Chapter 15: Breakfast Revenge
The first thing Ana registered was the light. It was a diffuse, peach-colored glow that painted the high ceiling of an unfamiliar room. The second was the weight: a solid warmth along her right side, an arm slung possessively over her hips. The third was the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing against the back of her neck.
Nevaieh’s penthouse. Dawn.
Memory reassembled itself in fragments: the silent elevator ride up, the breathtaking view of the waking city from the 30th floor, the sheer, dizzying height of it. Nevaieh leading her to the bedroom, a space of concrete floors, exposed ductwork, and one entire wall of glass. The bed, a vast platform of reclaimed wood, where they’d fallen asleep tangled together, too spent for anything but the anchor of skin on skin.
Ana shifted slightly. The sheets were a high thread count, cool and smooth against her bare legs. Nevaieh’s breathing hitched, then deepened again. Still asleep. Ana smiled, a private curve of her lips in the quiet room. She let her eyes drift closed, savoring the simple luxury of being held.
The touch, when it came, was so gentle she thought she might have imagined it. A feather-light tracing along the side of her ribcage, following the path of the fresh, tender ink. A shiver, pleasant and deep, rolled through her. She kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep.
The touch grew bolder. A palm, warm and rough, smoothed over her stomach. Fingers curled around her hip, thumb stroking the soft skin there. Ana’s breath caught. She felt Nevaieh shift behind her, the arm around her waist tightening, pulling her back flush against a solid, awake body.
Lips pressed against the knob of her spine, a kiss so soft it was barely there. Then another, lower. A scrape of teeth over a vertebra. The hand on her hip slid around to the front, splaying low on her abdomen, pulling her insistently against Nevaieh’s hardness.
A soft, approving hum vibrated against Ana’s back. Nevaieh wasn’t asking. She was rediscovering.
Her lips traveled the path of Ana’s mother’s love letter, inked across her shoulder blade. She couldn’t read it in the dim light, but she kissed each line as if she could decipher its meaning through touch alone. Her hand slid lower, fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of Ana’s—Nevaieh’s—borrowed sweatpants.
Ana sighed, arching into the touch. The pretense of sleep was gone. Nevaieh knew.
In one fluid, silent motion, Nevaieh rolled her onto her back. The dawn light framed her, a tall silhouette with wild curls haloed in peach. Her eyes were dark, serious, fixed on Ana’s face. She said nothing. She didn’t need to.
She bent her head, her mouth finding Ana’s through the tangle of their shared morning breath. The kiss was slow, deep, tasting of sleep and a latent, simmering hunger. Nevaieh’s hands pushed the soft t-shirt up, baring Ana’s stomach, her ribs, her breasts. The cool air raised goosebumps, which Nevaieh soothed with the heat of her palms.
She broke the kiss to look down at Ana, her gaze traveling over her body with a focus that was almost clinical in its intensity. She leaned down and took one nipple into her mouth, not with the biting demand of the night before, but with a lush, swirling thoroughness that made Ana’s toes curl into the sheets. Her tongue circled the peaked flesh, her lips closed around it in a gentle, rhythmic suck.
Ana gasped, her hands coming up to thread into Nevaieh’s hair. It was soft, still damp from the pool. Nevaieh allowed the touch for a moment before catching both of Ana’s wrists in one of her large hands. She pinned them down on the pillow above Ana’s head, her grip firm but not cruel.
“My turn to play,” Nevaieh murmured, her voice sleep-roughened and thick. Her other hand continued its journey south, pushing the sweatpants and her own borrowed boxers down over Ana’s hips in a single, practiced motion.
The cool air hit her exposed skin. Nevaieh knelt back, looking her fill. Ana felt utterly displayed, vulnerable in the growing light. But under Nevaieh’s gaze, vulnerability felt like a form of power.
Nevaieh’s free hand, the one not pinning Ana’s wrists, trailed through the damp curls between her legs. A single finger slid along her slit, gathering wetness. Nevaieh brought her finger to her own lips, her eyes locked on Ana’s. She tasted her, and something feral sparked in her low eyes.
“Still mine,” she whispered, more to herself than to Ana.
Then she moved. She released Ana’s wrists, but only to hook her hands under Ana’s knees, pushing her legs up and apart with an unwavering certainty. Before Ana could process the shift, Nevaieh lowered her head.
Her mouth was a revelation.
There was no hesitation, no tentative exploration. Nevaieh knew what she wanted. Her tongue was broad and flat, licking a slow, firm stripe from her entrance to her clit. Ana cried out, a sharp, surprised sound that echoed in the vast, quiet room. Nevaieh hummed against her, the vibration setting every nerve ending alight.
She settled into a rhythm that was both relentless and deeply attuned. She used her lips, her tongue, the gentle pressure of her teeth. She drank from her like a woman dying of thirst, her hands holding Ana’s thighs so wide open they trembled. The city woke below them, a distant, silent ballet of creeping light and moving dots, unseen and irrelevant.
Ana’s hands fisted in the sheets, then flew back to Nevaieh’s hair, gripping hard. “God, Nevaieh…”
Nevaieh answered by sliding two fingers inside her, curling them up in a come-hither motion that stroked a spot that made Ana’s vision whiten at the edges. Her mouth never stopped its work, her tongue circling Ana’s clit in firm, perfect pressure.
The climax built not as a slow wave, but as a sudden, shocking detonation. It ripped through Ana, a silent, convulsive burst that locked her muscles and stole the air from her lungs. She bowed off the bed, a silent scream on her lips as pleasure, sharp and bright, electrocuted her from the inside out.
Nevaieh rode it out, her mouth gentle now, soothing, her fingers still moving inside her with a tender slowness that drew out the aftershocks until Ana was a shaking, boneless wreck on the sheets.
Only then did Nevaieh lift her head. Her chin was glistening. She looked wrecked, beautiful, her lips swollen and her eyes black with a satisfied hunger. She crawled up Ana’s body, her weight a welcome anchor. She kissed her, deep and lingering, letting Ana taste herself.
“Good morning,” Nevaieh breathed against her lips, a hint of a smirk in her voice.
Ana could only manage a weak, breathless laugh. She pulled Nevaieh down for another kiss, her hands cradling her face. “You’re… something else.”
“Told you,” Nevaieh said, nuzzling into her neck. “I don’t know how to do nice.” She said it like a confession, but her hands were tender as they smoothed Ana’s hair back from her damp forehead.
“This wasn’t nice?” Ana asked, her voice still thready.
Nevaieh considered it. She looked down at Ana’s body, at the marks she’d left, at the peaceful, spent expression on her face. “No,” she said finally, a strange softness in her tone. “It was necessary.”
The word hung between them, heavier than the sex. Necessary. Like air, like water.
Before Ana could unravel it, Nevaieh’s phone buzzed violently on the nightstand, skittering across the polished concrete surface with an abrasive sound. The spell shattered. Nevaieh flinched, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. She glanced at the screen, and her expression closed down, going flat and impenetrable.
“Ignore it,” Ana murmured, tracing the line of her jaw.
“Can’t,” Nevaieh said, the word clipped. She rolled off the bed with a frustrated sigh, grabbing the phone. She stood naked by the wall of glass, the rising sun painting gold along the lines of her tattooed back. Her shoulders were tense. “Yeah?”
Ana watched her, the intimate warmth of moments before cooling rapidly. Nevaieh listened, her back rigid. “I said Thursday. No, that’s not—… Fine. Text me the address.” She hung up without a goodbye.
She didn’t turn around for a long moment. When she did, the vulnerable, post-sex softness was gone, replaced by a guarded distance. “I have to go,” she said, her voice devoid of inflection. “Something… work.”
“At dawn on a Sunday?” Ana propped herself up on her elbows.
“It’s always something.” Nevaieh walked to a large wardrobe, pulling out fresh clothes—black jeans, a simple grey t-shirt. She dressed with efficient, hurried movements. “You can stay. Sleep. There’s food in the kitchen. The code to lock up is 0305.” She said the numbers with a slight, ironic twist of her lips.
Ana sat up, pulling the sheet around her. The high of minutes ago had crashed, leaving a hollow feeling. “Nevaieh.”
Nevaieh paused, one boot in her hand. She looked at Ana, really looked at her, and the mask slipped for just a second. She saw the question, the hurt, the confusion. She crossed the room in three long strides, cupping Ana’s face in her hands. The kiss she gave her was hard, desperate, full of an apology she wouldn’t voice.
“I’ll call you,” she said against her lips. It sounded like a vow, and a lie.
Then she was gone, the door to the penthouse clicking shut with a sound of finality.
Ana sat in the vast, silent bed, surrounded by the scent of sex and Nevaieh’s expensive shampoo. The sun was fully up now, mercilessly bright, exposing every detail of the pristine, sterile room. It felt less like a home and more like a beautifully designed cage.
0305. Her area code. A coincidence, or a tiny, deliberate vulnerability? She looked at the city sprawled below, a world Nevaieh had just descended back into, leaving her alone in the sky.
The momentum of the night, of the morning, had stalled. She was left with the feeling, the taste, the ache of her—and a door code that felt like both a key and a lock.
She was left with the feeling, the taste, the ache of her—and a door code that felt like both a key and a lock. The silence in the penthouse was immense, a hollow echo of their earlier sounds. Ana let the sheet fall, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin as she stared at the blank city sky.
She didn’t sleep. She wandered the vast space, her bare feet silent on the cool concrete. The kitchen was a showroom of stainless steel and unused appliances. The living room held a single, imposing leather sofa facing the view. No photos. No books. Nothing personal except a high-end guitar propped in a corner, a single black scratch on its body. It was a beautiful shell.
Her own stuff was back at her apartment. Her phone was dead. She felt untethered, a ghost in Nevaieh’s pristine world. The coffee machine was a complex Italian thing. She figured it out, the grinding sound violently loud. The coffee, when it came, was bitter and perfect.
She stood by the wall of glass, mug warming her hands, watching the city move. 0305. Her tattoo. Her home. Was it a fluke, or a secret she’d left in plain sight? The thought buzzed, an irritant. Everything with Nevaieh was a locked box with a suspiciously simple combination.
A restless, coiled energy began to replace the hollowness. It started in her jaw, a tight clenching. Then her shoulders. The memory of Nevaieh’s mouth, her hands, the brutal ownership of her touch—it wasn’t a sweet ache. It was a live wire dropped in a puddle, sparking and dangerous. She was angry. At the sudden departure. At the fucking beautiful view. At her own body, which still hummed from a touch that was already miles away.
She set the mug down hard, coffee sloshing onto the white quartz countertop. She didn’t wipe it up.
Back in the bedroom, the scent of sex was still thick in the air. It smelled like them. It smelled like a problem. Ana stared at the rumpled sheets, at the precise indent of Nevaieh’s head on the pillow. Her skin felt too tight, itching with a need that had nowhere to go.
Her hand drifted down her own stomach, over the swell of her hip. Her fingers traced the edge of the fresh tattoo, the skin still tender and raised. A jolt, sharp and sweet, went through her. She pressed her palm flat against her lower belly, feeling the heat there. The emptiness.
This was hers. This frustration, this need. Nevaieh didn’t own it all.
She crawled back onto the bed, into the warm spot they’d made. The sheets were cool on one side, warm on the other. She closed her eyes, but all she saw was Nevaieh’s dark, focused gaze looking up from between her legs. A flush of heat, entirely her own, spread through her.
Her fingers were less sure than Nevaieh’s. Softer. But they knew the way. She let her head fall back, her other hand sliding up to cup her own breast, her thumb brushing a nipple that was still sensitive. She bit her lip, holding back the sound threatening to escape. Outside, a siren wailed, distant and mournful.
She imagined Nevaieh’s hands pinning her wrists. She imagined her voice, that low, rough command. But she didn’t need it. Her own rhythm was its own demand. It was faster, more urgent, a rebellion against the slow, worshipping pace Nevaieh had set. This was about release, pure and simple. A pressure valve twisting open.
A soft gasp broke the quiet. Then another. She let them come, small, ragged things lost in the expanse of the room. Her hips lifted off the mattress, seeking her own touch. The climax built like a storm rushing the coast, undeniable and fierce.
The electronic thunk of the penthouse door unlocking was jarringly loud.
Ana froze, her eyes flying open. Her hand stilled between her legs. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoed on the concrete floor, coming closer.
Nevaieh appeared in the bedroom doorway. She hadn’t been gone an hour. Her jacket was slung over one shoulder, her expression unreadable. Her eyes took in the scene: Ana sprawled on the bed, sheets tangled at her ankles, her own hand caught between her thighs, her chest flushed and heaving.
Nevaieh didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She just watched, her dark eyes dropping to where Ana’s fingers were still pressed against herself.
A challenge, hot and defiant, flared in Ana’s chest. She held Nevaieh’s stare, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Slowly, deliberately, she moved her fingers again, a shallow, defiant circle.
Nevaieh’s nostrils flared. A muscle jumped in her jaw. She dropped her jacket. It pooled on the floor without a sound.
Ana didn’t look away. She kept her hand moving, her rhythm returning, bolder now. A low moan escaped her, louder this time, meant to be heard. It hung in the space between them, a gauntlet thrown.
Nevaieh took one step into the room. Then another. Her gaze was a physical weight, a heated brand tracking the movement of Ana’s wrist, the hitch in her breath. Ana arched her back, her eyes slipping shut for a second before forcing them open again, locking onto Nevaieh’s. Watch, her body screamed. This is mine, too.
“Keep going,” Nevaieh said, her voice a graveled whisper. It wasn’t a command this time. It was a request, stripped bare.
Ana obeyed, her movements becoming more fluid, more confident under that intense, hungry scrutiny. She let her other hand trail from her breast down her stomach, a performance just for her audience of one. Nevaieh moved closer, until she stood at the foot of the bed, her knuckles white where she gripped the wooden frame.
She was breathing hard, just watching. The raw want on her face was more intimate than anything that had passed between them in the water, or in this bed earlier.
“Tell me,” Nevaieh breathed, her voice strained. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
Ana’s rhythm faltered for a second, surprised by the question. She swallowed, finding her voice. “You,” she gasped. “Your mouth.” Her hips lifted, chasing her own touch. “The way you taste.”
A low groan tore from Nevaieh’s throat. She looked shattered, like she was the one being touched. “Show me,” she whispered, her own hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, as if physically restraining herself from reaching out. “Show me how you come when I’m not here.”
The permission, the demand in it, tipped Ana over the edge. Her back bowed off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from her lips as the release crashed through her, wave after wave, seen and witnessed by the only person whose eyes she wanted on her. Her legs shook, her heels digging into the mattress.
As the tremors subsided, she went limp, her arm falling to her side. She was utterly spent, exposed in every way. She blinked slowly, her vision clearing to find Nevaieh still standing there, utterly still, a monument of barely-checked desire.
Nevaieh finally moved. She climbed onto the bed, her movements slow, deliberate. She didn’t touch Ana. She just knelt beside her, looking down at her flushed skin, her glistening fingers. The air between them crackled, charged with a new, unstable electricity.
“That,” Nevaieh said, her voice thick, “was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.” She leaned down, her lips hovering over Ana’s, not touching. “You don’t need me at all, do you?”
Ana reached up, her trembling hand coming to rest on Nevaieh’s cheek. “That’s not the point.” She pulled her down into a kiss that tasted like salt and defiance and a new, frightening parity.