Important: Brittana chapter.
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APOLOGY
She hits the gym with Quinn in the morning.
They run side by side, subtly competing. Quinn's as tired as Santana, thankfully, so the both of them try to spare themselves.
Quinn's got that buzz – one that she desperately needs to tap into more often – that comes from a glorious night of intense fucking. She's got bite marks on her shoulders and a hickey on her neck.
Whoever that bitch was, she had done a nice job of marking Quinn as property.
—
There's this Latina girl that keeps staring at Santana during boxing class. Santana makes sure her jabs are extra strong and her groans are extra sexy.
The girl comes to her when they're at the lockers and she's only wearing gym shorts and a sports bra and there's sweat dripping on her mean, lean stomach and Santana loves it.
They have lunch together. They go to Santana's cabin.
The girl is not half as good as Brittany, but she's more than happy to submit and let Santana fuck her into oblivion, and Santana manages to get an orgasm out of it, so she supposes it's good enough.
She didn't really mean it when she said she'd be exclusive with Brittany. That was just sexy talk, right?
—
She takes a nap and leaves the boat with Quinn because it's fucking Guatemala.
They don't buy no excursion packages because packages are for lame people. They've got a map of the best attractions, they've got the bars pinned to it, and they've got six hours.
They're almost sober by now; Santana can feel the dizziness in her brain dissipating, her gestures sharper and sharper. They dive into regional beer, trying every possible brand.
It turns out Guatemala has 10 local brands.
They get right back to their blissful state of bliss.
—
She misses Brittany.
Brittany used to be everywhere at all times, part of every fun activity, but now she isn't anywhere to be seen.
Santana still hasn't given Brittany the gift.
—
It's midnight and she's getting real tired of this shit.
Real tired.
Brittany just isn't there, and she's getting all kinds of horny.
When she finds Tina she gives her 50 bucks and gets her to communicate with Brittany. Apparently it's her night off. She hesitates a long moment before telling Tina over the radio where she is.
Is Brittany avoiding Santana?
Had Brittany seen anything?
Fuck.
—
Brittany's drinking a beer in an empty outer area.
Looking around, Santana wonders how Brittany finds those places.
Brittany's wearing a short summer dress, and Santana's eyes linger on those strong, long legs. She licks her lips, imagining how easy would it be to lift that dress and—
"Cat got your tongue?" Brittany asks, not turning around.
Santana decides she's got to be brave and walk over to Brittany. "Just admiring the view," she says, placing a hand on Brittany's waist and pressing into her from behind.
Brittany smells so good. Santana breathes in her neck, absorbing Brittany's scent with a hum of appreciation.
Brittany turns around and sips her beer, a satisfied smug on her face.
Santana wants to kiss it off her.
"I bought you something when I was in Mexico," she says, showing a jewelry box on her hand.
Brittany opens it and examines the silver necklace in silence. Santana tries to kiss her, but Brittany shakes her head no.
"The thing is," she says, running a hand through Santana's thick black hair, "I don't do other people's leftovers."
Shit.
Santana presses their hips together and locks their eyes. "Britt, I—"
Brittany runs her thumb on Santana's lips. "We can't play anymore."
She goes back to sipping her beer.
Fucking ball of fuck.
—
It's time for drastic actions.
Santana kneels on the ground. "I'll do anything."
There's the trace of a smirk on Brittany's lips. This is good. Santana runs her hands on Brittany's long, firm legs, never breaking eye contact. "Let me make it up to you."
Santana kisses Brittany's knees, making a wet path upwards. "I'm going to be such a good girl, Britt. I promise."
Brittany's sigh when Santana kisses her inner thigh is unmistakable.
Santana smiles when Brittany parts her legs.
God, Brittany is so hot.
Santana pushes Brittany's dress upwards and begins a whole other treatment of biting and kissing and sucking Brittany's thigh, inch by inch.
Brittany doesn't complain when Santana tugs her underwear down and takes it off.
Fuck, Brittany already smells like sex. Santana blows some air over Brittany's arousal, earning a deep groan and a strong tug of her hair.
"No teasing," Brittany says in that serious, sexy tone of hers.
Santana nods and takes a first long lick over Brittany's folds. She groans at the taste and takes another hungry lick, and then another, drinking everything she can.
Brittany throws her head back and closes her eyes. "Just like that."
When she starts fucking Brittany with her tongue, Brittany's hips buck and she makes the sexiest moan Santana has ever heard.
She grabs Brittany's hip to steady her movements and finds a new angle to reach deeper, licking faster.
She waits until Brittany's already panting and her jaw is starting to ache to change positions and finally reach Brittany's clit.
"Fuck, San—" Brittany gasps, breathless, when Santana's lips encircle her clit and she sucks long and hard. Santana smirks and does it again, pressing the tip of her tongue against it, until Brittany's thighs are trembling and Brittany's grabbing her hair and moaning her name.
—
She stands up and cleans her face with the back of her hand.
Brittany covers her eyes with one hand, a delicious smile on her face as she recovers.
"Am I forgiven?" Santana asks, kissing Brittany's neck.
She's throbbing already, too aroused from Brittany's gasps and moans.
"Maybe," Brittany breathes out, holding on to Santana's shoulder.
Oh yeah. Santana's back in the game, baby.
Brittany's radio buzzes. She stretches her arm and grabs it. Santana frowns at the interruption.
This is time to get her swag on, not to talk on the radio.
"I've got to go." Brittany smiles, too amused at Santana's face. "Something came up."
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. "Wait a minute."
"Maybe, if you're good, we can pick up where we stopped." Brittany says, grabbing her things. "Maybe tomorrow."
With that, she leaves.
Santana curses under her breath.
Not cool.
You just don't leave a brother hanging.
—
She barely sleeps that night, thighs pressing together in arousal, dreams filled with Brittany.
She hits the gym to blow off some steam, but she doesn't flirt with anyone this time. She looks straight ahead as she runs as fast as she can, lifts as much weight as she can, and boxes as much as she can.
She has lunch with Quinn, who manages to escape out her love fest for a while and looks too satisfied with her fucking self, and she doesn't acknowledge the existence of other women.
—
She doesn't even leave the boat.
Fuck Honduras.
—
Brittany organizing some pool games, and Santana stays there, stretched under the sun, sipping one mojito after the other, watching.
She adjusts her gigantic sunglasses and stares at Brittany for a long time, imagining all kinds of scenarios.
Making out with Brittany right there, on a deckchair. The both of them at the pool, Brittany buried deep inside her. Riding Brittany's dildo on the veranda. On all fours at the sauna as Brittany fucks her from behind.
Jesus Christ, she is so horny she might die.
—
There's a cowboy party and Brittany's dressed as a cowgirl. Jean shorts, boots, flannel shirt with generous cleavage.
Santana sighs in desperation.
Fuck her life.
Quinn laughs at her face, taking her to the dance floor.
She doesn't want to dance. She wants intense, glorious fucking to leave her sore for days.
Fuck Pitbull. Fuck Ke$ha, too.
—
She notices Brittany has stepped into the bar and immediately decides she needs a refill.
Brittany is wearing the silver necklace. Santana beams.
She asks Brittany for three shots of tequila and a beer. When she downs the first shot and takes the drinks back to Quinn and her love bunny, she notices there's something written on her napkin.
See you later.
Santana smiles like she's just won the motherfucking lottery.
—
It's late, and the party is already coming to an end.
Quinn is exercising her bedroom rights.
Santana sips her beer and waits.
Brittany finally, finally shows up. Santana doesn't need to be told to follow.
She's still wearing those boots.
Santana bites her lip in anticipation.
—
She takes Santana to the same room of their glorious strap on fucking.
She closes the door behind Santana and points to a table.
Santana stands in front of it, her back to Brittany; Brittany soon follows, the tip of her fingers caressing Santana's arm slowly. "Have you followed the rules, Santana?"
God, even the way she says Santana's name makes her wet.
"I've been good," Santana says, closing her eyes and pressing her back to Brittany's front.
"That's my girl," Brittany says, nibbling on Santana's earlobe. "Mine," she whispers, pressing her hips forward.
"Yours," Santana breathes out, biting her lip with the table's pressure against her.
Brittany's palm presses Santana's back until she's bending down, ass in the air.
"I love your dresses," she says, pushing Santana's dress upwards and grabbing her buttocks.
Santana thanks the pagan gods for deciding not to wear any underwear.
Brittany cups her from behind and she whimpers. "I love when you dance," she says, squeezing softly.
Santana bites back a moan and holds her breath.
"I thought about you all day." Brittany says, low and sultry, as she enters Santana with just one finger.
It's not nearly what Santana needs.
She begins to move her finger in and out. "Maybe I shouldn't let you come, so you learn a lesson." Santana whimpers again, spreading her legs further apart.
"But you're so delicious," Brittany continues, adding another finger and thrusting hard inside.
Santana hisses a yes in complete surrender, groaning when Brittany follows a hard pace. God. This is exactly what she needs, tight against Brittany's fingers, the sound of her own wetness every time Brittany enters.
Brittany curls her fingers and presses her hips forward – it's the perfect angle for her clit to brush against the table when Brittany thrusts, and Santana has to hold on to the edge of the table to keep herself in place.
Brittany uses her hips to push even harder, and it's just what Santana needs to build her own orgasm in small waves, her stomach tightening in anticipation, each bump to her clit, Brittany curling her fingers inside, and she can't take it anymore—
She comes hard on Brittany's hand, long and intense.
—
She looks over her shoulder and Brittany's licking her fingers.
Licking her fingers.
Oh shit.
As soon as Santana turns around, Brittany's climbing on top of her, the roughness of her jeans against Santana's exposed sex.
She kisses Santana wet and languid, Santana's own sharp taste melting on her tongue.
Fuck, this is sexy. Santana wraps her legs around Brittany's ass, pulling them flush against each other.
"I hope you're not tired," Brittany says, rubbing herself against Santana.
Santana strangles a moan in the back of her throat.
"Don't worry, Britt." She unclasps Brittany's belt hastily, working on her zipper as she bites Brittany's lower lip. "You're not getting out of here anytime soon."