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“I’m not one to care about anyone’s sex life, but the neighbor in apartment twenty one on the sixth floor should start considering that this is a family space, not a motel. And it’s not appreciated in the building to see new girls leaving every Monday morning when I’m taking my kids to school.”
That’s the first thing Santos reads on a yellowed sheet of paper when she steps into the elevator to go up to García’s floor. She would usually ignore the notes left by annoying neighbors, but she can’t let this one slide when she notices it mentions the exact floor she’s heading to and the number of the apartment she’s about to enter.
In that exact moment, when she realizes who it’s about, all the warmth drains out of her at once, feeling like she’s just another one of those girls who slip out in the morning light, embarrassed and trying to go unnoticed.
And when the elevator doors open, she hesitates, unsure whether to step out or not. She takes a long breath to gather herself and face the reality that this is all she is right now. Just another one of García’s girls.
She doesn’t even get the chance to knock to announce her presence before Yolanda is already opening the door and pulling her inside, slamming her back against the wall, crashing her mouth into hers so hard their teeth almost clash in the process.
Even while still hesitating, Trinity kisses her back, chasing her lips right away, running her tongue along the corner of her mouth to make her open up and then diving in with desperate urgency.
Yolanda’s hands are in her hair immediately, gripping her however she wants to guide her head where she needs it, deepening the kiss even more, even as she’s running out of breath.
Almost instinctively, Trinity parts her legs slightly to let Yolanda slide her knee between them, grinding against her in an attempt to ease the heat building inside her.
It’s only when Yolanda breaks the kiss with a strained moan, breathing hard, that the image of the note in cursive flashes back into Trinity’s mind as she tries to steady her own breathing.
Wet kisses start trailing down her neck, but she still can’t shake what she just read.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day…” Yolanda whispers against her skin, dragging her tongue along the side of her neck. “… I can’t get you out of my head.”
Any other time, Trinity would already have her jeans down around her ankles, but this time she can’t let herself get carried away. She presses her hands against Yolanda’s chest, feeling the lace of the ivory bralette she’s wearing.
And when she notices García’s hands, firm and veiny, holding hers against her chest, encouraging her to squeeze, Santos knows she has to say something before she forgets it completely.
“I… I… there was a note in the elevator,” she stammers as best as she can, tilting her head back with a hiss when Yolanda’s mouth sucks at her skin. “About… I dunno, girls who come over…?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Yolanda replies, her hands sliding under her shirt. “It’s all bullshit.”
“Do you bring a new girl every weekend?” Trinity dares to ask, feeling a warm breath against her throat.
The kisses stop as Yolanda pulls away from her neck to look her in the eyes.
“Maybe… I don’t know. I’m not married, you know?”
The answer does nothing to calm Santos, who looks away as her hand drifts down to García’s hip.
“Oh, come on, Santos…” Yolanda starts, her fingers playing with the button of her pants. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine, okay? You can go. I’ll call you an Uber.”
“… it’s not that,” Trinity whispers, biting her lower lip, embarrassed. “I had never come here before and so… have you been bringing girls while we’re together?”
“Are we together?” Yolanda questions with a mocking scoff.
“Well… yes. I mean, we were fucking at my place and then you’d come back here to fuck other girls,” Trinity says, feeling even more pathetic saying it out loud. “… is that why you didn’t want me to come?”
The teasing smile on Yolanda’s face slowly fades into a frown.
“What are you talking about?” is all she says, not really answering anything.
“… I can’t do this if I’m thinking about that,” Trinity admits, pulling her hands away and crossing her arms as if holding herself back.
García sighs before softening, sliding both hands slowly up and down her arms.
“You’re the only girl I think about, okay? That note must be old or something…” Yolanda murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Trinity wishes she were stronger, smarter, able to resist, but she’s always had a weakness for tenderness.
“How old?” she asks quietly, her greenish eyes meeting Yolanda’s brown ones.
“Baby…” Yolanda starts, kissing her cheek again. “A lifetime.”
Still unsure, Trinity looks for more certainty chasing her lips in a brief kiss, but this time her eyes stay open a few seconds longer than usual.
Finally, she melts into her arms when Yolanda’s lips meet hers again inviting her to continue, and Trinity realizes she’s fallen all over again when their tongues meet and she reaches down to unzip her own pants.
“To the new girl from Monday with the denim jacket, I just wanted you to know there’s no need to look down. We all already know what you’re here for.”
That’s the new note hanging on the wall when Trinity steps back into the elevator, because of course she comes back a week later. It’s inevitable. But this time the handwriting is different, and the paper is clean white, making it clear it’s new… and that it’s about her.
With embarrassment seeping into her bones, Trinity slipped off the denim jacket she had put back on just to see her again.
This time, as she walks down the hallway looking for Yolanda’s door, it feels different. She knows it’s about her, not some other girl. And hoping she’s been the only one to walk through that door all week, she steps inside again.
Unlike last Saturday, this time Trinity wants to hold on to her place as the only girl. She throws herself at her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her flush against her body, kissing her eagerly as their lips crash together. Just to pull back and reconnect just as desperately, saliva starting to gather at her chin.
Trinity lifts Yolanda’s weight into her arms, urging her even closer against her, immediately feeling her legs wrap around her waist and her arms loop around her neck. Never once breaking the kiss, her tongue sliding along the inside of her cheek, obscene sounds slipping out as their lips meet and part over and over again.
She walks blindly, completely lost in the make out, heading toward Yolanda’s bedroom and bumping a couple of times into furniture or walls, breaking the kiss just to let out a stupid little laugh.
And when Trinity finally reaches her goal, she carefully lays Yolanda’s back against the mattress, positioning herself on top of her while holding her weight on her forearms.
They both stare at each other for a few seconds, trying to catch their breath, their chests rising and falling in sync, Santos tangling her hands in the straps of her bralette.
“You’re fucking so hot…” Yolanda murmurs, slipping her hands under her shirt, smiling when she realizes she’s wearing nothing underneath.
Trinity understands immediately, sitting up with her legs, the inside of her thighs on either side of Yolanda’s waist. She lifts her arms so Garcia, now sitting up, can pull the shirt off her.
And when they end up chest to chest, once the fabric is tossed somewhere in the room, their lips find each other again in a slow, languid kiss.
A shiver runs down Santos’s spine as she feels Garcia’s fingertips brushing through the soft trail of hair from her navel downward, a breath slipping out between the kiss.
Trinity’s fingers make their best effort to undo her pants, lifting her hips to start pulling them down, only getting halfway before Yolanda breaks the kiss and pushes her down onto the bed with force, flexing her biceps and pulling a moan from her lips.
Now with her weight pressed over her, Trinity can only look up with a dazed little smile, openly admiring Yolanda’s figure, dressed in nothing but a burgundy set that glows against her brown skin.
“Sit on my face… do it, do it.” Trinity begs, urging her on, her hands squeezing both of her ass cheeks, kneading the flesh.
Yolanda lets out a quiet scoff under her breath, whispering, “always so needy,” before pushing Trinity back until she’s lying completely flat on her back.
Trinity encourages her to move higher up her body with a loud smack to her ass, making Yolanda let out a sound before crawling up until she’s straddling her chest.
Without hesitation, Santos sticks her tongue out, showing it, watching as Garcia’s knees shift against the sheets and she settles her weight, one hand braced against the wooden headboard while the other grips into the short strands of her hair.
Trinity’s fingers slip beneath her underwear, pushing them aside.
Hearing the hiss that escapes Yolanda’s lips when her clit brushes against the tip of her nose before she rolls her hips, finally feeling her tongue between her folds.
“Fuck, yeah…” Yolanda moans, triumphant, immediately setting the pace with her hips against her tongue.
Trinity’s lips quickly latch onto her clit, feeling the pressure build in her head as her muscles tighten and she thanks any god out there for that pressure that blocks everything else out. Eager to pull more sounds from her, moving the tip of her tongue up and down over her clit.
“Santos, oh God!” Yolanda moans instantly, not stopping the movement of her hips.
She chases the friction again, Trinity’s nose brushing against her heat and veins standing out as her grip tightens on the wood. Her mouth hanging open, unable to stop the praising sounds spilling out at Santos’s skill.
“Trinity!” Yolanda cries out sharply. “You are so… so good for me”.
That simple shout of her first name sends a dizzying feeling through Santos’s entire body, proud that it’s her name being screamed, not anyone else’s.
She guides one of her hands up to Yolanda’s chest, slipping it beneath the lace, toying with her nipple with her thumb.
With that last pinch, she feels the pressure build again as Yolanda keeps moving relentlessly, chasing her climax, and Trinity doesn’t hesitate to help her reach it, flattening her tongue along her folds from top to bottom, and when she comes back up, circling her clit.
Yolanda’s fingers tighten at the roots of her hair, using the grip to move even faster, unable to stop grinding against her face without a hint of shame.
Trinity slowly opens her eyes, looking up at Yolanda’s messy curls, her heavy breathing, her whines and cries growing louder, feeling completely powerful knowing she’s the one reducing her to this.
And with a bit of mischief, the hand that had been gripping her ass lifts just to land another sharp smack.
That’s enough to make Yolanda break, tears spilling from the pleasure as she collapses forward, her nails digging into her scalp while Trinity answers with a tight squeeze at her tit.
“Trinity, please, please…” Yolanda moans, her vision completely blurred with tears.
Immediately stepping in, determined that she’ll never need anyone else again, Trinity keeps going diving back into her and extending her tongue for her to use, letting her take it deeper before dragging it back up to her clit, riding her through the orgasm.
“Trinity!” The sharpest cry bursts out of Yolanda’s chest as she rests her forehead against the headboard.
Yolada does her best to control her breathing; her chest heaves and her fingers slowly loosen from her short hair.
“…fuck, Trin,” she whispers, breathless, panting. “I need, I…”
She understands right away, her hands sliding down her chest and leaving her reddened ass as she wraps an arm around her waist, guiding her gently to the side.
Yolanda takes a deep breath through her mouth, exhaling as she lays down beside her, lifting one hand to brush the back of it along Trinity’s chin.
Trinity presses a soft kiss to the tip of her nose, rolling onto the bed to settle in, still watching Yolanda, who remains in disbelief with her hand resting on her chest.
“… so you didn’t bring any girl over this week?” Trinity asks with a smug little smile.
Yolanda lets out a small scoff, rolling her eyes. “Shut up”.
Her victorious smile only lasts a few seconds before she notices García finishing pulling off her pants, her lips trailing a slow path from her navel down to the waistband of her boxers.
“Trinity, please leave your activities with the neighbor in apartment twenty one on the sixth floor for the weekends. My apartment starts shaking and I’m in the middle of exam season.”
It’s the fifth note Santos has read this month that mentions her by name. The first time she saw it underlined, she jumped in fear, her heart nearly stopping from the embarrassment. But at this point she’s starting to get used to it, even letting out a small smile.
She steps out on the now familiar floor, walking through the hallways she knows by heart before knocking on her favorite door, this time being greeted by Yolanda, fully dressed in a navy silk two piece pajama set.
“You better not have brought the spicy one,” García says immediately as she lets her in.
Santos lifts the plastic bag innocently, a small smirk on her lips. “You know you’re not supposed to use the whole thing, right?”
Yolanda scoffs, walking off toward the kitchen with Trinity following behind, leaning against the counter as she takes out the contents, placing two packs of ramen down.
“Sorry I don’t have your same tolerance for burning my throat…” Yolanda mutters under her breath, already pulling out two bowls.
Familiar with the routine, Trinity turns on the stove where a pot of water is already waiting to boil.
It doesn’t take long before she feels Yolanda’s arms wrap around her waist, her chin resting on her shoulder and her lips brushing against her skin in a soft kiss.
“…what movies are we watching today?” Yolanda starts, raising one eyebrow, though her tone shifts slightly as she adds, “and please don’t say Almost Famous again.”
“I can’t help it!” Trinity defends herself, taking her time with their usual dinner prep. “It makes you want to live, Yo.”
“I already want to live, thanks,” Yolanda replies, rolling her eyes.
They fall into silence for a few seconds, watching the food come together, everything feeling more domestic and intimate than usual. Maybe that’s why Trinity takes the chance to say what’s been on her mind.
“Your neighbors won’t stop mentioning me…” she comments, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah, it’s hard to bring other girls over with all those notes,” Yolanda replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“…maybe you don’t need to anymore,” Trinity whispers, biting her lower lip, a hint of insecurity slipping through.
Yolanda doesn’t answer. She just presses another kiss to her shoulder before resting her cheek against her back, staying completely silent.
Trinity swallows, lowering her gaze to the water as it starts to boil, as if that could distract her.
“I mean… I come over more often now,” she adds, more quietly.
Again, Yolanda says nothing. She doesn’t deny it, doesn’t confirm it. She just doesn’t let go, tightening her hold, and for a moment Trinity thinks she feels a subtle shift of movement against her skin.
They’re both too drunk on wine to really understand what’s happening as they hide under the sheets, giggling and whispering like it’s a sleepover, no doubt interrupting Whitaker’s rest in the other room. But neither of them could care less.
García’s fingers slowly trace along the veins of Santos’s forearm, her fingertips light and careful, and when she lifts her gaze, she’s met with a softness that sends a warmth through her chest, one that only makes her feel guilty.
“…there hasn’t been anyone else but you,” Yolanda admits suddenly, not even sure why she’s saying it, already planning to blame it on the alcohol, but she keeps going anyway. “Not for months. Not since the first time I met you.”
“No way,” Trinity denies quickly, though a small, hopeful smile forms on her lips.
“It’s so pathetic, I know,” Yolanda lets out a self mocking laugh. “I should’ve taken the note down before you got there, but… my head was somewhere else.”
“Oh yeah?” Trinity encourages her, brushing the tip of her nose against hers.
Yolanda fights a small smile, biting the inside of her cheek. “It was the first time you were coming over to my place and… I don’t know.”
Trinity stays quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “You mean it, right? No one else?”
García leans in, her lower lip brushing against Trinity’s before their mouths meet in a slow, longing kiss.
Trinity melts into it instantly, moving her lips against hers, tilting her head to find the right angle, bumping their noses slightly and letting out a soft laugh before kissing her again, softer this time.
They take it slow, their breathing evening out, falling into sync, just like their heartbeats.
And Yolanda has never felt like she fits so perfectly with someone as she does now, their fingers lacing together. Maybe it would be worth truly trying.
The memory of Trinity’s dazed, lovestruck smile lingers in her mind, pushing her to deepen the kiss.
“Oh, I finally found you!”
That’s the first thing Yolanda hears when she steps into the elevator that afternoon.
She takes a few seconds to blink slowly, then narrows her eyes to focus on the person talking to her. It’s a woman around her age, looking at her with clear indignation.
Yolanda steps in beside her, subtly hiding behind her back the pink plastic bag holding a not so discreet vibrator.
“Everyone’s talking about the two of you, you know?” the neighbor insists, shaking her head slowly.
That’s enough for Yolanda to understand exactly where this is going, and she lets out a quiet scoff.
“Yeah, sorry,” is all she offers, reluctantly.
But it doesn’t seem to be enough for the woman, whose name Yolanda doesn’t even know, as she keeps going. “It’s impressive how loud you are with your girlfriend.”
Something about that last word makes Yolanda pause, turning her head toward her with raised eyebrows.
“My girlfriend?”
The woman simply nods, as if it’s obvious.
“Of course. The short haired girl, green eyes… she at least says hi to me and my daughter,” she replies with a tight smile, clearly judging her.
At the comparison between her own attitude and Trinity’s, who Yolanda knows has always had a soft spot for kids, she has to hold back a mocking laugh.
“…unless she’s not your partner?” the neighbor asks quickly, bringing a hand up to her mouth. “Oh… sorry if I got it wrong or…”
Yolanda cuts her off right away, waving her hand dismissively. “No, it’s fine.”
“It’s just that she’s the only girl I ever see you with, and you’re so… private,” the neighbor admits, still half covering her lips.
Yolanda gives her a polite, forced smile. The elevator doors finally open on her floor, and they brush shoulders as they step out.
At that realization, García goes still, even more taken aback when she notices the woman opening the door right next to hers.
“Fuck off…” she mutters under her breath, throwing her head back.
Santos’s back hits the elevator buttons, but she’s far too busy slipping her hands under García’s shirt to care, even less so when she feels her lips moving all over her face.
“No, no!” Trinity exclaims, squirming with giggles, squeezing her eyes shut before her kisses.
“You’re such a sore loser,” Yolanda replies, not stopping her tickling, or her soft little kisses.
Trinity plays with one of the straps of her bralette, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back with a soft sting against Yolanda’s skin.
“And you keep acting like a terrible loser!” Yolanda teases, pulling back just enough to push her hands away. “You can admit it,” she adds, pressing one last kiss to her cheek.
“It’s so unfair how you cheated by asking Perlah for information,” Trinity argues, chasing her lips again, melting into the kiss with a small smile.
“I wanted to win, and there are no rules in bets…” Yolanda shrugs, returning a quick peck, a smile tugging at her lips.
“I don’t even know why I agreed to such a dumb bet when it was obvious Abbot had feelings for Samira,” Trinity complains, crossing her arms with a pout.
Yolanda lifts a finger to her chin, tilting her face just enough to steal another quick kiss, unable to resist the pout.
“You knew that, but not that Mohan would be the first to confess,” Yolanda points out with a shrug.
“You wouldn’t even know that if I hadn’t talked to Samira in the first place…” Trinity starts, finally pressing the seventh floor button before continuing, “…and I could’ve lied to you.”
They both pause, looking at each other. Yolanda raises both eyebrows, and the moment Trinity meets her gaze, those brown eyes, those loose curls… she melts on the spot.
“I hate you, okay? I could never lie to you, and I hate you,” Trinity admits, nudging her shoulder at that smug expression.
Yolanda lets out an incredulous laugh, pulling her back into her arms and capturing her lips again in a series of quick pecks that Trinity eagerly returns.
“…I don’t hate you at all”. Yolanda admits softly against her lips, pulling back just enough, surprising even herself.
A wide smile spreads across Trinity’s face as she immediately wraps her arms around her neck, pulling her closer.
It’s only when the elevator stops on their floor that they finally separate, though they’re still holding hands as they step out. Santos turns slightly, noticing another note stuck to the wall, just like the first time she came up.
“Yolanda and Trinity, we know your names from the noise at four in the morning. We kindly ask for some discretion after ten at night on Saturdays and Sundays!”
The note isn’t answered with another message from them, but with a small “gift” from García instead: a pair of earplugs taped to the bottom of the paper.