’s what the giggling is for. The intern is trying to play matchmaker. Walsh cuts her off. She’s found out everything she needs to know. She can see the finish line. “No, she didn’t put me up to this. I’m asking. This Friday, I have the night off. I’d like to take you out for a drink.”
Mohan looks around, as if there’s any other woman Walsh would be asking this to. After a moment, she points to herself, asking, “Me? You’re asking me out?”
Walsh lets her eyes dart up to the ceiling. “Yes, and it’s really embarrassing that I came all the way down here when I should be prepping for surgery, so if you tell anyone, I will rescind the invitation. Just a yes or no will suffice.”
The woman’s mouth is open in a quiet gasp, her cheeks a faint shade of pink and eyes wide. God, those eyes. Walsh doesn’t know how anyone gets anything done down here, how Dr. Robby can yell at her looking into eyes like that. “I—yes. But, just so you know, I’ve never actually… gone on a date with… a girl before. That’s why Trinity is trying to set me up.”
Walsh hates the way her heart does a flip at this. She’s thirty-seven, probably ten years Samira’s senior, and yet her heart is doing flips at the woman in front of her. “Good. You can tell Dr. Santos to stop, then, because I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“I—okay,” Mohan swallows, looking awfully nervous before a beautiful smile lights up her face. She reminds Walsh a bit of a Disney princess. “Um—my phone number, here, I’ll—”
She holds out a hand and Walsh looks around before taking her phone out of her pocket, opening up the new contact page and passing it to Mohan. She needs this to be over quickly mainly because they’re both on the clock—she’s an attending so there’s no one down here to get her in trouble, but she’d hate for Mohan to get in trouble if Robby were to catch her. Not that it matters—day shift should’ve left an hour ago.
Mohan hands her phone back and Emery shoves it in her pocket quickly. Now that she’s done this part, she feels a bit unsure what to do next. So, she clears her throat and says, “You really should be turning over your patients. See you Friday.”
She leaves before Mohan can say anything else—after all, she does have a surgery to be getting to. She feels a bit crazy. At work, she’s never been anything other than precise. She’s mean, she gets to the point, she takes care of business. But it seems like she’s forgotten how to do all of that the moment it comes down to asking Mohan on a date. It’s ridiculous.
At the same time, though, it worked. She passes Abbot on her way back to the elevator.
“What do you look so smug about?”
“Don’t worry about it, old man.”
***
Emery goes up to Samira’s door in her attempt to be a gentleman. It’s a warm night in Pittsburgh, but not yet crossing the line over into hot, so she’s wearing a tailored white t-shirt with a leather jacket and some nice straight-leg jeans. She wishes she had more friends so she could have at least called someone for outfit approval, but the downside of being nocturnal and a bit of a bitch means the closest thing she has to a friend is Garcia, who was still at work by the time Emery was getting ready.
She knocks on the door, taking a step back and brushing a stray curl behind her ear. The door opens and there’s Dr. Mohan—Samira, Walsh figures she should call her. She’s wearing a long-sleeve black dress, the sleeves loosening down the length of her arm, a wide boatneck showing off her collarbones and the dress stopping at the middle of her thighs. It reminds Emery a bit of the seventies, especially with the maroon boots she paired it with. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, messy curls that Emery wants to run her fingers through.
“Hi,” Samira breathes out, that smile bright enough to light the whole street. It’s incredibly unfair that she just looks like this. “You look… very nice, Dr. Walsh.”
Emery laughs, extending a hand for her to help Samira down the steps—after all, she’s trying to be gentlemanly. If Samira has never gone on a date with a woman before, she’d like to set a good example. “Emery. We’re not at work.”
“Right,” Samira hums, looking nervous as Emery opens the car door for her. She even got her car washed this morning, which made her feel a bit crazy, but she was nothing if not a little obsessive. It was why she went into surgery—she was a perfectionist, she needed everything to be just right. Even for a simple date.
“So,” Emery starts once they settle in the car, taking off towards the destination. She drums her hands against the steering wheel as her playlist quietly echoes through the car—she agonized a bit over what music she should play, going for her safer options (nostalgic, but still cool—right now Aneurysm by Nirvana is playing softly). “This is your first date with a woman?”
Samira coughs and blushes, turning her gaze to face the window, “Yeah, I only… I guess, figured things out a few months ago. I only talked about it with Trinity because, well, she’s a lesbian. It was nice to know someone else.”
“Trinity, that’s—”
“The intern,” Samira finishes with a light chuckle. “Are you pretending not to know her name or are you just really bad with them?”
“A bit of both,” Emery admits, biting her lip to hide a small smile. “I think I refused to learn it out of spite.”
“Spite?”
“Well, I thought the two of you were dating.”
“Oh,” Samira says, going quiet. After a moment, she asks, “Did you flirt with me and I just didn’t notice?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Samira,” Emery grabs her attention as she pulls up outside of the bar—a small dive that’s nice enough to take a girl like Samira to, but not too loud. “Me asking you out was me flirting with you. I don’t… I don’t do this. Often.”
Samira looks at her with wide, nervous eyes and nods. “Like, at all?”
Emery gets out of the car and walks around to open the door for Samira, offering a hand partially because she’s being nice and partially because she wants to feel Samira’s palm against hers again. Her hands are warm and soft, gripping lightly onto Emery as she finds her footing. “With women from work. I tend to keep my social life and my work life separate.”
“So, I’m the exception?” Samira quips, a small smile on her face. Clearly, admitting this has given the girl some confidence. Emery likes it. It reminds her a bit of when she pulled off that risky pigtail catheter. Sure, Emery had been pissed at Abbot for prohibiting her from caring for the patient, but she liked the glow it gave Mohan.
“Yeah, you are,” Emery tries to keep her voice even, nonchalant as she opens the door to the bar and lets Samira go in front of her. She takes a moment to look at just how short the dress is as she walks ahead of her—shameful, but she can’t help it. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Hard not to. You’re quite the… surgeon,” Samira hums, looking Emery up and down with a light giggle punctuating her sentence. Her cheeks are flushed pink, Emery can see it even in the low light as they settle at the bar. Emery tucks her foot beneath the bar of Samira’s stool before she can sit down, pulling it closer to her. Samira makes a small noise of shock, eyes widening as she clears her throat, her blush deepening.
Emery looks her up and down, her gaze careful yet entertained. “You really haven’t done this before, have you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“A bit. It’s cute.” Emery shrugs and waves down the bartender. “Can I get just a Corona, please? And I’ll get hers, as well.”
Samira blushes a bit as she orders a vodka cranberry, sheepishly admitting to Emery, “I’m honestly the worst drinker, I never grew out of my college habits.”
Emery snorts, “I mean, what was that? Last year?”
“Ha ha,” Samira drawls sarcastically, rolling her eyes as a drink is placed down in front of her. It goes quiet as both of them take their tentative first few sips, but Emery finds it almost impossible to look away as Samira twirls her straw a bit, watching the ice in her glass swirl. As if she can feel her staring, Samira brings her eyes up to meet Emery’s. “Can I ask… why did you want to ask me out? I mean, we don’t work together a lot and when we do, you’re not exactly…”
“Not all of us make our wants as known as Dr. Garcia,” Emery teases, having to get her jabs in at the resident even though she’s not here to hear them. “I’ve got my eye on you, Mohan. I have for a while.”
“Is that so?” Samira asks, sounding more so genuinely curious than like she’s trying to flirt. It’s cute anyway, even if she’s not trying. “Trinity almost didn’t believe me when I told her. She wasn’t sure you had a heart.”
“Well, I’m not thinking with just my heart,” Emery drawls, pairing the words with a once-over down Samira’s form. She may as well be honest. As much as this is a proper date, it’s hard not to think about what it might be to have Samira in her bed. She wonders if she’ll be as shy as she is at the bar, if she gets pink in more places than just her cheeks. She doesn’t want to scare the woman, but she’s found that the best way to get what she wants is simply by asking for it. She’s too old and too experienced for games.
“Oh, you—oh,” Samira chuckles nervously, clearing her throat. “I haven’t—I mean, I have just not with… women. I’ve thought about it. A lot. Especially lately. I mean—that’s too much information.”
Emery bites her lip, trying to ignore the rush of heat that flows through her at the mention of I’ve thought about it. Watching Samira stumble over herself is entertaining, but she wonders if the woman has any idea what sort of effect she’s having on Emery right now. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m fine if you just need me to walk you to the door and kiss you goodnight.”
“I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be so polite,” Samira muses before she blanches, running a hand over her face before correcting, “I mean, not that I think you’re mean or would be rude, I just—at work, you’re so—I don’t know.”
“I know. You don’t get the respect of men in a hospital by being polite, Samira,” Emery reminds her, leaning with her head braced against her fist so she can get a better look at her. “But I’m not at work right now. Right now, I’m on a date with a beautiful and intelligent doctor. Of course, I’m going to be polite.”
“Most people just stop at the beautiful part.”
Emery snorts. “Look, I’m usually not in the business of boosting egos, but I know Robby gets on your ass, so I’ll cut you some slack. Your work during the MCI was magnificent.”
“You looked like you were ready to kill me because of that pigtail catheter, it’s why I was so surprised when you asked me out.”
“Like I said, we’re not at work.” She shrugs, taking another sip of beer to hide her smile. She can’t remember the last time she smiled or laughed this much in one setting—her bitchy reputation is so ruined if this gets back to the hospital. “Besides, it was Abbot I wanted to kill. Stupid ER cowboys drive me nuts. Some of the shit he does takes hours for us to fix in the OR. I don’t like when men interfere with my work because they think they know better. I didn’t do two more years of residency and specialize in my field just to not know better. It’s fine. I wasn’t mad at you. Unconventional as it was, it was impressive. Besides, your face is easier to forgive than Abbot’s.”
Samira giggles at that last part, finger swirling the edge of her glass as she raises her eyebrows a bit. “Is there a reason you don’t like him? Or is it just the… ER cowboy thing?”
“I like him fine. Better when he’s not flirting with you,” Emery looks Samira up and down, scooting a bit closer so her ankle can brush against the leather of Samira’s boots. “That’s when he really starts to get on my fucking nerves.”
“Don’t tell me you were jealous.” Samira’s eyes meet hers, teeth biting her lip. “He barely does anything but stare, just like you.”
“I was,” Emery admits because like she said—it’s easier to get what you want when you ask for it. “Even more so when I thought that intern won you over via REBOA.”
“I could never date Trinity,” Samira chuckles, turning her gaze away from Emery’s, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s never seen the doctor with her hair down before tonight, but Emery thinks it’s a sight she could get used to. A sight she would very much like to see waking up in her bed tomorrow morning. “She’s too young for me. I think… I need someone who pushes me, you know? Someone who knows a bit more than I do.”
Emery sucks in a breath, trying to keep her tone light, “So that’s why you said yes. You do like ‘em older.”
“Well, if I’m going to do this, I may as well try it with someone who knows a thing or two.”
And that sends a rush throughout Emery. The look in Samira’s eyes when she turns to face her again is nothing short of lustful, perfect teeth worrying her bottom lip and innocent eyes wide. Emery shifts a bit in her seat, trying not to give away just how turned on she is. They haven’t even made it through their first drink and she’s already ready to throw some cash on the bar and get out of there. Still, Samira hasn’t done this before—she wants to be respectful, to set a good example. However, holding back from asking her to get out of here is getting harder and harder with each passing moment.
She raises an eyebrow. “Are we then? Going to do this?”
“I don’t know very much.”
“Everyone starts somewhere.”
“I can’t picture you just starting out,” Samira teases, brushing her ankle purposefully with Emery’s. She leans forward a bit, her expression nervous as if she wants to try something. They’re sitting so close together, that it feels natural when Samira leans forward and lets her hand rest against Emery’s thigh. It’s a bold move and she can tell by the woman’s gaze that it’s a move she calculated in her head at least a dozen times before actually doing it. Emery leans into the touch, matching her mood.
Emery chuckles lowly, “You should’ve seen me in college. Undergrad was my first time in a big city living without my parents. I was a bit of a mess with the ladies. I sure gained my footing quick, though. You don’t become a surgeon if you aren’t a fast learner.”
“Of course, you’d compare sex to surgery,” Samira laughs.
“It kind of is,” Emery answers with a shrug, allowing her fingers to run across the bare skin of Samira’s thigh. She can see the way the woman shivers, the way goosebumps rise on her skin despite the warmth of the bar. “It’s all about knowing the human body. Knowing how to take it apart.”
Samira looks like gears are turning in her head, trying to make a decision. Emery wants to see if she’ll do it—if she’ll make the first move or if Emery will have to. She doesn’t mind either way, she’s just curious. Call it another theory.
“And what do you know about me?” Samira asks, her voice pitched lower than it normally is, eyes crawling up Emery’s form slowly. Now this is a surprise. She expected Samira to be a flustered mess and for the most part, she is, but every now and then she throws Emery for a loop.
Emery leans forward until she’s whispering in Samira’s ear, deciding this isn’t something the rest of the bar gets to hear. “I bet you like to be told what to do. That's why you want someone older, someone experienced. You want me to tell you where to go, what to do, and how to do it just so I can tell you you’re good, right?”
She pulls back just enough to look at Samira, finding the woman’s eyes darting straight for her lips. Emery finds herself asking the question before Samira can, “Do you want to get out of here?”
Samira almost looks like she’s in a daze when she nods. “Yeah, yes, I do.”
“Great,” Emery hums, pulling out enough cash to cover their unfinished drinks and some for the tip before she stands up from the stool, offering her hand to Samira even though the bar isn’t nearly crowded enough to justify pulling her out of there.
As soon as they’ve made it to the car, Emery is crowding Samira up against it, arms on either side of her, catching her off guard. Samira’s hands land on her hips, fingers hooking loosely into her belt loops and tugging her closer. Their noses brush, but Emery doesn’t quite lean in. Instead, she asks breathily, “This okay?”
Samira nods and she isn’t sure who closes the gap between them first. Samira tastes like cranberries and vanilla, the latter probably a remnant from the gloss she’d been wearing, but to Emery it just tastes a bit like heaven. Samira brings one hand up to hold her face, fingers delicate and warm, not wanting to grip her too harshly. One of Emery’s hands finds her thigh, Samira’s boot braced against the edge of the curb while the other remains firmly on the asphalt, her back pressed fully against the car.
Someone down the street whistles and that’s when Emery remembers where they are, regretfully pulling herself away from Samira and opening the door for her. She’s fairly certain there’s a bit of gloss on her lips from kissing Samira and she just rubs her lips together, trying to get another taste of her while she focuses on driving back to her place without getting in a wreck. Now wouldn’t that be a fun one to explain to her co-workers.
Oh, why was Dr. Mohan in your car when it crashed?
Well…
She keeps her eyes on the road, even though she can practically feel Samira’s eyes boring a hole into the side of her head. Emery finds herself chuckling, “Don’t tell me that was your first time kissing a woman, too.”
“No, but it was probably my favorite.”
“That’s not even my best work.”
She allows herself one quick glance over to the woman, who is biting her lip as she braces her chin on her hand, leaning against the center console so she can get a better look at Emery. She feels almost a little shy as the woman observes her, but she doesn’t say anything. Before she realizes what’s happening, she can feel Samira’s gentle finger brushing over her top lip. “I like your little mole right here.”
Emery chuckles, biting her lip and resisting the urge to pull Samira into another kiss at this stop light. Samira’s voice almost carries a bit of dazed wonder to it and all she can think about is what she’ll sound like after Emery has fucked her properly. God, the idea of being her first woman… Emery likes it more than she’s willing to admit.
The drive to Emery’s house is thankfully a short one—a small brownstone with a brick walkway, the stoop covered in plants she usually waters on her way home in the morning. Samira gets out of the car, nearly stumbling a bit on an uneven brick, but Emery is there to catch her with a gentle hand on her waist.
“I promise, I’m not usually clumsy, I’m just—distracted.”
Emery quirks an eyebrow, asking, “Oh, yeah? What’s on your mind?”
She knows the answer, but she likes watching Samira check her out, likes watching her cheeks turn pink. “A few things.”
Emery hums, brushing past her to get the door, telling her, “Don’t mind the cat. She’s probably hiding, but I figured I’d warn you of her existence.”
“You have a cat?”
Emery just stares at her as she flicks on the entryway light. “Do I not seem loving enough to be a pet owner?’
“No—” Samira starts to say before clearing her throat and saying, “You just keep surprising me.”
She takes this opportunity to close the front door and push Samira up against it, hearing the way the woman’s breath hitches as Emery slides a thigh between her legs—not quite pushing, just keeping it there. In case she needs it later. “Like this?”
“Yeah, like that,” Samira breathes out, shuddering when she feels Emery’s hot breath against her chin.
Emery leans in, the kiss starting off soft, allowing Samira to get used to her again. She allows herself to explore, Samira gasping softly against her lips and Emery takes this as an opportunity to slip her tongue into her mouth, the kiss deepening into something hungrier, something that matches the desperation she feels. Part of her wants to draw this out, to have Samira begging for her. She wants to see just how far she can take the resident, how thoroughly she can ruin her.
Samira whines against her lips and Emery wants to commit that sound to memory, wants to draw a hundred more out of her. She presses her thigh up a bit, the fabric of Samira’s already-short dress hiking up as her hands clamor to grab Emery’s hips. Emery keeps one hand on the door, keeping Samira where she wants her, but she allows the other to roam, gripping the soft flesh of Samira’s thigh. She brings her hand up slowly, grabbing the side of Samira’s face so she can turn her head, angling her so Emery can press her lips to the line of her jaw, tongue trailing down her neck until she’s sucking a mark into her collarbone, where she knows it’ll rest just below the line of her scrub top (she’s played this game before, of course, she knows her lines). Samira’s hands shift until they’re tangling in her hair, tugging gently at her scalp.
She lavs at her flesh soft and slow, determined to leave something behind. She’d take Samira up against this door if this wasn’t her first time, but no, Samira deserves to be shoved against a mattress and taken care of. Though, the breathless moans she lets out as Emery’s thigh pushes against her center almost has her willing to throw that idea out the window and just get to work. Samira’s hands slide beneath the shoulders of her jacket and Emery moves so she can remove it, letting the leather fall to the floor with a soft thud.
Emery brings her lips back to meet Samira’s, the woman meeting her eyes briefly in the dim light of the entryway. Her gaze is already lidded, darkened over with lust. Her hands grab at Samira’s hips, desperate to cinch the fabric of her dress and slide a hand underneath, but she holds back. It’s rare that she’s with someone where she feels like she could just kiss them for hours, but she almost doesn’t want to stop. She just wants to forever relish in the feeling of Samira’s soft, plush lips on hers.
Forcing herself to pull away, her hand finds Samira’s wrist, tugging her gently down the hallway. Neither of them make a move to get undressed yet as Emery pushes open the door to her bedroom. She doesn’t turn on the overhead light, instead walking around to the side of her bed to turn on her floor lamp that sets a warm glow throughout the room. Samira stands by the door, hands clasped behind her back and head hanging as if she’s suddenly more nervous than she was before.
“You know we can stop here,” Emery reminds her, walking back around so they’re face to face. She doesn’t reach out to touch her again, even though she wants to, she just waits.
“I won’t fault you if this is too much. It can be a lot the first time.”
“I need you to stop being so nice.” Samira lifts her head and where Emery expects to see anxiety in her eyes, all she can see is unadulterated desire. “I told you I need someone to push me. So push me.”
Emery chuckles, walking backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She kicks off her boots, spreading her legs slightly as she leans with her hands braced against the mattress, telling Samira, “Come here.”
Samira approaches slowly until she’s standing between Emery’s legs, teeth biting at her bottom lip.
“Take off your boots.”
Samira’s eyes flit over to hers as she bends down to unzip her boots, stepping out of them and placing them over to the side, taking her socks off with them. Emery marvels a bit at how easily the woman follows instructions, thinking maybe she wasn’t too far off with her earlier analysis. Emery’s eyes meet hers again. “Dress next.”
“A please wouldn’t hurt,” Samira jokes, even as her hands reach for the zipper. From here, she can see Samira’s hand shaking, but it doesn’t seem to hinder her as she slides the fabric down her shoulders until it pools around her ankles. Emery is delighted to find she’s not wearing a bra beneath it, left in nothing but a pair of lacy black underwear. She takes in the new amount of skin at her disposal, biting her lip.
She reaches out, grabbing at Samira’s hips until the woman is forced to settle onto her lap, groaning softly as her barely covered cunt brushes against the rough denim of Emery’s jeans. One hand rests on Samira’s thigh as she tugs the woman into a kiss—slow and sultry, wanting to taste every little part of her.
“You’re beautiful,” Emery whispers in her ear, pushing Samira closer by the small of her back so she has the angle to kiss down her chest. Samira’s arms rest on her shoulders, hands clasping behind her neck. She shudders when Emery presses a kiss between her breasts, eyes darting back up to meet hers, asking, “Is this okay?”
Samira nods, whispering a breathy, “Please.”
“I like your manners,” Emery hums before taking an erect brown nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling around the supple flesh. The moan Samira lets out is immediate, her head low forward as she tries to push her chest harder against Emery’s lips. She just keeps her in place with a hand on her hip and one on her thigh, pulling off just to mutter against her skin, “You get what I give you when I give it to you, understand?”
Samira bites back a low whimper, nodding. She plans on taking her sweet time with Samira. She wants to work every possible noise out of her, have her begging and pleading for more. She wants to destroy her just to be there to put her all back together again. In a way, for Emery, sex is surgery. It’s cutting someone open, methodical and practiced, precise in the way she takes someone apart, just to put them right back together and sew them up. It’s what she’s good at. What she prides herself on.
Emery removes her mouth from her breast only so she can turn them around, pressing Samira into the mattress with a clothed thigh between her legs. She sits back a bit, giving herself room to remove her t-shirt, also not having bothered with a bra tonight. Samira’s hands roam her torso instantly, nimble fingers climbing up her sides as her eyes hungrily take in the new skin in front of her.
“Can I—can I touch you?” Samira asks, her voice sounding far too innocent given the context, her eyes wide as if part of her doesn’t believe this is happening.
Emery nods, leaning down to find her lips at the same time tentative hands find her breasts. She moans against Samira’s mouth as her fingers tweak her nipple, brushing against the sensitive skin as if she were just exploring, not quite chasing anything in particular. She can’t help but admire her tenacity a bit. Most women she’s slept with when they hadn’t been with women before were scared to even look at her, let alone touch her. Not that Emery minded, most of her pleasure was garnered from getting women off. Samira will be no exception, even if her wandering hands are delightfully distracting.
Emery kisses down her chest and stomach, settling between her legs as she tugs gently at Samira’s underwear, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. Samira bites her lip and nods, so Emery takes the cue to drag her underwear down. She doesn’t even bother to take them off all the way yet, much too focused on the glistening shine between Samira’s legs. She all but licks her lips when she sees her, sees how badly her body wants this.
She leans down and presses a kiss to the inside of Samira’s thigh, nipping softly at the flesh and feeling the way Samira twitches beneath her. She adores how reactive her body is, how she can almost feel Samira’s flesh calling out to her. Her hands grip her thighs, obsessed with the feeling of the soft and supple skin beneath her calloused palms.
She takes a moment to look up at Samira, watching the woman watch her. Samira sucks in a breath as their eyes meet, teeth worrying her bottom lip. Her eyes are wide when she asks, “Please?”
Emery was planning on teasing a little bit longer, but the moment she hears the gentle plea tumble from Samira’s lips, she’s powerless to do anything but listen. She uses her grip on her thighs to spread them apart, tongue darting out to lick a long, exploratory stripe up her soaked folds. If she thought her lip gloss was sweet, this is something else entirely. Samira’s hips immediately buck up, but Emery pushes her back down, a show of force that has a small whine worming itself from Samira’s lips.
She continues exploring with her tongue, determined to taste every bit of her—she deliberately ignores her clit for now, even though she can tell it’s swollen with desire, desperate for relief. Samira’s hand tangles in her hair, blunt nails digging at her scalp with a dull pain that reads only as encouragement for Emery. She holds Samira apart with her thumbs, desperate to get her tongue deeper, to feel all of her. Thighs attempt to clamp around her head, but Emery continues to hold her in place, the muscles in her bicep flexing with the show of force.
Samira’s moans are small, quiet, as if she’s trying to hold them back, but instead they just slip through as whimpers. Her hips buck up against the mattress when Emery finally allows her tongue to pass over her clit, not quite lingering, just testing the waters of it. Samira holds her hair back for her as if on instinct, allowing her not to worry about it as she works on devouring her cunt.
“Fuck,” Samira breathes out, probably the first expletive she’s ever heard from the woman. She tries not to feel too proud at the notion of it. “Fuck, Emery.”
“You’re okay, pretty girl,” Emery murmurs, lifting her head for a moment to press a wet kiss to her thighs. When she dives back in, she allows her tongue to swirl properly around her clit, determined to get this woman to truly let loose. Her plan works when Samira lets out a loud yelp that devolves into a breathy moan, hands threading through Emery’s hair.
She brings fingers up to her entrance while her tongue focuses on her clit, starting out with just one sliding in slowly, letting Samira get used to her. Her noises increase in volume, rough moans tumbling from her throat as she begins to fuck into her with just one finger, tongue picking up the pace as it presses against her clit, lapping up the slick emanating from her folds.
As she adds a second finger, she lifts her head so she can watch Samira lose it further. The woman is probably the most beautiful she’s ever seen as she’s lost entirely in pleasure. She picks up her pace with her fingers, fucking into her properly. She curls her fingers inside of her, spreading them out as her blunt nails scrape against her inner walls. She knows she’s hit the right spot when Samira cries out, nails digging into her shoulder while Emery presses a wayward kiss to her stomach.
“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” Emery mutters before she can help it, feeling the way Samira groans low and heady at the words. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Fuck, please, please,” Samira moans out, her words scratchy and desperate.
“Use your words. Tell me what you want.”
“More, please, more fingers,” Samira groans, head thrown back against the pillows and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.
“Since you asked so nicely,” Emery hums, adding a third finger the next time she’s pumping in. Samira is so wet, there’s barely any resistance at all as she stretches her out. She watches Samira’s body react, knowing the woman is close to a first orgasm—she says first because there is no way she’s stopping at just one, not unless Samira taps out early—wrapping her lips around her swollen clit and sucking on the overly-sensitive flesh.
Samira’s cry is loud enough to wake the neighbors, stirring the desire pooling deep in the pit of her own stomach. She keeps her spare hand firm on Samira’s thigh, keeping her spread out against the mattress as she fucks into her, the combination of her tongue and fingers having the women nothing more than a writing, squirming mess beneath her.
“Fuck, Emery, I’m— fuck, I’m close.”
Emery only goes faster, curling her fingers inside of her, hitting her g-spot again and again, determined to work an orgasm out of her, knowing how close she is. Blunt nails scrape down her bare back and she finds herself tugging Samira’s underwear further down until she can get a leg over her shoulder, allowing herself to work at Samira even deeper, going harder with each and every movement.
She can feel the way Samira clenches around her, spilling down her palm and crying out as her first orgasm wrecks through her. She continues fucking her through it, pumping in and out, though she allows her clit the small reprieve of lifting her head, opting to bite and suckle a mark into her thigh instead. God, if they didn’t have work, she’d mark Samira up all over—leave bruises all over her thighs, littering her chest and neck. Her skin is so perfect, so unblemished, she wants nothing more than to ruin it. Nothing more than to give Samira something to press her fingers to tomorrow morning, to sit there and remember that Emery was here.
“Oh, my God,” Samira grits out when Emery finally gives her a rest, pulling her fingers out slowly and allowing her a moment to calm down. She brings her three fingers to her lips, licking Samira’s desire off of it, desperate to get another taste of her. Samira lies there, hands clasped against her stomach as her eyes find Emery’s, “That was—”
“I’m not done with you,” Emery hums, cutting her off. “Unless you want to be.”
Samira’s eyes widen. “I—there’s more?”
Emery chuckles. “You’re cute. Yes, there’s more if you want more.”
There’s not even a second of a pause before Samira is nodding, “Yeah—yes, yes please.”
“Good girl,” is all Emery says before she stands up from the bed, ridding herself of her own jeans, tossing them aside to be dealt with later as she reaches for her nightstand, tugging open the bottom drawer and pulling out a harness, looking for a good dildo to attach to it—she opts for something a little smaller, but wide, knowing Samira doesn’t have too much experience. Granted, she doesn’t know what her experience with men is, she figures she’ll just play it safe anyway. “If this is too much, I can save it, but if I’m being honest, I really want to fuck you as hard as I can into my mattress.”
She’s calm as she says the words, trying not to betray just how turned on she is, how badly she wants this as well. Samira looks at her, still lying on her back, completely bare. She looks a bit like a painting, spread out like this, and Emery starts to understand why they always painted Aphrodite in the nude.
Samira gulps as Emery shirks off her underwear, still looking at Samira with the prepared harness in one hand and a cocked eyebrow. “I’m not sure you’re real.”
Emery chuckles, starting to tug the harness up her legs. “I’m real. Is that a yes?”
Samira bites her lip and nods, eyes widening as she looks a bit nervous. Emery climbs back onto the bed, grabbing at Samira’s hips until the woman is settled on her lap, the dildo pressed up against her stomach.
“Now, why don’t you be a good girl and get that nice and wet for me?”
Samira sucks in a breath, her lips open in a silent gasp as her cheeks flush pink. She climbs down the bed, hands firm against Emery’s thighs, lowering herself until she’s level with the toy. Emery bites back a gasp when the woman opens her mouth, wrapping her lips around the head of the dildo. She can see her tongue swirling around it, coating it with her saliva. Emery groans a bit, hands gripping the sheets as if she can feel it. The sight does it for her, watching Samira open her mouth wider and sink down onto the toy, taking all of it in one go.
“That’s it,” Emery mutters, caressing the back of her head as Samira looks at her with batted lashes and God, those eyes. She could get lost in them. She’d let Samira ruin her with eyes like that. “Good.”
Samira moans around the strap, nails digging into her thighs as her tongue works to coat it properly. She pulls her head off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the head of the toy and Emery works to commit the image to memory, wanting to see it every time she closes her eyes.
“Satisfied?” Samira asks—not a hint of attitude in her voice, just pure approval-seeking. Fuck, this woman is going to be the death of her.
“Yeah, fuck, I’m satisfied,” she breathes out through gritted teeth, running a hand through Samira’s curls—just as soft as she’d expected them to be.
She reaches for Samira, pulling her up until the two of them are kissing again—she feels like it’s been ages since she last tasted her lips, so she makes up for it now, kissing her deeply, hunger lacing every movement. When they pull apart, she uses her grip on Samira’s hips to turn the two of them around, pushing until Samira is on her stomach.
Her hands on Samira’s hips pull them up until she has a better angle to work with, a hand resting against the small of her back as the head of the toy presses at her entrance.
“You know why I like it like this?” Emery’s voice is breathy in her ear, listening to Samira’s gentle moans as she begins to push in.
“Why?” Samira forces herself to answer when she realizes Emery won’t continue her thought without it.
As she continues pushing in, Emery places a hand taut against Samira’s stomach, keeping it there until she can feel herself against it, deep inside of Samira. Samira moans, a soft whimper sounding from her lips as Emery allows her to get used to the feeling of it. Emery reaches for where Samira’s hand grips the sheets, bringing it to her stomach, pressing against the skin so she can feel what Emery feels. “That’s why.”
“Fuck,” Samira grits out, trying to push her hips back against Emery, but a hand on her waist keeps her right where she wants her.
She pulls out slightly, just an inch or two before she slowly pushes back into her, letting her get used to the stretch of it, making sure it feels good for her. She presses a kiss to the skin between her shoulder blades, telling her, “If it starts to not feel good, tell me to stop, okay?”
“Okay,” Samira nods, though her voice is breathy and wanton like she’s hardly even paying attention. Emery loves seeing her like this, loves seeing the absolute wreck she’s made of Samira Mohan. It’s addictive, she doesn’t know how she’ll ever get enough of this. Samira makes her insatiable in ways she didn’t know was possible.
The next time she pulls out, she allows herself to let go of a little more, still keeping the same pace as she begins to pump in and out of her, still making Samira feel it against her stomach. Emery loves it like this—it’s the closest she can get to feeling the warm embrace of a woman’s cunt, and God, does it feel good. Beneath her, Samira is a mewling mess, the side of her face pressed against the pillows as sweat coats her forehead. Emery leans down until she’s flush with her back, picking up her pace the more and more Samira’s body reacts and the more ready she seems for it.
Her teeth sink into Samira’s shoulder, determined to leave another mark, addicted to the way Samira moans when she does. She sucks at the flesh, laving her tongue over the bite mark as if that’ll make it feel better, one of Samira’s hands reaching back to tangle in her hair, tugging slightly and causing a light moan to fall from Emery’s lips.
“You’re taking me so well,” Emery encourages, accompanying the words with a soft kiss to her shoulder—in the dim light of the bedroom, she finds a small smattering of freckles on her shoulders and she wants to kiss each and every one of them.
Samira moans, pushing back against her and this time Emery lets her because the woman has just been so good. True to her words earlier, Samira has taken what Emery gives her, used her words when she wants to ask for more. It’s only fair she rewards her at least a little bit. Not to mention the way Samira pushes the toy back against her own cunt causes a light hiss to fall from her lips, teeth sinking into her own lip.
She pushes against her stomach as she fucks into her, pulling out entirely each time before slamming back in, listening to the slicks sounds of flesh sliding against flesh paired with breathy, wrecked moans from Samira’s beautiful lips.
“That’s it, take it,” Emery groans into her ear, kissing the line of her jaw. “That’s my good girl.”
“Fuck,” Samira cries out, unable to hold herself up as she crashes against the mattress, the only thing holding her up Emery’s hand still gripping her waist. Emery pushes deeper against her, hitting her g-spot with the toy and feeling the way her entire body seems to react as if a bolt of electricity courses through her. “Holy fuck, Emery.”
She can’t help but chuckle a bit, though her voice still holds the same confidence as always, it’s definitely a bit shaky—clouded by her own desire leaking through. “I’ll be sure to add that to the review.”
“Oh, fuck,” Samira just groans in response, pushing back against Emery, desperate to take more of her. She’s probably already sensitive from her first orgasm, which means Emery has a feeling she’s not going to last much longer—which is a shame because she wants this to go on all night. Maybe even into the next day if possible. It’s fine—they can always take a break. God knows she’ll never have enough of Samira Mohan. This night has only proved what she already figured to be true. “Harder, please, I can take it. Please, please.”
With three pleas, she wouldn’t dare argue. Emery sits up, knees against the mattress as her hands rest on Samira’s hips, pulling the woman to her at the same time she slams back in, fucking her harder, relishing in the broken moan that tears itself from her throat, watching the way Samira’s fingers desperately reach for the sheets, tangling them up in her fist. She doesn’t show mercy with her pace—after all, what was it Samira said to her earlier? I need you to stop being so nice. Emery takes it to heart as she fucks into her at a brutal pace, fingers gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
Samira whines, groaning against the pillows, her mouth permanently open and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. All this and she just takes it. Emery can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of how well Samira listens to her, how no matter what, she’s still pushing back, asking for more.
She’s coming before she even seems to realize it, teeth sinking into the pillow as she gushes around the toy, the slick sounds of it filling in the room in a way that sounds pornographic. Emery continues fucking into her, obsessed with the sight of Samira’s desire coating her inner thighs, desperate to lick it off.
When she pulls out, Samira catches her off guard—rolling over onto her back and tugging Emery closer by the straps around her hips. Emery smiles into the kiss, groaning a bit when Samira’s hand wraps around the strap, fingers working it as if it were her actual cock. Emery groans at it all the same, Samira swallowing down the noise.
A hand against her chest pushes Emery back until she’s sitting up. Samira, breathless with curly hairs sticking to her forehead, settles on her lap, hovering just above the toy. Emery raises an eyebrow, “What do you say?”
Samira licks her lips, eyes wide as she tries to catch her breath. Her voice is quiet, barely there, scratchy like it’ll be gone in the morning, when she asks, “Please? I need—I want more.”
Emery bites her lip, nodding before telling her, “So take it.”
Arms rest on her shoulders, wrapping around her neck for balance as Samira slowly begins to sink down onto her cock, the toy already slick from her orgasm—an orgasm that had probably soaked the sheets beneath them, not that Emery is complaining. She guides Samira’s hips with her hands until they’re flush against hers, having sunk completely onto the toy. Emery groans at the sight, reveling in the feeling of Samira pressed fully up against her. With her right here in front of her, Emery takes the opportunity to lean forward and take a nipple into her mouth, her fingers teasing the other as Samira begins to slowly grind her hips.
The pleasure ripples through Samira as she hangs her head. Emery lifts her gaze to meet hers, finding the woman’s lips with her own as she takes her in another kiss. Samira moans against her lips, fingers tangling in her mess of curls and tugging slightly. Emery groans into her mouth, a hand on the small of Samira’s back pushing her further against the strap and aiding in her slow, circular movements.
Samira breaks the kiss to throw her head against Emery’s shoulder, sucking a mark into the pale flesh that’ll rest beneath her scrub top, lifting her hips slightly before slamming them back down again and again and fuck, Emery thinks she might be able to come just from this, just from watching Samira make an absolute mess of herself.
“That’s it, baby,” Emery mutters before she can help herself, caressing her back as Samira fucks herself on her strap, heady moans falling from her lips. She loves how noisy Samira became once they really got into it, desperate to hear everything the woman is willing to give her. She never wants to listen to anything but this.
Samira whimpers against her shoulder, fingers digging into her scalp, searching for purchase. Emery just buries her head in the crook of her neck, pressing soft kisses of encouragement there, nothing hard or long enough to mark any flesh that would be seen at work—she is a professional, after all.
“Feels—” Samira starts to say, her voice a small whimper against sweaty flesh, “feels so good.”
“Good,” Emery whispers, hands caressing her gently. “Good, I want you to feel good, baby.”
Samira lifts her head, holding Emery gently by the chin as a loose grin tugs at her features, “I can’t believe you’re a pet name person.”
“Shut up,” Emery rolls her eyes, leaning forward to kiss her if only as a distraction. Samira moans into her mouth as she lifts herself off of the strap only to push herself back down steadily, grinding her hips as she does. Emery can feel her own desire pulsating beneath the harness, her cunt desperate for release.
Samira chases her own orgasm, nails digging into Emery’s shoulders as their kiss becomes sloppier the less coherent Samira gets. She knows she’s close, worn down from her two previous orgasms. She wonders if Samira has ever had this—if a man has ever taken the time to make sure she gets off more than once. She feels a bit smug thinking about it, she can’t help it.
“God—I can’t— ough, not much longer,” Samira groans, her sentence making less and less sense as time goes on, but Emery can figure out what she means well enough.
“That’s okay, it’s okay, Samira,” Emery hums in her ear, caressing her back and running fingers through loose curls. She knows the woman is probably getting overwhelmed and overstimulated, so she keeps her movements tame, letting Samira control the pace now.
She continues grinding her hips against the toy, her movements stuttering the closer she gets to another release. Emery only guides her a little bit, aiding her movements and making sure she feels good. She can’t help but bring a hand between them, fingers teasing ever so gently against her clit. Samira cries out, digging so harshly into her shoulders she can feel her flesh giving way to faint red lines even though the woman’s nails are short. Emery doesn’t mind—in fact, the pain only makes her feel better. She continues pressing at her clit, massaging slow circles into the flesh, feeling Samira’s movements become increasingly more disoriented the more control she loses.
She moans into the crook of her neck as she comes again, boneless against Emery as she rides out her third orgasm, the fingers on her clit lessening, allowing her to come down slowly. She can feel something wet on her shoulder and she realizes Samira is crying. She grabs Samira by the chin, eyes searching hers where a single line of tears streams from each eye. “Are you okay?”
Samira nods, taking a deep breath, “Just—overstimulated, I think. It’s good, I feel good.”
Emery raises an eyebrow, nodding, “Okay.”
She reaches for Samira’s hips, guiding the woman off of the toy. The way she whimpers at the sudden emptiness goes straight to Emery’s cunt and she bites her lip, trying not to think too much about her own desire right now. She doesn’t want to pressure Samira into reciprocating, certainly not after wrecking her with three orgasms. She’s no stranger to rubbing one out in the bathroom while her partner recuperates, it doesn’t offend her and she doesn’t mind doing it.
With Samira resting on the bed, she unhooks the straps and tosses the toy aside, deciding she’ll deal with it later. As soon as she’s back on the bed, Samira reaches for her, breathless and exhausted, but her hands still move with need.
“Don’t tell me you need more than that, I think I’m gonna have to call it for you, sweetheart,” she teases, pressing a kiss to Samira’s shoulder as the woman pulls Emery on top of her.
“Not me, you,” Samira hums, “I want to touch you. Please, can I?”
Emery hovers above her, mouth slightly agape. Part of her can’t believe the request—mainly because she can’t believe the woman is able to keep going. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised—emergency medicine doctors are known for their stamina. “You don’t have to, I know it’s—”
“I want to,” Samira reassures her, eyes alert and voice steady—scratchy as it is. Emery nods, biting back a moan when Samira’s fingers find her soaking cunt. She shudders at the same time Samira whispers, “God, you’re so wet. All this just from… getting me off?”
Head against her chest, Emery nods. “I like—I like making other people feel good.”
“I want to do that for you,” Samira admits, sounding a bit nervous now. Her fingers explore Emery slowly, like she’s trying to get a lay of the land, trying to feel every part of her and see what feels good. “I want to make you feel good.”
And God, the way she says that almost has Emery biting back a whimper which is ridiculous because Emery Walsh does not whimper. Even so, she can’t help but be affected by the sultry obedience in Samira’s voice, clearly needing to do a good job, desperate for Emery’s approval. What she doesn’t know is that she already has it, she has enough approval to last a lifetime.
“Right there,” she whispers against her skin as Samira’s fingers find her clit. Samira listens right away, fingers beginning to circle it slowly, causing a low whine to leave Emery’s lips. “Fuck, just like that—very good, Samira.”
Samira groans a little at the praise, the speed of her movements picking up and pulling a soft moan out of Emery. She’s so wet, it’s almost difficult for Samira to find any real purchase against her, but she makes do. Emery is so amped up already, she knows she won’t last much longer—especially since she almost came just from the feeling of Samira bouncing on her strap.
She tries to hold out a little longer, but Samira presses her fingers down a bit harder, circling her with ease as her other hand digs into her waist. She struggles to hold herself up against the mattress, half of her body falling on top of Samira’s anyway. She peppers kisses onto Samira’s chest, sweat causing her hair to stick to her forehead, her release imminent.
“Right— ah— right there, good girl, fuck, I’m—” Emery groans, biting at her chest as her orgasm ripples through her. Samira groans along with her, fingers continuing their work as she comes. She lifts her head so she can kiss Samira—the kiss itself is open-mouthed, sloppy with boneless exhaustion, but neither of them seem to care.
Samira brings her hand up to hold Emery’s face, the woman falling on top of her as they kiss for a while—languid, taste heady and intoxicating. Emery doesn’t want to let go of this, doesn’t want the night to be done. She’s not done with Samira, not by a longshot.
After a while, though, she has to catch her breath and the two of them break apart, Emery hovering over her while Samira looks at her with wide eyes. Emery takes a moment to look around at their surroundings in the dim lamplight—the fitted sheet has come off one of the corners and both part of it and the top sheet are soaked with what Emery thinks was Samira’s second orgasm. Maybe the first is mixed somewhere in there, too—she can’t be sure.
Samira seems to notice what she’s looking at, bringing up her hands to cover her face as she lets out a nervous laugh, “Oh, my God, that’s so embarrassing, I’m so sorry.”
Emery just shrugs, sitting up a bit so she can get off the bed. “That’s my bad for not putting a towel down. Oversight. Come on, I’ll put you in the bath while I throw these in the wash.”
“Put me in the bath,” Samira mocks, “I can get myself there, thank you very much.”
Emery stands off to the side of the bed on her hips as she commands, “Stand up for me.”
Samira shoots her a look with narrowed eyes, climbing to the edge of the bed until her feet are planted on the floor. She watches as Samira braces herself on the edge of the bed, starting to stand before her legs start to shake. She sits back down in a huff. “Just give me a minute.”
Emery can’t help but feel a swell of pride. “Hmph, thought so. I’ll get the water running. Hang tight.”
She steps into the bathroom, not bothering to get dressed since she’ll probably join Samira in the bath anyway. In the sink, she finds her cat—a small orange tabby affectionately named Cori after the first woman to win a Nobel Prize in physiology or medicine. “There you are, little girl. I was wondering where you ran off to.”
She starts to run the water, waiting for it to get warm before she plugs the drain and leaves it to fill up, scratching in between Cori’s ears as she goes.
Back out in the bedroom, she finds Samira lying on her side, eyes closed. Emery clicks her tongue, “No sleeping until I change these sheets. Come on.”
She reaches for Samira’s wrist, dragging her to the edge of the bed until she can lift the woman over her shoulder. Samira scoffs. “You’re literally shorter than me, this shouldn’t be possible.”
“By two inches, don’t get crazy now,” Emery tuts, carrying the woman into the bathroom. Height be damned, she and Ellis strength train together on their days off. Keeps the mind clear, helps her relax. Besides, the women go crazy for her biceps. It’s an all-around plus. She puts Samira down on the edge of the bathtub, brushing locks of hair out of her face. “And stop complaining—this part is important too.”
“What do you mean?” Samira huffs out a quiet laugh.
Emery just stands there, hands on her hips, brow furrowed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had proper aftercare. What? Does he just, like, roll over and go to sleep.”
Samira shrugs. “Usually. I use the bathroom and either go home or go to bed. I don’t mind.”
Emery closes her eyes, sucks in a deep breath, muttering a quiet, “Oh, my God. Okay—that’s not happening tonight. Let me get these in the wash, I’ll be right back.”
She leaves the bathroom door ajar, grabbing the ruined sheets off of the bed and kicking the rest to the floor, carrying them down the hall and getting them started. There’s a solid chance she falls asleep before moving them over to the dryer, but that’s a chance she’s willing to take. On her way back, she grabs fresh sheets from the linen closet in the hall, heading back into the bedroom where she can hear Samira turning off the water as the tub gets full.
“Are you coming?” Samira asks from the bathroom, sounding almost shy at having been left alone.
Emery peeks her head in through the door, “Give me two minutes. Go ahead and get in, I won’t be long.”
She finds it far too cute how Samira just nods and climbs into the water. Of course, she’d be good at following instructions even outside of work. Though—it does make Emery a little curious as to the fact that Robby is always getting on her about time spent with patients. She wonders why that seems to be the one instruction she won’t just take on the chin. Maybe she’ll ask her about it if Samira graces her with a second date—granted, as long as they don’t get distracted like they did with this one. She would like to get to know her properly at some point, but it’s hard to focus when someone as beautiful as Samira is telling her she’s never slept with a woman before and all her brain wants to do is correct that immediately.
Emery finishes replacing the sheets, smoothing them down with a satisfactory nod before heading back into the bathroom to find Samira in the bath, knees tucked up against her chest.
“Scoot over,” Emery nods, motioning for her to move away from the ceramic wall so she can slide in behind her. The water is so warm it almost stings her skin as she sinks into it, breathing in deeply as she pulls Samira flush against her chest. The woman sighs immediately, eyes slipping closed as she hums with content. “How was that?”
Samira chuckles, keeping her eyes closed. “Fucking ridiculous.”
“I didn’t realize you cursed this much.”
“After three orgasms I do,” Samira hums, nestling deeper against Emery’s chest. “This is nice. Do you do this with everyone?”
“Depends,” Emery shrugs, giving her an honest answer. “Taking care of the people I sleep with is important to me, in and out of bed. Besides, if you’re having trouble keeping yourself upright, then you’ll no doubt be sore tomorrow and this’ll help. The last thing I want is for someone to be in pain when I’m done with them.”
“Aw, you’re a sweetheart.”
Emery snorts, “It feels like basic human decency, but sure. I have a heart.”
“Cute,” Samira whispers, more to herself than to Emery. She opens her eyes to meet her gaze, pushing herself up so she can kiss her softly, giggling a bit as she does so. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your reputation safe.”
“Thank God, I was worried,” Emery’s voice drips with sarcasm, though she can’t help but smile a bit when Samira looks up at her, biting her lip as her eyes search Emery’s. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Samira hums contentedly, turning around and resting with her back against Emery’s chest again. “I aim to be exceptional when I can.”
Emery chuckles softly, fingers tracing patterns into Samira’s stomach. She clears her throat, voice low and uncharacteristically nervous in Samira’s ear as she tells her, “You can stay the night, if you’d like. It’s late and I’m sure you’re tired and—”
“Okay,” Samira nods, lifting Emery’s hand out of the water and pressing soft kisses to her knuckles. She thinks this woman is going to be the death of her.
At that moment, Cori stands up from her spot in the sink, stretching out with a quiet and stretched out mrowwww before hopping down onto the bathroom tile. She walks over to the bath, sniffing experimentally. Samira lights up immediately, reaching a hand over the edge of the tub for Cori to smell, saying, “Well hel lo.”
“This is Cori, she’s nice,” Emery introduces them, watching as Cori licks Samira’s knuckle curiously before bowing her head a bit so she can pet her.
Samira chuckles as she scratches between her ears, muttering in a small voice, “Well, aren’t you the cutest thing ever, huh? Where’s your momma been hiding you this whole time, hm? Hello.”
Emery just watches her pet the cat, trying to ignore the way her heart rate picks up at the sweetness of her voice. She bites her tongue, holding back from asking Samira for a second date right away. Maybe she’ll wait until the morning.
Cori runs off through the open door and Samira makes a sad noise of disapproval, pulling her hand back into the water and yawning. Emery takes that as a sign, reaching around her to pull the plug and saying, “All right, let’s get you to bed.”
She gets out and reaches for a towel, handing one over to Samira before holding out a hand to help her up. She’s still a bit shaky, but seems a bit more put together than she was previously. As Samira dries herself off, Emery heads back into the bedroom, searching through her drawers for something the woman can wear.
“I have… boxer shorts and a Pirates t-shirt, does that work?” Emery offers, holding the clothing out to her as she comes out of the bathroom, squeezing out her curls with the towel.
Samira smiles, “Of course, you’d be a Pittsburgh Pirates fan.”
“I’ve worked here so long, I kind of have to be,” Emery shrugs, watching as Samira gets dressed. She’s a bit sad to see her covered up, not sure she’ll ever get her fill of Samira’s lithe form. When she’s done ogling, she grabs some gingham boxers for herself along with a Hole t-shirt, tugging it over her head before she reaches for Samira’s waist, tugging the woman’s back against her front and pressing a kiss to her neck.
Samira laughs, turning around in her arms to kiss her properly. When they break apart, she says, “Thank you. That was—you’ve certainly set a high bar.”
“Give me a second date and I’ll do even better,” Emery teases, tugging her over towards the bed.
“It can get better?” Samira asks, voice rife with wonder as she reaches to tangle herself with Emery beneath the sheets.
Emery just hums, reaching for the lamp before pulling Samira close to her chest, wrapping an arm around her waist as their legs mingle with one another. “You’ll find out. Next time, though, I’m very tired.”
“Well, then consider a second date a yes,” Samira laughs, her fingers interlocking with Emery’s and tugging the warm around her waist even closer. She refrains from telling Samira that she’s not usually a cuddler—she’s never a cuddler, but some part of her doesn’t want to be separated from the woman. She just wants to breathe her in, to wake up beside her. Maybe it’s her post-sex haze, but it’s different than usual.
She listens to the sound of Samira’s breathing evening out, letting it lull her to sleep.
***
“You’re in a good mood,” Abbot narrows his eyes at her, crossing his arms as she comes down for a surgical consult. It’s been a couple of days since her date with Mohan—well, technically they spent most of their off day on Saturday together, which involved Emery making them coffee in the morning, but it got cold because she got a little distracted eating Samira out on her kitchen counter and then some—and she’s finally back at work. The night shift is just settling in, but she saw Mohan whizzing around, finishing up cases and turning over patients.
She almost wanted to go over and say hi, but Mohan was busy and she wasn’t sure how much they were willing to talk about at work. Not that there’s much to talk about—nothing is defined, nothing is for sure except for the second date they have planned—which is dinner this Wednesday, the next day they both have off.
“Yeah, don’t ruin it,” she tuts, tugging gloves on, “What do we got?”
“MVC victim, was walking in the crosswalk and the car nicked him in the side after he couldn’t get out of the way in time. Minor head lac, potential internal injuries.”
“What do we got?” another voice comes in and she turns to see Mohan gearing up behind her.
“Nuh uh,” Emery immediately shakes her head. “Day shift should be getting out of here. Go, grab Ellis for me.”
“Come on, Emer—Dr. Walsh,” Mohan corrects herself, eyes darting over to Abbot, but it’s already too late. It’s not that bad of a slip-up, Mohan is on a first-name basis with most of the doctors here, it’s part of her charm, but at the same time, Walsh is a surgical attending—someone a resident would never get away with calling by her first name.
Walsh continues assessing the patient, narrowing her eyes at Mohan when she tries to take a step towards him. When she won’t give it a rest, Emery approaches her with hands on her hips and a stern look on her face. She whispers in her ear, hopefully quiet enough that Abbot won’t hear, “Turn over your patients and go home or else I end dinner with a kiss goodnight at your door and nothing else.”
She doesn’t want to rescind her promise from Friday night about outdoing herself—she thinks if she tries, she can get Samira to four orgasms in one night, maybe even five, but she will just to prove a point. Mohan’s cheeks flush pink as she nods, ripping off her gloves and saying, “Fine. I’ll go get Dr. Ellis.”
“Good girl,” Emery whispers, just to drive her point home and because she likes seeing her blush.
Mohan finishes disposing of her PPE, narrowing her gaze at Walsh as she leaves the room. She turns back to Abbot, who is staring at her with hands on his hips, a disgruntled expression on his face as he says, “Don’t tell me…”
Walsh just shrugs, a subtle but prideful look of smugness on her face. “You snooze, you lose.”
Abbot just groans, “Come the fuck on.”
“What’s wrong? Am I gonna die?” The patient panics, suddenly conscious, and Walsh nearly jumps out of her skin, earning a low snicker from Abbot.
“Jesus, you’re awake,” she hums, resuming her exam as Ellis enters the trauma room.
As a nurse comes in to administer pain meds, they run through the standard of care to check if he needs surgery—which Walsh determines he doesn’t. As she rips off her PPE, she tells them, “Call me if he starts bleeding into his belly and I’ll take him up, but I don’t see any signs of internal hemorrhaging.”
“Dr. Walsh,” Ellis says before she can leave the room, eyes looking her up and down before asking, “Is that… a hickey on your shoulder?”
Walsh looks at where her scrub top has come askew, revealing a small, fading bruise on her shoulder. She clears her throat, pulling it back into place. “Don’t worry about it. Call me if you need me.”
As she leaves the room, she can swear she hears Abbot and Ellis snickering with one another. She just rolls her eyes.
Before she reaches the elevator, she can see Mohan grabbing her jacket out of her locker, taking her hair out of her ponytail as she shrugs it on. Walsh knows she shouldn’t, but she sways over to her anyway, hands in her pockets as she looks her up and down. “Real subtle, Mohan.”
“Says the one calling me good girl on the clock,” Samira laughs, jutting out her chin. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”
Emery can’t help but smile a bit, biting her lip to keep it from getting too wide. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Samira looks around, probably checking to make sure no one else is looking before she grabs Emery by the collar of her scrub top and pulls her deeper into the hallway of lockers where no one in central can see them. She kisses her softly, a little gift for the security cameras and HR department, Emery supposes. It’s chaste and quick, but still has Emery a bit flushed with the unexpectedness of it.
Samira looks her up and down, biting the inside of her cheek as she keeps her hand on Emery’s chest, saying, “Looking forward to it.”
With that, Samira grabs her bag out of her locker and shuts it, shooting her one last cursory glance before heading for the main doors. God—this woman is going to kill her.