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Santos never really pictured herself as the type to date two women at the same time.
Sure, she’s slept around—girls at bars, girls at parties, girls off Tinder; once a TA from her second-year anthropology lecture—but she wasn’t dating any of them at the same time. Wasn’t dating them at all, really, unless you’d count sloppy sex and unanswered texts dating, which she decidedly does not. Dating can be tricky. There are rules and protocol and courtesies and a bunch of stuff Santos isn’t very good at and hasn’t had much reason to want to get good at. It’s never been a pressing concern.
Why, then, she’s decided her first foray into lesbian dating since her first year of college should be trying to keep two of her superiors at work from finding out she’s dating both of them at the same time, she’s not sure, but she’s certainly enjoying herself so far. If she’s being honest, the thrill of keeping one of them a secret from the other is half the fun. Maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe it makes her a bad person. Maybe she doesn’t care either way.
Santos sighs, biting down on her thumbnail as she checks her phone for the eighth time. Ellis is late. She’s usually running a few minutes behind; Garcia is the punctual one, so fastidious about timing that Santos has started having to show up ten minutes early just to be on time, but right now Ellis is twenty-one minutes late and hasn’t so much as texted so let Santos know where she is.
Maybe she’s being stood up. Santos considers this for a minute, picking at her bottle of beer until the paper label starts to peel, and dismisses it. Ellis wouldn’t do that. She can tease, sure, and Santos has seen her get mean at work, but she’s not cruel. She certainly wouldn’t schedule a not-quite date and then bail without a word. Garcia might, but Santos doubts that, too. They’re both too direct and up-front about what they want and they’re both old enough to not play the games you do when you’re dating in your twenties. At least, Santos thinks. They’re both older than her, at the very least, and that feels old enough not to pull any wishy-washy bullshit. She’s the one dating them both. She’s the messy one here.
Her heart skips a beat when her phone lights up on the table and she smiles despite herself, swiping up to read the text. It’s not Ellis. Santos is briefly disappointed, but it’s Garcia, so she can’t find it within herself to be especially crestfallen. What are you doing tonight?
out with whitaker, Santos types, feeling a bit guilty about lying but not actually guilty enough to stop lying, hbu. Poor Whitaker. He’ll understand. She’s tried to keep him out of most of this—hasn’t brought either Ellis or Garcia over to their place, doesn’t mention which of them she’s seeing when she goes out for the night so he doesn’t have to live with that on his conscience, occasionally uses him as an excuse to get out of something or into something—but whenever he catches her texting with a stupid grin on her lips, his face takes on this chagrined hamster-esque expression that makes her feel more remorseful than she’d like.
Too bad. I wanted to see you. Garcia’s next text reads. Will you be out late? Want to come over later?
Honestly, if Ellis keeps her waiting much longer, Santos thinks she might just get a rain check and go over to Garcia’s. She wants to get fucked tonight, has put on nice boxers and a matching sports bra with the explicit intention of getting fucked tonight, and she’s not wasting her good underwear. At least Garcia will appreciate it if Ellis doesn’t bother showing up.
wanna see u too, have to double-check w whitaker on time u know him. Garcia doesn’t, not really, because Whitaker is piss-his-pants terrified of her, but it’s fine. Santos picks the rest of the label off her beer and smooths it out against the scarred wooden table, glancing around like maybe Ellis has been here looking for her all along. She’s hard to miss. Garcia too. Sometimes she thinks she’s being greedy. Most of her life it’s been straight girls and closeted girls and now she’s dating two attractive, intimidating women who draw eyes in every room they’re in. Maybe this is the universe’s way of apologizing for the past twenty-whatever years of her life.
Santos sighs to herself and finishes her beer, smarting a bit with the sting of rejection. It’s not even like she’s being rejected—Ellis has been called into work unexpectedly before, they aren’t serious enough yet for it to be a huge issue, both of them know what hospital schedules entail—and it still makes her skin prickle with shame. Whatever. She’ll text Garcia, go over to hers, fuck and maybe have some popcorn and wine with a movie afterwards. Not what she had in mind for her night, but she’s happy either way. She’s just started scooting out of the quiet corner booth, shrugging her jacket back onto her shoulders, when the last person she expected to see slides smoothly into the seat next to her as the first person she expected to see sits down across from her.
“Whitaker, huh?” Garcia slings a casual arm around Santos’s shoulders and glances across the table at Ellis, her voice only slightly lilting as she speaks. “What do you think, Parker, did he stand her up too?”
Santos doesn’t think her mouth has ever been this dry in her life. She really regrets finishing that beer. Ellis tilts her head, grinning, hooking her foot around Santos’s ankle while she shrugs and looks between them. Oh, Santos is fucked. She is totally, entirely, utterly fucked. Garcia’s nails dig into the meat of her shoulder as she pulls Santos tight against her side, stinging even through the fabric of her shirt and coat, and Santos feels her stomach lurch. God dammit.
“He must’ve, cause otherwise she’d be lying to you,” Ellis says, the grin fading from her handsome face. “And you aren’t a liar, are you, Santos?”
Heart pounding in her chest, face certainly bright red, Santos is silent. Or at least she is, until Garcia pinches her arm and clicks her tongue reproachfully in a way that makes her want to stand to attention and salute. “Parker asked you a question.”
“I—uh, I’m not, I—”
“Oh, you can do better than that,” Garcia chastises, shaking her head in a way that makes her curls bounce. Fuck, did they both dress up for this? Garcia is wearing a tight red dress that matches her lipstick, black leather jacket on top, and Ellis—fuck, Ellis looks good in everything, but that denim jacket makes Santos want to climb her like a tree. Santos glances between them again, lump in her throat, sweat beading on the back of her neck, and says nothing. She doesn’t think she’d be able to spit out anything coherent, and even if she could, she can’t think of an answer for them that wouldn’t immediately make her want to drop dead.
“Cat got your tongue?” Ellis lifts an eyebrow, skeptical, and rests both her elbows on the table as she leans forwards. She’s wearing silver rings on both hands, rings that Santos has felt pressed into the small of her back and the insides of her thighs and the line of her jaw, and she has to wrench her eyes away from Ellis’s fingers and the tattoos emerging from her sleeves and focus on her face. She nods, paralyzed, and Ellis scoffs, lacing her fingers together as she looks briefly at Garcia. “Figured. You thought you were being cute, huh? What, you think we don’t talk? Think the whole world revolves around you?”
“Clearly,” Garcia’s nails are still digging into Santos’s shoulder as she speaks, her mostly-bare thigh pressed into the side of Santos’s leg and distracting her from the task at hand, the weight of her arm against the back of her neck also not really helping. “I’d say I don’t know what you were thinking, but I don’t think you were. I think you were riding high on two-timing us and didn’t even stop to consider the fact that we might actually know each other outside of you, am I right?”
Santos can feel her cheeks burn hot again. She’s loath to admit that Garcia is right, that they’re both right, that she had been so obsessed with the idea of dating them both and keeping them from finding out about each other that the possibility of them being acquaintances, even friends, had never crossed her mind. She’s never seen them speak at work. They work different shifts in different departments. Santos had used this to her advantage and she is really starting to regret it, if only because the fingers on her shoulder are gripping her so tight that she’ll have round purple bruises in the morning. Ellis and Garcia exchange a glance, one loaded with derision and contempt and amusement, and then turn their attention back to her.
“You really don’t have anything to say for yourself?” Ellis chides her, eyes flashing in the low light of the bar. “No excuses, no apologies, nothing? You’ve been fucking us both for almost three months and you can’t even give us an I’m sorry?”
“I’m sorry,” Santos manages, Ellis’s knee knocking against her own. Her voice sounds weak and pathetic even to her own ears, barely more than a croak from a mouth so dry it’s starting to get painful, and Ellis shakes her head, looking at Garcia.
“You believe her?”
“Nope,” Garcia says, lips pursing as she studies Santos with a sharp, discerning eye. Santos shudders. She feels like a mouse caught in a trap, like she’s staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle; it’s thrilling and terrifying in equal measure and she has no idea what to do about it besides let them pull the trigger and blow off her head. “Just sorry she got caught.”
“I didn’t mean—” Santos starts, but Garcia cuts her off with a shake of her head as she extends her arm across the table with her palm up. Ellis rolls her eyes and reaches into her pocket, pulling out her wallet and handing it to Garcia without question. Jesus, they really do know each other. Santos should’ve known. She should have at least guessed. They’re around the same age, work in the same building, they’ve probably known each other for ages and she was too caught up in the excitement to clue in. And now she’s pinned between Garcia and the wall of the booth and Ellis is watching her with fire in her eyes and she can’t quite catch her breath and there’s a warmth spreading through her bones the likes of which she’s never felt in her life.
“Take her outside. I’ll pay,” Garcia orders, sliding out of the booth, and Santos’s stomach does a backflip. She can still feel the print of Garcia’s nails in her skin, the loss of contact making her skin burn, and Ellis huffs a laugh as she does the same on the other side and rounds the table to where Santos is still sitting. They both watch Garcia’s retreating form for a moment, admiring the length of her legs, the nip of her waist, but then Ellis grabs her by the scruff of her neck and hauls her to her feet.
“I really am sorry,” Santos tries again as Ellis guides her across the bar, nearly tripping over her own feet in her struggle to keep up. Ellis ignores her entirely, which Santos supposes is fair, and they emerge into the sticky summer night and veer away from the door of the bar just before another couple staggers out after them. “I wa—”
“Save it, Santos.” Ellis shakes her head. She doesn’t release her, though, doesn’t untangle her fingers from the fine hair at the nape of Santos’s neck or remove her fingertips from beneath the collar of her shirt. She has Santos up against the wall now, boxing her in, her voice dangerously low and her hips a little bit too close for Santos’s heartbeat to stop pattering wildly in her chest, and when she speaks again, leaning down to whisper in Santos’s ear, her warm breath ghosts across Santos’s skin and makes her entire body quake. “We would have both dated you, you know? Happily. Wouldn’t have bothered us a bit. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Nah, you just had to run around behind our backs, acting all cute, like we couldn’t read you like a goddamn book.”
Santos can’t breathe. Ellis tugs on her hair sharply, tilting her head up so their faces are tipped towards each other, her breath warm and whiskey-sweet. It’s hot outside and it’s hot inside and Santos can feel a drop of sweat roll down her spine at how close Ellis is, how Ellis’s fingers dig into the back of her neck and hold her firmly in place, how Ellis’s lips twist in the yellow glow of the streetlight. It’s too public and too exposed but Santos thinks she would let Ellis shove a hand down the front of her pants right here and now, fuck her rough with three fingers as the brick wall tore up her back and Garcia watched with a disapproving expression on her face.
“You think I couldn’t smell her on you?” Ellis asks, voice deep and low, her free hand pressed to the wall next to Santos’s hip. “You think I couldn’t taste her cunt on your mouth every time you kissed me? Like I didn’t know exactly what the fuck you were up to, running between us stinking of desperation and pussy? I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I am,” Santos rasps, knowing she shouldn’t say anything at all, gazing up at Ellis with her teeth buried in her bottom lip, trying to muster up enough courage to close the gap between their mouths. “I am, I am, I just—”
“Just what, thought you’d pick between us eventually? Just thought you could keep us apart forever? You wanted both of us so you’re getting both of us, Dr. Santos, and you’re gonna be real good about it. You’re gonna make it up to us however we want and whatever we give you, you’re gonna take it and beg for more, you hear me?”
Santos nods, her knees suddenly weak and wobbly as a newborn deer’s, and Ellis releases her so suddenly that the back of her head smacks the brick wall. It sends her reeling, but she’s pretty sure that’s also the fact that she can’t really catch her breath and she can’t really form a coherent thought and the blood rushing in her ears is drowning out whatever Ellis is saying to Garcia, who’s emerged from the bar with Ellis’s wallet in hand and a positively devilish grin on her face. Jesus fucking Christ. Her hands are shaking against her thighs, sweaty palms pressed against denim, and she straightens, blinking at them both as she tries to get her heartbeat back to normal.
“I don’t think it counts as you paying if you take my card to do it,” Ellis is saying when Santos can hear them properly again, taking a step back away from her and looking over at Garcia. Garcia rolls her eyes and hands the wallet back, gaze narrowing on Santos as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“It was one beer, you’ll live,” Garcia replies, not glancing over at Ellis as she does. “Stand up straight, Dr. Santos.”
Santos does as she’s told, head still swimming, but Garcia doesn’t give her a single modicum of approval, just reaches out and grabs her by the lapel and crushes their mouths together. It’s not gentle and it’s not kind and it’s not warm: Garcia kisses her like she’s trying to swallow her whole, teeth sinking into her bottom lip so hard she tastes blood, fingers digging into her neck and jaw, her tongue tastes like booze when it licks into Santos’s mouth and she lets out a horrible whimpering noise at the feeling, a noise she can hear Ellis scoff at despite the fact Ellis has coaxed it out of her before. Garcia gives her bottom lip another bite and then draws back, most of the lipstick gone from her mouth and a sharp, hungry look in her eye as she watches Ellis fist a handful of Santos’s hair and kiss her.
Ellis is warmer but no less rough—she yanks on the hair at the back of Santos’s neck and opens her lips with an eager tongue, her free hand gripping Santos’s hip and pressing their bodies together, the smell of her cologne enveloping Santos and making her stomach twist. She wobbles, practically collapsing into Ellis, nearly sagging to the sidewalk and melting into a puddle, held up only by Garcia’s hand on the small of her back, and when Ellis draws away from her mouth and grins, Santos thinks she could just drop dead right there and not mind a bit.
“Just a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” Garcia says, somehow still confident and in control and perfect even with lipstick smudged across her mouth. Ellis doesn’t release her hair, keeping a firm grip on it and holding her head in place, and Santos nearly hiccups. She’s not drunk, she knows she’s not drunk, but she feels dizzier and warmer and looser than any beer could possibly get her. She sways on her feet, staring between them with her lips slightly parted and the taste of whiskey and rum and the faintest hint of her own blood on her tongue. It’s too warm out here, too warm and too exposed; she wonders if people are watching and what they’re seeing and what they’re thinking about her. If she saw this, whatever this is, outside a bar at night, she’d stare until her eyes fell out of her fucking head.
“You knew that already, Yo,” Ellis remarks, mussing Santos’s hair before letting her hand slide down to her waist. “Think we both did. She whine for your cock like she did for mine?”
Santos feels her entire face flush a deep, dark red at Ellis’s words, glancing around to make sure no one else has heard, but neither Garcia nor Ellis seem to care. Clearly, because Garcia nods, a sly grin crossing her face as she hums in agreement and says, “Constantly. No wonder she needed both of us. Couldn’t fucking get enough.”
“Come on, then,” Ellis gives Santos’s waist a pinch, starting her walking down the street with Garcia on her other side. “Wouldn’t want to keep the poor thing waiting.”
-
They end up at Ellis’s place. It’s where Santos had wanted to end up at the end of the night, it’s where Whitaker knows she’ll be so he doesn’t start worrying, and it means she doesn’t have to send him a quick text to let him know where she actually is. That’s probably a good thing, because as soon as they’re in the apartment, door locked behind them, she finds herself pinned between two warm bodies and likely couldn’t even tap out a message if she tried. Nor would she want to, really, not when Garcia’s tongue is in her mouth and Ellis’s lips are on her neck and two sets of hands are roaming her body hungrily, grabbing her hips and her ass and her thighs, fingers sliding beneath the hem of her shirt and down the front of her jeans without hesitation.
Santos doesn’t know where to put her hands. Her heart beats an unsteady rhythm in her chest and her entire body feels like it’s on fire and her boxers are so uncomfortably wet that she’s starting to think she’s going to have to just toss them once the night is through. She reaches for Garcia, reaches for Ellis, sinks her fingers into Garcia’s thick dark curls and cups the side of Ellis’s neck, and hisses a breath into Garcia’s mouth when Ellis nips at the crook of her neck and laps at the source of the sting.
“So eager for us,” Ellis murmurs against her skin, moving some of her hair out of the way to get better access to the sensitive flesh below her ear. Santos doesn’t know who she’s talking to and she doesn’t really care, just tilts her head to the side so Ellis can mouth at her throat and keeps kissing Garcia like she’s trying to lick all the red paint off her lips. “Take off your shoes.”
Santos frowns against Garcia’s mouth. Her shoes? She forgot she was wearing those. She’s forgotten everything except them, everything except mouths and teeth and tongues and greedy hands, and when she doesn’t move, Garcia pulls away and gives her jaw a firm rap that makes her stomach clench.
“Do as you’re told.” Garcia wipes spit and lipstick off her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes suddenly serious as she looks at Santos. “Now, Dr. Santos.”
She kicks her sneakers off so fast her socks nearly fly off with them, toeing them to the side of the hall with one foot as Ellis pulls her jacket off and hangs it up for her. She can be good. She can make it up to them and beg for more. Santos rocks back on her heels, still a little dizzy, and lets her gaze flit between them as they both give her a once-over. She’s dressed casually—jeans, pale blue t-shirt that exposes a bit of her stomach and the hem of her boxers—and she wishes she wasn’t dressed in anything at all, wishes she was bare to both sets of dark eyes, wishes she had the guts to start taking her clothes off right now just to see what they’d do.
Instead, she watches Ellis pull Garcia up against her body and kiss her. This she hadn’t expected. She’s not complaining, far from it, but it startles her enough that it takes her a moment to focus on the way they kiss like they know each other, like they’ve done it before and they’ll do it again. It is ridiculously hot, especially when Ellis’s hands move down to Garcia’s ass and squeeze as they keep kissing; the wet, warm sound of it going directly between Santos’s legs. She watches them, rapt, practically panting as she shifts on her socked feet, her entire body aflame, and wonders if it would be uncouth to stick a hand down the front of her jeans and get herself off just staring at them as they kiss. Probably, but her fingers are nearly at her fly when they break apart for air and turn to look at her.
“Don’t even think about it,” Garcia snaps, stepping out of her heels as she advances on Santos. It should probably terrify Santos, honestly, Garcia is scary when she’s pissed and right now she looks furious, but there isn’t a ton of blood flow to her brain at the moment and so all she can do is nod, mute and dumb, while Garcia grabs her by the wrist and twists it away from the button of her pants. “God, you’re a terrible listener. Maybe we should just leave you at the end of the bed all night.”
“Please don’t.” Santos’s heart goes still in her chest at the very idea—though she’s enjoying watching them, could enjoy watching them for a while, she’s so fucking wet; so turned on it’s starting to ache deep in her stomach. Garcia tilts her head, shedding her coat and hanging it up by the door, and Ellis raises a single eyebrow as she waits. Santos keeps going, her voice pitiful and desperate even to her own ears. “No, please, I can be good, I can, I’ll be so good for you both, I swear. I’ll do any—”
“Now this is fucking pathetic,” Ellis laughs, harsh but not entirely unkind, taking off her own shoes and shrugging out of her jacket. Santos can feel her cheeks burn and ignores it because she thinks she might die if they don’t touch her, and then decides she actually can’t get more pathetic and drops, suddenly and painfully, to her knees in the middle of the hall.
Identical grins unfurl across Ellis and Garcia’s faces at this. If she was in her right mind, these grins might trouble her; might make her wonder what, exactly, she’s managed to fumble her way into. Since she’s not anywhere near her right mind, she’s in fact so far from it that she doesn’t think she’d be able to drive right now, let alone speak clearly, all she does is shuffle forwards on her knees until she’s directly in front of them both and looking up at them with what she assumes is a humiliating expression.
“That’s real sweet.” Garcia peers down at her, smoothing one hand over her hair and cupping her jaw. “You spend three months jerking us around and the moment you’re caught, you decide it’s time to be good?”
“Oh, give her a break, Yo,” Ellis says, taking Santos’s other cheek in hand and dragging a thumb over her lips. Ellis’s eyes are twinkling, amused where Garcia’s are deadly serious, but the grip she has on Santos’s face is anything but. Santos isn’t much for grovelling, is in fact diametrically opposed to anything even resembling it, but they make her want to. Clearly. “If she’s this desperate to make it up to us, I say we let her. What do you think, Santos? You wanna apologize?”
“Yes,” Santos pants, so close to them that she could pull down Ellis’s fly with her teeth, so close to them that she can see the faintest outline of Garcia’s thong through her dress, gazing up at them with Ellis’s hand on one cheek and Garcia’s on the other and fire burning through her entire body. “Please, I’m sorry. I really am—I didn’t mean anything by it, I just wanted you both. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“You can do better than that,” Garcia clicks her tongue, giving Santos’s head a shake and looking over at Ellis. “C’mon. I want to watch.”
“Alright, princess,” Ellis is mocking her, Santos knows it, but she can’t help the shudder that runs down her spine at her words. She taps the button of her jeans with her free hand, drawing Santos’s attention, and for the first time she notices there’s something straining at Ellis’s zipper. Oh, fuck. Whatever blood remains in Santos’s brain drains out of it so quickly she’s suddenly light-headed, giddy and hot, blinking up at Ellis without any hope of stringing together a sentence. “Go ahead. Show me how sorry you are.”
Fingers trembling, Santos unbuckles Ellis’s belt and undoes the button of her jeans, swallowing hard as she drags down the zipper and opens Ellis’s pants all the way. The boxers beneath are tight and grey and reveal more than they hide, the fabric pulled taut over a very familiar shape, and Santos looks up at them for a moment before leaning forward and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the tip of the toy. It’s warm from the heat of Ellis’s body and firm against her lips as she mouths at it, barely stifling a groan at the feeling of two hands sunk deep into her hair. She thinks she could honestly come like this—rubbing her tongue and lips against Ellis’s cock, leaving wet spots on her boxers, while Ellis and Garcia tangle their fingers in her hair and watch her debase herself. She nearly rocks back against her own heel: the seam of her jeans is so close to her clit, she could just shift her hips a little and grind down on her foot, she thinks it would just take a few desperate, scrabbling movements to send her over the edge, but she’s already pissed Garcia off once and she thinks if she does it again they really will leave her at the end of the bed and fuck each other while she’s helpless to do anything but watch.
She frees Ellis from her boxers instead. It’s not the biggest cock she owns, but it’s close, large enough that Santos isn’t sure how she didn’t notice it before when Ellis had her pressed up against the wall. God, Santos knows how it’ll feel inside her; she’s felt it inside her, has groaned and shuddered and fallen to pieces with it inside her, but it still takes her fucking breath away.
“Don’t dawdle, Dr. Santos,” Garcia says, tugging at her hair. She’s watching this with an arm around Ellis’s waist, her dress riding up her thighs as she leans into her, exposing soft brown skin to Santos’s gaze. “You’ve done this before. Open up.”
Santos does, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue, and doesn’t even flinch when Ellis slaps her cock against her jaw so hard it stings. Garcia grins at the thud of silicone on skin, twisting her hand in Santos’s hair until there’s a sting in her scalp, too, and Santos doesn’t miss the way her lips part as Ellis slaps her other cheek. Another slap, this time to her tongue, so sharply she can feel her teeth bite into the soft underside, and then Ellis is pushing past her lips without warning so she barely has time to take a deep breath before her mouth is otherwise occupied.
“She looks cute like this,” Garcia remarks, not releasing Santos’s hair. Santos’s stomach twists pleasantly as she draws herself back off Ellis’s cock, spit coating the length of it and dripping down her chin, and she inhales just once before lowering her head again.
“That’s cause she’s not talking,” Ellis laughs, patting Santos’s cheek. “Mouthy ass. Not much to say now, huh?”
Santos makes a small wet noise that’s muffled by the weight of the toy in her mouth, one that makes both Ellis and Garcia laugh as they look down at her. She doesn’t even care. She’s focused entirely on her task, on hollowing her cheeks to take Ellis as deep as she can, on breathing through her nose and ignoring the jingling of Ellis’s belt buckle next to her ear. She can do it. She can be good.
The next time she looks up, her nose nearly pressed into Ellis’s stomach as she swallows her all the way, Garcia and Ellis are kissing again. It’s at an entirely new angle, one she finds she enjoys—she can see the flash of Ellis’s tongue as it parts Garcia’s lips and the sprawl of Ellis’s fingers across one of Garcia’s breasts as they tease lightly at her nipple, and the fact that they both leave a hand on her head as they kiss makes Santos want to collapse to the hardwood floor and let them take turns with her. She pauses with Ellis’s cock in her throat, watching them kiss, taking deep breaths through her nose so she doesn’t have to move, and balls her hands up into fists on her knees to steady herself.
“Did we say you could stop?” Garcia asks above her, Ellis’s mouth on her jaw as she taps Santos’s head with two fingers. Santos’s heart jumps in her chest and she starts to move again, a bit more frantically than before. Garcia shakes her head, not quite fond, and releases her hair, resting one hand on her hip while Ellis lifts her head away from her ear and looks down at Santos too.
“I think she’s gonna start crying if we leave her down there much longer.” Ellis pulls Santos back by her hair and Santos releases her cock with a wet popping sound, her lips slick with spit as she gasps and sputters for air. Ellis isn’t exactly wrong; in fact, Santos had already been trying to rearrange her legs so she could get a heel on her cunt, and yes, there’s a single tear in the corner of her left eye, but that has far more to do with the gags she’s had to suppress. “Hm? You feeling neglected, baby?”
Santos nods, blinking up at them, still breathing raggedly as her eyes dart from Ellis to Garcia and back again, knees aching where they’re pressed to the floor. She can feel her heartbeat between her legs and the way they’re looking at her makes it even worse, makes her feel like she’s going to explode if someone doesn’t touch her soon. Garcia gives her head a condescending pat before Ellis yanks her up by her hair. It stings but she barely notices, just scrambles up, lightheaded and flushed and so hot the t-shirt and jeans she’s wearing feel oppressive and unbearable. Standing, they both release her so suddenly that she nearly sways on her feet at the loss of hands in her hair and cupping her face, all the air leaving her lungs at once.
“You know where the bedroom is,” Ellis says, not tucking anything away or bothering with her zipper. Santos nods and Garcia runs her tongue over her teeth in displeasure, resting a hand on Ellis’s stomach as she surveys Santos cooly. “Clothes folded on the dresser and then you can wait on the bed.”
Santos nods again, taking a quick step in the direction of Ellis’s bedroom, but a warning click of Garcia’s tongue stops her dead in her tracks and she turns back, holding her breath. Just in case.
“I want you on your hands and knees on the bed, Dr. Santos,” Garcia tells her, rubbing Ellis’s shoulder with her free hand as she speaks. “Touch yourself and see what happens.”
Even though Santos does sort of want to see what happens, the venom in Garcia’s voice means that when she’s in Ellis’s bedroom, looking at herself in the big mirror hanging above the dresser, all she does is start shedding her clothes with so much haste she nearly gets caught in her bra like a turtle in a six-pack ring and has to untangle herself with about as much grace as a creature without opposable thumbs. Her boxers are so wet that they stick to her when she pulls them down her legs—thank god they’re black, because the puddle she’s made in them is a little less visible once they’re folded and tucked halfway beneath her jeans next to a stack of books on Ellis’s dresser.
Once she’s naked, stripped down to nothing but skin, she crawls onto the large bed and arranges herself on her hands and knees gingerly, trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest as she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Jesus. She looks… obscene. Her hair is a mess and there’s lipstick and drool on her mouth and there’s a red flush spread across her chest that’s creeping up her throat to her cheeks and she barely recognizes the eyes she meets in her reflection. Her pupils aren’t usually that big. She can hear Ellis and Garcia talking quietly, voices a low murmur, and forces herself to breathe. She’s being good. She’s behaving, doing as she’s told—isn’t even touching herself, even though she’s so wet that the insides of her thighs are slick with it, even though her pulse is racing and her nipples are hard and she keeps clenching desperately around nothing. She doesn’t bother wiping her mouth. It’ll be a mess again soon enough.
She waits. Ellis’s bedsheets are soft beneath her palms and the room is just cool enough to keep her from sweating, which is more of a relief than she’d care to admit. She counts Mississipis in her head for a while, listening to them talk in the kitchen, then gives up on that and decides to just crane her neck and peer over at the digital clock on Ellis’s nightstand every so often to keep track of time. Seconds feel like hours and minutes feel like days and the clock has just blinked to inform her that it’s been nine minutes exactly when she hears two sets of footsteps in the hallway and snaps to attention.
“Look at you,” Ellis says, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. Garcia is a step behind her, one of the straps of her dress hanging off her shoulder and her eyebrows raised, and Santos nearly shudders, thankful that she’s facing the door head-on so they can’t see the way her cunt practically twitches at the sight of them. “Thanks, baby. Yo owes me twenty bucks now.”
“Yeah, yeah. She was about ready to start humping your leg out there, forgive me for making an assumption.” Garcia rolls her eyes, moving past Ellis and over to the foot of the bed. Santos watches her move, glancing up at the mirror to take a peek at her ass in this dress, and then returns her attention to her face so she doesn’t earn a thwack in the jaw for her trouble. They were betting on her. God, this is so fucking humiliating. It would be less humiliating if it didn’t make her so wet that she’s pretty sure she’s dripping all over the sheets. It would also be less humiliating if Garcia wasn’t right and Santos hadn’t, in fact, had half the mind to start rubbing herself on Ellis’s foot while her cock was down her throat. Ellis crosses to the side of the bed, just barely in Santos’s peripheral vision, and her heart leaps in her throat when a warm hand touches the small of her back.
“Shit,” Ellis whistles, smoothing her palm over the curve of Santos’s ass without letting even her fingertips touch her cunt. “I’d ask if sucking my cock always made you this wet, but we both know the answer to that question, don’t we?”
Santos whines low in her throat and Garcia scoffs, looking up at Ellis over Santos’s head as the other strap of her dress begins to fall. “Filthy as ever?”
“Come take a look at her, Yo.” Ellis runs her thumb over the crease where Santos’s thighs meet her ass and she nearly preens, channeling all her strength into not collapsing onto her elbows and arching her back to give them better access. She just wants to be touched. Fucked, preferably, but at this point she thinks she might come the moment one of them so much as cups her cunt in one hand, and neither of them are. They’re just looking at her, inspecting her, surveying her with cool eyes, and then Ellis skims the pad of her finger over the inside of Santos’s thigh and holds it up to the light so all three of them can see how wet she is.
Santos whines again, cheeks burning hot and red, and Garcia laughs, shaking her head as she grabs Ellis’s wrist and has a taste. They’re trying to fucking kill her. Santos ducks her chin into her chest, unable to so much as glance over her shoulder at them, cunt pulsing, open and ready, and Ellis laughs too, giving Santos’s ass a firm pat before walking around the bed so they’re face-to-face.
“Patience is a virtue, Santos,” Ellis cups her face in both hands and tilts it up, her dark eyes searching Santos’s for a moment as she rubs a soothing thumb over her cheekbone. “And you were so patient, weren’t you? Didn’t even touch yourself like Yo thought you would.”
“No,” Santos shakes her head, gazing up at Ellis wide-eyed and warm. She didn’t, even though she wanted to, even though she thinks she probably could have gotten away with it, and behind her she hears the nightstand drawer open. Her stomach lurches at the sound but Ellis strokes her cheek again, drawing her attention and making her shiver again. “I didn’t, I swear, I just waited, I—”
“Easy, princess,” Ellis laughs, tapping her temples fondly. “I know you didn’t, you’re a horrible liar. Begs the question how you lied to us both for as long as you did.”
“Well, she can be very distracting,” Garcia says from behind her, delivering a sharp slap to the back of Santos’s thigh that makes her inhale sharply and feels so good that she nearly begs for another. “Come unzip me.”
“God, you’re demanding.” Ellis shakes her head at Santos, as if they’re a united front against Garcia, as if this is a dynamic she’s been privy to for more than about an hour, and releases her with a brief, shockingly sweet kiss. Santos watches them in the mirror, watches Garcia lift her hair and turn her back so Ellis can tug the zipper of her dress down with such ease that she’s had to have done it a thousand times before, watches Ellis press a kiss to the exposed skin of Garcia’s shoulder as she drags the zipper down inch by inch, and wonders how long they’ve known she was seeing them both. They talk and laugh as if they’re old friends and kiss and touch like they’re old lovers and they can’t have only just now figured out that they were seeing the same girl. It doesn’t add up. Maybe they’ve known for ages and have just been waiting to do something about it. Santos can’t imagine why and she probably needs to have a serious think about it at a time when two of the hottest women she’s ever seen in her life aren’t stripping down a few feet away from her naked cunt.
She watches, teeth deep in her bottom lip, as Ellis tugs her shirt over her head and divests herself of her jeans. Garcia sheds the dress that fits her like a second skin and tugs her thong off with it and Santos feels her mouth go impossibly dry as Garcia sits down on the edge of the bed and tugs a harness up her legs. Oh. Oh. God, now if they don’t touch her soon she’s actually going to drop dead. This little blood flow to the brain is going to fucking kill her.
“You wanted both of us, didn’t you?” Ellis asks, catching her eye in the mirror. “Now you get your wish. Shut your eyes.”
Santos does as she’s told. As ever. She closes her eyes and strains her ears, trying to hear something beyond her own ragged breathing and the thrum of her pulse, fisting the sheets beneath her palms to ground herself and keep herself from collapsing onto her front and offering herself up to be fucked loose and pliant into the mattress. Ellis wants her eyes closed, so she’ll close them. If either of them asked her to jump off a cliff right now, she’d be halfway down before they could finish their sentence. It’s a vulnerable position to put herself in, she thinks, to be naked and helpless and completely at their mercy, but if she trusts anyone in the world to be in this position with, it’s Garcia and Ellis. They aren’t going to hurt her. More than she wants them to, at any rate.
“This is all you needed, huh?” Garcia asks from behind her, the mattress dipping beneath her weight directly behind Santos’s slightly-spread thighs and nearly making her gasp. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter when Garcia’s palm cracks against her ass, arching up into the sting as she feels rather than sees Ellis come up in front of her, her smell and her warmth enough for Santos to know she’s there. “Your greedy little cunt just needed to be fucked, is that it? Couldn’t get enough of us?”
“N-no,” Santos pants, fighting the urge to push her hips back and see if she can find Garcia’s cock like that. “Needed you both, needed you so bad, please, need you to fuck me, please, need it so b—”
“Always running this pretty little mouth,” Ellis muses, cutting Santos off mid-plea. Not being able to see them is driving her fucking crazy: she wants to look at Ellis while she rubs a thumb across her lower lip, wants to watch Garcia move behind her, wants and wants and wants, but she needs to be good. She can keep her eyes shut tight and focus on feeling, on the way Garcia’s hands ghost over the flesh of her hips, not quite landing anywhere but driving her wild all the same; on the way Ellis cradles her face and pushes the tip of her thumb past her lips for her to suck, her littlest finger pressing into the soft spot between jaw and neck just hard enough to make her feel it. “I think we can find a better use for it, hm?”
All the air leaves her lungs in a rush when Garcia grabs her by the waist and presses into her in one swift, unyielding thrust, hips suddenly flush against her ass in a way that makes Santos’s neglected clit ache and her entire body convulse. She gasps at the feeling—at the stretch, the burn of her muscles as her cunt makes room for Garcia inside it, at the way she hadn’t bothered to stretch her out with a finger or two, just pushed in as if she knew Santos wouldn’t want it any other way. She doesn’t. She doesn’t care anymore because it feels so fucking good and she’s been so fucking patient and she’s so fucking wet. Garcia draws herself out of Santos’s cunt for a moment, her body practically crying out at the loss, and rubs the head of the toy up and down, letting it drag along Santos’s clit, and that’s all it takes. She wishes it took longer. She wishes she could have held off, but she can’t, she doesn’t think she could have even if they told her to, thinks maybe it’s a miracle that she didn’t come the moment Ellis touched the inside of her thigh, and shudders all the way through her orgasm as Ellis’s thumb goes still on her lips.
“Jesus Christ,” Garcia breathes behind her, the tip of her cock still pressed up against Santos’s clit as the last ripples leave Santos panting and hot. “I knew you were eager for it, Dr. Santos, but fuck, one thrust?”
Santos doesn’t have a word to say in her own defense. Even if she did, she doesn’t think she could force it past her lips. Not in this state, not with Ellis’s fingers cupping her jaw and heat still pooled in her belly, not with Garcia’s hands on her waist holding her steady. She opens her eyes gingerly, cheeks burning, and looks up at Ellis through her lashes. Ellis is grinning down at her, one hand fisted around the base of her cock, a few locks of hair hanging around her face as she gives Santos’s cheek a condescending pat.
“Poor baby,” Ellis practically croons, tucking a piece of Santos’s hair behind her ear and giving it a tug. It just makes her cheeks flush even more, doubled by the way Garcia is still rubbing up and down her cunt, which is even more sensitive now that an orgasm has been wrung from it. “You just needed it bad, didn’t you? Couldn’t even wait for a second.”
Santos shakes her head, gasping, and Garcia laughs behind her, notching the head of her cock at Santos’s entrance without quite sliding in. Her fingers are still digging into Santos’s waist, so hard she thinks she’ll have sharp little bruises in the morning, thumbs pushing into the small of her back and their knees not quite pressed together.
“I don’t even think you’d be satisfied with just one,” Ellis says, rubbing the tip of the toy over Santos’s lips. It’s still slick with her own spit from earlier, still warm from the heat of Ellis’s body, and Santos doesn’t even open her mouth, just lets Ellis drag her bottom lip down and tap the silicone against her teeth, content to let herself be debased. Garcia stays where she is, not pushing in or pulling out, the head of her cock keeping Santos’s cunt just open enough that she’s desperate for more that she isn’t being given, and it’s only the tight grip on her hips that keeps her from rocking back onto her heels and taking Garcia all the way. God, they’re fucking killing her.
“No way.” Garcia gives her an inch, seemingly just to watch the way Santos’s entire body twitches at the feeling. Ellis is still teasing her lips with the head, clicking her tongue every time Santos opens her mouth greedily, smearing saliva all over her cheeks and chin, and Santos is so dizzy and hot and still desperate to get fucked that it feels like her body is eating itself. “I doubt she’ll settle for three.”
Santos really wishes them talking about her as if she’s not in the room wasn’t as hot as it is. Tragically, it only makes her whine and stick out her tongue, looking up at Ellis with pleading eyes as Garcia pushes another inch or two inside her. Ellis laughs, ruffling Santos’s hair, gripping it by the root as she holds her head in place and taps her cock on her tongue. They both slide inside her at once, then—Garcia’s hips pressed firm against her ass, cock buried all the way inside her cunt, Ellis’s stomach against her nose and her cock down Santos’s throat, and she feels so good and so relieved and so full that she groans around the mouthful of silicone and lets her eyes flutter shut.
Neither of them seem to be willing to cut her much slack or fuck her nicely; they set a harsh, brusing pace, Garcia’s hips slamming into her ass and Ellis making her gag with every thrust, the combination enough to make her moan and whimper and push back into Garcia, lurch forwards into Ellis, and do as they’ve told her: take it and beg for more. Her mouth is otherwise occupied. Ellis is barely letting her come up for air, but she can beg without words. She can arch her back as Garcia reaches around her hip and starts to rub her clit, she can spread her palms a little wider so Ellis can cup her breast in one hand and pinch at her nipple, she can lose herself entirely to the feeling of getting fucked within an inch of her life and then some.
Garcia says something, maybe to her, maybe to Ellis, maybe to both of them, but Santos is too far gone to hear it. Something filthy, no doubt, something about how greedy she is, how desperate she is, how cute she is with a cock in her mouth and a cock in her cunt, something that will make Santos feel hot and embarrassed inside if she thinks about it for too long. She focuses on the weight of Garcia inside her instead, the thick, sloppy sound of it, and the feeling of Ellis’s bare skin against her face as her nose is shoved into her stomach, and lets out a moan that’s muffled by the toy buried deep in her throat.
Her second orgasm hits her harder than the first—so hard her elbows give out and she collapses face-first into the mattress, Ellis’s cock falling out of her mouth and dragging along the side of her face as her entire body trembles with the force of it. She feels like she’s dying, like she’s falling apart limb by limb and nothing can keep her together except the two of them. Garcia’s cock is still buried deep inside her, still holding her open and filling her up, still warm and snug within her, and she’s shaking, she knows it, shaking so badly her legs are threatening to collapse too, shaking so badly that even Ellis’s fingers in her hair aren’t enough to make her lift her head.
“You’re alright,” Ellis says above her as Garcia rubs her hand along the back of her thigh, still not pulling out. “Deep breaths, there you go. In and out.”
Santos does her best. She can feel her heartbeat in her toes and her vision is blurry and her head feels like mush, but after a few moments, a few sharp, ragged breaths, after Garcia has pulled out of her aching cunt and sent slick wetness trickling down the insides of her thighs, she regains enough control of her limbs to roll over onto her back and press the heels of her hands to her eyes. They’re both standing over her; she can feel them there, smell Garcia’s shampoo and Ellis’s cologne, and she knows she ought to be more embarrassed than she currently is. Right now all she can muster is a fairly pathetic whimper.
“God, you’re a mess,” Garcia says with a hint of affection and Santos pries her palms away from her face so she can stare up at them. Ellis brushes a thumb over the bone in her ankle, warm hands soothing against her skin, and Garcia traces a lazy circle on her knee as they peer down at her with incredibly smug faces.
“Cut the poor thing some slack, Yo.” Ellis walks her fingers up the inside of Santos’s calf, clearly enjoying the way even that simple touch makes the muscle in her thigh twitch. God, she’s so oversensitive, so wrung out, and yet her cunt clenches and the ache between her legs hasn’t fully gone away, is in fact still shrieking with need. She’s losing her mind. She’s taken leave of her senses or whatever the saying is. “You were pretty harsh with her.”
“You think she didn’t like it?”
“Nah, I’m not stupid.” Ellis shakes her head, looking over at Garcia even as her fingers continue their ascent to the soft inside of Santos’s thigh. “You’re just mean. Isn’t she cruel to you, baby?”
This is directed to Santos, who blinks, lifting her head a little as Ellis reaches the seam of her cunt. She can’t even imagine what it looks like right now—probably pink and swollen, fucked-out and glistening beneath dark hair—and she doesn’t want to, just whines low in her throat as Ellis skates a finger over her aching clit and makes her leg tremble. Garcia rolls her eyes, cock bobbing between her legs, and moves her hand down until her fingers are wrapped around Santos’s ankle. Santos frowns for a moment, then yelps when Garcia gives her a firm tug, pulling her across the bed until one leg is dangling off the side of the mattress and the comforter is bunched up beneath her ass.
“You are a mess, though,” Ellis hums, that finger tracing her clit again. Santos shudders, biting back a whimper at the pressure that’s almost delicate, almost tender, and tries to prop herself up on one elbow. Garcia promptly knocks her back down and leans over the bed, cupping her breast in a hand and pinching harshly at her nipple like she’s trying to prove Ellis right. “That’s alright, princess, I don’t mind. You’ll take my cock either way.”
“Please.” Santos doesn’t even know what she’s begging for. Begging her to be gentle, begging her to go easy, begging her not to show any mercy? It really doesn’t matter, because Ellis is arranging her thighs and lining her up and smoothing a hand over her stomach as the tip of her cock rubs up and down and catches on her entrance. As sore and swollen as she is, as much as her cunt aches from the force of Garcia’s fucking, she keens and arches off the bed as the first few inches of Ellis’s cock slide into her cunt anyway. For a moment she doesn’t think she can do it—thinks maybe it is too much, she’s too messy, she’s too oversensitive and sore, her body can’t bear it—but then the base of the toy meets her clit and Ellis’s hips fit snug against hers and Garcia is rolling her nipple between forefinger and thumb and telling her that’s what she was made for, she can take it, and all she can do is lift her hips to meet each one of Ellis’s thrusts.
“Look at you, baby,” Ellis says, hooking one of Santos’s legs around her waist to go deeper, deeper than Santos thought she could in this position, so deep that her toes curl with the force of it and she can feel every fucking inch. “Knew you could do it, this is what you wanted all along. Just wanted us to take turns with you, huh? Did you think about this every time one of us fucked you? Thought about getting pinned between us, dreamed about me fucking your throat and Garcia stuffing your tight little cunt?”
“I think you did.” Garcia is kneeling beside her, cock slick and so close to Santos’s face that she could turn her head and take the head into her mouth, still pinching one of her nipples even though it’s red and swollen from her touch. “Greedy. Always wanting more. Could never be satisfied with just one mouth or just one cock. Just so desperate.”
Santos moans, loudly, so loudly she’d probably feel embarrassed if she wasn’t already about at her upper limit, and Garcia takes the opportunity to slide the tip of her cock into her mouth, letting it bump up against her teeth before her lips close around it and suck. She can taste herself, sharp and musky, a little salty, and though she wishes she was tasting Garcia instead, the absolute thrill of cleaning up her own mess makes her cunt clench around Ellis’s cock as she sucks furiously at Garcia’s. It occurs to her after a moment that it might just be to keep her quiet, but at this point, she’s willing to take it. She’d take anything right about now.
“Come feel.” Ellis reaches for Yolanda’s hand above Santos’s face, pulling it away from the nipple she’s been abusing and lacing their fingers together where Santos can see. Their hands press down on her stomach suddenly, two palms grinding against the thin skin just below her navel, and Garcia lets out a low whistle at the same time Ellis grins. They must be able to feel Ellis inside her like that, Santos realises, and the idea of that, the idea that Ellis is so deep inside her that they can feel it on the outside of her stomach, makes her groan so loudly it’s audible around Garcia’s cock. Ellis grabs her hand too, untangling it from where she’s fisted the bedsheets in her fingers, and draws it up to her own stomach, letting Santos feel it too. Jesus fucking Christ. She can feel Ellis’s cock slide in and out of her like this, more than just the way she can feel it in her cunt, can feel the slow drag of silicone against her insides as Ellis buries herself deep inside her again and again, can feel her own cunt flutter and quake through layers of skin and flesh, and it’s enough to make her close her lips tight around Garcia’s cock in an attempt to stave off her third orgasm.
“Let us feel you come like this.” Garcia is practically purring, her voice low and throaty, pressing down harder on the bulge in Santos’s stomach, and really, after that, Santos has no choice. She arches off the bed; or tries to, at least, until Ellis and Garcia both keep her pinned by her hips, and feeling herself come through her own stomach, feeling the way she clenches and pulls at Ellis’s cock like she’s trying to draw it up into her belly, feeling the pleased way both Garcia and Ellis push their hands against her stomach, makes her come so hard that stars dance behind her eyes and her head fills with static.
When she blinks back to life, her heart beating so fast that she’s pretty sure it’s considered a cardiac event and her tongue as dry as the fucking Sahara, Garcia’s cock is out of her mouth. She wonders dimly if she bit down on it as she was coming and hopes she didn’t even though it’s not like Garcia could feel it if she did. It’s the principle of the thing.
“You still with us, Dr. Santos?” Garcia’s voice above her, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. She’s empty inside, the cool bedroom air on her oversensitive cunt making her shiver, and she peers up at Garcia and then over at Ellis and nods. She is. She’s alive, barely, and they both flash self-satisfied smiles that probably spell trouble.
“Good,” Ellis says, rubbing her thigh. “Little more for us, baby, hey? You gave her two, so now I need two. Gotta keep things fair.”
“I can’t,” Santos breathes, though she doesn’t really mean it. Garcia has started to unbuckle her harness, working deftly at the straps in her position kneeling beside Santos’s head, and they shake their heads in unison, Ellis dropping to a knee beside the bed and pulling her hips forward until they’re flush against the edge of the mattress.
“Sure you can,” Ellis kisses the inside of her knee, lips soft and warm, as Garcia discards the harness with her cock still attached and strokes a hand over her hair. Santos isn’t sure she can, not really. She feels so fucked-out and exhausted, her body so worn that lifting her head feels like too much effort, but she does like the way Ellis’s warm breath feels against the slick crease of her thigh and the way Garcia is smoothing her hair out of her face gently. “One more, baby, and then you can rest.”
“She’ll take it,” Garcia tells Ellis, voice definitive, as if the decision has already been made, and then slings one thigh across the bed to straddle Santos’s face. Oh, Jesus Christ. Garcia is so fucking wet that Santos can see it, smell it, practically feel glistening curls against her cheeks, and she looks down at Santos for a moment before smiling and shifting her hips. “Call this the rest of your apology.”
Garcia lowers her cunt to Santos’s mouth at the same moment Ellis lowers her mouth to Santos’s and the combination of sensations—Ellis’s gentle, probing tongue against skin so sensitive and overworked that even the brush of her lips makes Santos want to kick out helplessly, the sticky sweetness of Garcia’s arousal and the grind of her clit down on her nose—is so much, almost too much, enough that it’s all Santos can do not to thrash around and start whimpering like a kicked dog. She opens her mouth to Garcia instead and lets out a pathetic whine into her cunt when Ellis’s tongue flicks over her clit, a whine that only seems to spur Garcia into rocking her hips against her mouth even harder. She feels too limp and boneless to do much more than offer up her face to be ridden, sticking her tongue out for Garcia to grind on and tasting the slick that’s been building all night and not bothering to try and breathe. Sopping curls against her cheeks and a clit on her tongue is more than enough air for her.
Ellis laps at her with shocking gentleness, not pressing a finger into her cunt or tonguing at her entrance the way she usually would. Santos finds she appreciates it, if only because she thinks something else entering her right now would probably make her shriek and throw Garcia off her face, and reaches down for Ellis’s hand to hold instead of thrusting her hips desperately against her nose. She doesn’t have the strength for that at the moment. Ellis tangles their fingers together and squeezes, thumb stroking Santos’s knuckles as she keeps kissing and licking her cunt in a way she finds oddly reassuring. With her free hand she fumbles for Garcia’s, finding it buried in her own hair, unwinding it from thick dark tresses and gripping it tight, and she holds onto them both and doesn’t let go.
She comes again like that, clutching both their hands and trembling all over. By all accounts it’s a much more subdued orgasm than the first three—she barely makes a sound, just shakes and trembles and feels a thin trickle of wetness seep out of her cunt onto Ellis’s tongue, barely enough energy left in her to do more than sigh with pleasure against Garcia’s clit and shut her eyes. She doesn’t let go of their hands, though, keeps holding them even as the rest of her muscles go slack and her body practically melts into the bedsheets. Doesn’t think she could let go of them if she tried.
“You almost there, Yo?” Ellis asks, still kneeling between Santos’s legs, warm breath drifting across her cunt and nearly making her curl up on herself. God, she doesn’t know how she’s going to walk around in the morning. She still can’t quite catch her breath, though she suspects that has more to do with the fact that Garcia’s cunt is still working back and forth on her mouth and nose, smearing her face with slick and making an utter mess of her.
“Almost, hang on—” Garcia bites out, her thighs clenching around Santos’s head and squishing her ears. Santos doesn’t care. She’d suffocate happily in the wet warmth of Garcia’s cunt, let herself go light-headed and dizzy if it meant Garcia would just keep grinding on her face. She squeezes Garcia’s hand, pressing their palms together, and she comes with a gush that Santos drinks down happily, tongue working slow and languid over slippery flesh that’s trembling with the force of her orgasm. Garcia always tastes sweet—Santos doesn’t understand the science, maybe it’s just that she’s addicted to the taste of her—and her vision swims as Garcia rides out the last ripples of pleasure on her nose and mouth and sighs contentedly above her.
Santos gasps for breath when Garcia settles onto the bed next to her. The entire lower half of her face is slick and wet, and she blinks up at the ceiling with spots behind her eyes. Her head feels like it’s going to explode and her entire body is sticky and sore and she can feel her heartbeat in her teeth.
“Brave girl,” Ellis murmurs, coming up to join them on the mattress and lying down next to Santos. Her body is warm and solid and strong and Santos can feel herself relax between them, can feel the last remaining bits of tension seep out of her muscles until she’s nothing but a puddle against the sheets. “Look at you, knew you could do it.”
“So good for us,” Garcia says on her other side, pressing her mouth to the curve of Santos’s neck as she strokes her hair. Santos can’t help her shiver at the feeling, nor can she help the way she leans into both of their bodies, desperate for touch, still shaking a little as she tries to school her heart rate.
“Are—” Santos cuts herself off with a hiccup, her breath hitching in her chest. Ellis and Garcia both laugh, Garcia’s hand smoothing over her hair again as Ellis strokes her cheek, and Santos shuts her eyes and forces herself to inhale three times before speaking again. In, out, in out. “Are you still mad at me?”
Garcia and Ellis make eye contact over her head, eye contact that Santos wishes she could properly read, and the twin grins that spread across their faces send goosebumps prickling across Santos’s skin. She’s hopeful that means no, but with them, it’s virtually impossible to tell.
“Oh, furious, baby,” Ellis teases, leaning down to kiss her again. “But don’t worry. We’ve got some ideas on how you can make it up to us.”