Chapter 3: Morning After Apology
The smell of coffee was what woke her. That, and the absence of the heat she’d fallen asleep feeling beside her. Anaijiah opened her eyes to the soft, grey light of a Miami morning filtered through slatted blinds. The space next to her was empty, sheets rumpled.
A flicker of cold panic, old and instinctive, clenched her stomach. Gone.
Then she heard the quiet shuffle of bare feet on polished concrete. She turned her head.
Nevaieh was walking back from the kitchen, naked, the muscles of her thighs and abdomen shifting with each step. The intricate ink on her torso and arms was a detailed map in the pale light. She held two steaming mugs. Her long hair was a wild, sleep-tossed curtain around her shoulders. She saw Anaijiah was awake and slowed, a hesitant, almost foreign uncertainty in her movements.
“Hey,” Nevaieh said, her voice gravelly with sleep.
Anaijiah pushed herself up on her elbows, the sheet pooling at her waist. She didn’t say anything. She just watched as Nevaieh approached, set the mugs carefully on the nightstand, and then sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight.
The silence stretched, thick with the memory of everything that had been shouted and sobbed and fucked into existence just hours before. Nevaieh stared at her own hands, resting on her knees.
“I thought about leaving,” she said finally, not looking up. “Before you woke up. An hour ago. I was standing at your window, watching the streetlights go off. It would have been the clean thing. The pattern.”
She lifted her gaze then. Her eyes were bloodshot, shadowed. “I can’t do the pattern with you. It’s broken.”
She reached for Anaijiah’s hand where it lay on the sheet. Her fingers were warm from the mug. She laced their fingers together, her grip firm, almost painful. “That month… it wasn’t silence. It was me, screaming inside my own head. Every day. You were a ghost in my apartment, in my shop, in my fucking truck. I’d catch a glimpse of ginger curls on the street and my heart would stop. It was pathetic. It was terrifying.”
Anaijiah’s throat felt tight. She looked at their joined hands, at the contrast of their skin, the intricate lines of ink on both.
“You hurt me,” Anaijiah whispered. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a fact, placed between them like a stone.
“I know.” Nevaieh’s voice cracked. She brought Anaijiah’s hand to her mouth, pressing her lips to the knuckles. A shudder ran through her. “I am so fucking sorry, Anaijiah. Not just for leaving. For making you feel like a convenience. For making you doubt what you are. You’re a fucking earthquake. You leveled me.”
The words, so raw and unpolished, disarmed her more than any practiced apology could. Tears welled, hot and insistent. She tried to blink them back.
Nevaieh saw them. She cupped Anaijiah’s face with both hands, her thumbs swiping at the moisture under her eyes. “Don’t,” she murmured. “Please. I can’t take your tears. Not when I caused them.”
She leaned in and kissed her. It was nothing like the kisses in the garage or the ones that had followed. This was soft. A bare press of lips, a silent question. Anaijiah sighed into it, her body going pliant. The last remnants of her defenses, the brittle armor she’d worn for a month, dissolved.
Nevaieh guided her back down onto the pillows, her mouth never leaving Anaijiah’s. She kissed her slowly, deeply, tasting of black coffee and sleep. Her hands, so capable of brutality, were achingly gentle as they slid down Anaijiah’s sides, pushing the sheet fully away.
She broke the kiss, her breath fanning over Anaijiah’s lips. “Let me,” she whispered. “Let me show you.”
Anaijiah could only nod, a single, slight movement. Nevaieh kissed her jaw, her throat, the hollow between her collarbones. She moved down her body, her lips and tongue paying reverent attention to every gold piercing, every line of ink as if memorizing a sacred text. She lingered at the peacock on her thigh, tracing the vibrant feathers with her tongue. Anaijiah trembled.
When Nevaieh settled between her legs, she did it with a focused patience that was its own kind of intensity. She didn’t dive in. She kissed the inside of each thigh, her stubble a delicious scrape against the sensitive skin. She looked up, her dark eyes holding Anaijiah’s gaze.
“I dreamt about this,” Nevaieh said, her voice a husk. “The taste of you. It’s why I couldn’t stay away.”
She lowered her mouth.
The first slow, flat stroke of her tongue made Anaijiah arch off the bed, a broken sound tearing from her throat. It was wet, hot, obscenely thorough. Nevaieh ate her pussy like it was the only thing that could sustain her, with a deep, languorous hunger that had nothing to do with conquest and everything to do with devotion. She licked into her, curled her tongue, sucked gently on her clit until Anaijiah’s hips were rocking mindlessly against her face.
“Nevaieh… fuck…” Anaijiah panted, her hands fisting in the sheets.
Nevaieh added a finger, then two, sliding them inside with effortless ease, crooking them just so. The dual sensation—the relentless, soft pressure of her mouth and the deep, filling stretch of her fingers—drove Anaijiah swiftly to the edge. It was building too fast, this tender, relentless onslaught.
“Wait… I’m gonna…” Anaijiah tried to warn her, but Nevaieh just hummed against her, the vibration shooting a bolt of pure lightning up her spine.
She came with a choked cry, her body seizing, waves of pleasure rolling out from her core until she was boneless and gasping. Nevaieh didn’t stop. She gentled her mouth but didn’t pull away, licking her softly through the aftershocks until Anaijiah whimpered from oversensitivity.
Only then did Nevaieh crawl back up her body. She was gleaming with sweat and Anaijiah’s wetness. Her cock, hard and flushed, pressed against Anaijiah’s hip. She hovered over her, bracing on her forearms, her face inches away.
“I need to be inside you,” Nevaieh breathed, the words ragged. “Please.”
Anaijiah reached between them, wrapping her hand around her. She guided the thick head to her entrance, which was still fluttering and sensitive from her orgasm. Nevaieh watched her face, every muscle in her body taut with restraint.
“Slow,” Anaijiah whispered.
Nevaieh nodded, a sharp jerk of her chin. She pressed forward.
It was an excruciatingly slow invasion. Anaijiah felt every ridge, every inch of her as she filled her. It was a fullness that went beyond physical. It felt like a homecoming to a place she’d been barred from. She wrapped her legs around Nevaieh’s waist, locking her ankles, pulling her in deeper.
When she was fully sheathed, Nevaieh stopped, buried to the hilt. She dropped her forehead to Anaijiah’s shoulder, her entire body trembling with the effort of holding still. “Dios mío,” she groaned, the prayer muffled against her skin.
She began to move. There was no frantic pounding, no show of dominance. It was a deep, rolling rhythm, each thrust a deliberate claiming of the space between them. She fucked her with a solemn, heartbreaking tenderness, each withdrawal almost complete before sliding back in with a steady, grounding pressure.
“I’m sorry,” Nevaieh whispered against her throat, syncing the words with her strokes. “For the silence. For the hurt. For being a coward.”
Each apology was a thrust. Each thrust was an absolution. Anaijiah clung to her, her face buried in the sweaty curve of Nevaieh’s neck, breathing in her scent. She was crying again, quiet, cathartic tears that soaked into Nevaieh’s skin.
Nevaieh felt them. She kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Let me feel you,” she murmured. “Come around me. Give it to me.”
Her hand slipped down between their slick bodies, finding Anaijiah’s clit. Her touch was expert, a perfect, circling pressure that matched the pace of her thrusts. The second orgasm built differently—a slow, deep swell rather than a crashing wave. It started in her toes, curled up her spine, gathered in her belly until it spilled over.
She came silently this time, a rush of pure sensation that locked her muscles and stole her breath. Her inner walls clenched and fluttered around Nevaieh’s cock in a relentless, gripping rhythm.
The feeling undid Nevaieh completely. With a guttural cry, she drove in one last, deep time and held, her body convulsing as she poured herself into Anaijiah. Her release seemed endless, a surrender that left her collapsed and heavy on top of her, their sweat-slick skin fused together.
They lay like that for a long time, until their breathing evened out and the morning light grew stronger. Nevaieh finally softened and slipped out, rolling to the side but immediately pulling Anaijiah against her, back to chest. Her arm was a heavy, possessive band across Anaijiah’s stomach.
The coffee on the nightstand was cold.
“I have to work at noon,” Anaijiah said into the quiet, her voice hoarse.
Nevaieh’s arm tightened minutely. “Okay.”
“You can’t stay here all day.”
“I know.” Nevaieh nuzzled the back of her neck. “I’ll go when you go. But I’m coming back.”
It wasn’t a question. Anaijiah didn’t answer. She just shifted, turning in her arms to face her. She studied Nevaieh’s face—the strong features relaxed in repose, the vulnerability laid bare. She traced the line of her nose piercing with a fingertip.
“The trust isn’t just… back,” Anaijiah said quietly. “Because of this. It’s not a switch.”
Nevaieh caught her hand, kissed her palm. “I know. I’ll earn it. Every day.” She paused, her gaze searching. “Can I take you to dinner? Like, an actual date. Not just… this.”
Anaijiah considered it. The world outside this bed felt dangerously large and complicated. “Where?”
“Anywhere you want. Somewhere with terrible lighting so I can stare at you without it being obvious.”
A faint, real smile touched Anaijiah’s lips for the first time that morning. “There’s a Cuban place on Eighth. It’s loud. You’ll have to sit close to hear me.”
“Perfect.” Nevaieh mirrored her smile, and it transformed her face, making her look younger, softer. “Tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Anaijiah nodded. It felt like stepping off a cliff. “Okay.”
They showered together, a practical and surprisingly chaste affair under the circumstances. They shared the cold coffee. Nevaieh pulled on her clothes from the night before, smelling of rain and sex and garage. Anaijiah dressed for her shift at the tattoo shop—black tank top, loose jeans that hid the lingering soreness between her legs.
At the door, Nevaieh hesitated. The confidence of the night before was gone, replaced by a palpable anxiety. She looked like she wanted to say a dozen things.
Anaijiah saved her the trouble. She stood on her toes, grabbed the front of Nevaieh’s jacket, and pulled her down for a hard, brief kiss.
“Seven,” Anaijiah said against her mouth. “Don’t be late.”
Then she opened the door and gently pushed her out into the hallway. She closed it, leaning her back against the cool wood. She could hear Nevaieh’s footsteps, heavy and deliberate, receding toward the elevator.
The condo was quiet. It still felt different. The air held the imprint of another person’s sleep, another person’s breath. The empty mug sat by the sink. The bed was a wreck.
Anaijiah looked at her own tattooed hands. They were steady. The hollow ache that had lived in her chest for a month was gone, replaced by a fragile, tentative fullness. It was terrifying. It was real.
She had a date at seven.
She had a date at seven.
The hours until then stretched and contracted with a strange, elastic anxiety. Her hands, usually so steady with a tattoo gun or a lash tray, fumbled twice while mixing pigment. The familiar buzz of the needle against skin felt oddly distant, like hearing music through a wall. Every client’s chatter was just noise.
She kept checking her phone. No messages. The silence felt different now—chosen, not imposed—but it still picked at the raw edge of her nerves. Was this how it would be? Waiting? Wondering?
At six, she stood under a shower so hot it left her skin pink. She studied her body in the steam-fogged mirror, the vivid ink, the gold piercings. He had worshipped every mark yesterday. The memory was a physical flush. She dressed with a deliberate care she hadn’t shown in weeks: a simple, dark green dress that clung to her hips and left her tattooed shoulders bare. She did her makeup slow, outlining her eyes, painting her lips a deep, matte burgundy.
By six-fifty, the condo felt like a cage. She paced. She poured a finger of rum, drank it, then brushed her teeth again.
The buzzer from the lobby went off at seven-fucking-o’clock exactly. The sound was a jolt to her spine.
“Yeah?” she said into the intercom, her voice cooler than she felt.
“It’s me.” Nevaieh’s voice crackled through the speaker, tinny and tense.
Anaijiah let her wait a full ten seconds before she hit the door release. She didn’t go to the hallway. She waited inside her open door, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed.
Nevaieh emerged from the elevator. She’d clearly gone home. Fresh dark jeans, a simple grey henley stretched across her shoulders, her long curls damp and tied back. She carried a single, deep orange lily. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes scanning Anaijiah from head to toe, a slow, appreciative burn.
“You look… fucking incredible,” Nevaieh said. The words came out rough, like she’d had to push them past something.
“You’re on time,” Anaijiah replied, not moving.
“I said I would be.” Nevaieh stepped forward, holding out the flower. “For you.”
Anaijiah looked at it, then at her. She didn’t take it. “I’m not a flowers girl, Nevaieh.”
Nevaieh didn’t retreat. A shadow of that old smirk touched her mouth. “I know. That’s why I got it. It’s bold. It’s got edges. It’ll die in a day if you don’t handle it right. Reminds me of you.” She moved the bloom closer, brushing the petals against Anaijiah’s collarbone. “Take it, princesa. Or don’t. But I’m still taking you to dinner.”
A laugh, unexpected and sharp, escaped Anaijiah. She took the stem, her fingers brushing Nevaieh’s. “Cheesy as hell.”
“Yeah,” Nevaieh agreed, her gaze dropping to Anaijiah’s mouth. “Can I kiss you hello, or are we skipping to the awkward car ride?”
“You can kiss me.” Anaijiah tilted her face up. “Make it good.”
It was. It was a firm, confident press of lips that tasted of mint and intent. It didn’t linger, but it promised. Nevaieh’s hand came up to cradle her jaw, her thumb stroking once over her cheekbone before she pulled back. “Okay. Let’s go.”
The restaurant was exactly as she’d described: loud, cramped, vibrating with salsa music and the clatter of plates. The air swam with garlic, cumin, and fried plantains. They were seated at a tiny two-top near the kitchen door, their knees knocking underneath.
Nevaieh ordered for them in rapid, flawless Spanish that made the waiter grin. She asked for extra tostones, knowing Anaijiah loved them.
“Show-off,” Anaijiah muttered, sipping her water.
“Just proving my credentials,” Nevaieh said, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes never left Anaijiah’s face. “So. How was your day?”
It was so normal. So stupidly, terrifyingly normal. They talked about work. Anaijiah’s difficult client who wanted a cover-up of a ex’s name. Nevaieh’s auto repair shop, the classic Mustay she was restoring. They avoided the gaping hole of the last month, the phantom ache of the garage. They navigated around it like a crater in the floor.
The food came. They shared from each other’s plates without asking. Nevaieh stole a shrimp from her mojo marinade. Anaijiah forked a chunk of her ropa vieja.
“This was a good idea,” Anaijiah said, halfway through the meal. The rum and the noise had loosened something in her chest.
“The restaurant?” Nevaieh asked, wiping her mouth.
“This.” Anaijiah gestured between them with her fork. “Sitting here. Not screaming. Not fucking. Just… this.”
Nevaieh put her fork down. The noise around them seemed to recede. “I like the screaming and the fucking, too. For the record. But I like this more right now.”
The heat in her words was banked, a slow burn. Anaijiah felt it low in her belly. The rest of the meal passed in a blur of flavor and loaded glances. When the check came, Nevaieh snatched it before Anaijiah could move.
“I asked you out,” Nevaieh stated, putting down cash.
“I make my own money.”
“And I’m paying for dinner. Argue with me and I’ll carry you out of here over my shoulder.”
The threat was playful, but the look in her eyes wasn’t. Anaijiah held her gaze, then shrugged. “Fine. Tyrant.”
Outside, the humid Miami night wrapped around them. The street was alive with Friday energy. Nevaieh didn’t ask if she wanted to go home. She just took her hand, lacing their fingers together. Her palm was calloused, warm.
They walked without direction. The silence between them now was comfortable, filled with the sounds of the city and the thrum of their own blood.
“My place is closer,” Nevaieh said after a few blocks, her voice casual. She wasn’t looking at her.
Anaijiah stopped walking. She turned to face her, pulling her hand free. “Is that what this was? A prelude to getting me into your bed?”
Nevaieh met her stare. “No. It was a date. But I want you in my bed. I want you in my space. I want to show you where I wake up. Is that allowed?”
The raw want, couched in a request, disarmed her. Anaijiah looked away, at a neon sign flickering in a bodega window. The ghost of that cold morning a month ago, waking up alone, whispered through her. “What happens in the morning?”
Nevaieh stepped into her line of sight. She cupped Anaijiah’s face, forcing her to look up. “We wake up. Together. I make you coffee. I kiss you. We figure out the day. That’s the pattern I want.”
Anaijiah searched her eyes. She saw no guile, only a stark, unwavering certainty. She nodded, once. “Okay.”
Nevaieh’s apartment was in a low, renovated building covered in bougainvillea. It was exactly what Anaijiah expected: clean, sparse,功能性. A large, beaten leather sofa, a wall of tools and automotive manuals, a huge framed photograph of a stormy ocean. It smelled like sawdust, clean linen, and her.
Nevaieh closed the door. The lock clicked, a definitive sound. She turned, her back against the wood, and just looked at Anaijiah standing in the middle of her living room.
“Well?” Anaijiah said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Come here.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a quiet command. Anaijiah walked to her, stopping inches away. Nevaieh didn’t touch her. She just drank her in, her eyes dark pools in the dim light from a floor lamp.
“You’re in my house,” Nevaieh said, as if confirming it to herself.
“I am.”
Finally, Nevaieh’s hands came up. They slid over Anaijiah’s bare shoulders, down her arms, leaving a trail of fire. She leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow, a kiss that tasted of shared garlic and desire. Her hands found the zipper at the back of Anaijiah’s dress. She pulled it down slowly, the sound harsh in the quiet.
The dress pooled at Anaijiah’s feet. She stood there in just her lace underwear and heels. Nevaieh’s gaze was a physical weight, hotter than any touch.
“On the couch,” Nevaieh murmured, her voice thick. “On your knees. Facing the back.”
A shiver, part anticipation, part submission, racked Anaijiah. She obeyed, walking to the large leather sofa. The material was cool against her knees. She heard Nevaieh moving behind her, the rustle of clothing being removed.
Then Nevaieh was there, her bare, muscular body pressing against Anaijiah’s back. Her cock, already hard and leaking, nestled between Anaijiah’s ass cheeks. Her hands spanned Anaijiah’s waist.
“You’re going to watch,” Nevaieh breathed into her ear, nodding toward the dark television screen in front of them, which reflected their blurred shapes. “You’re going to watch me take you. You’re going to see what you do to me.”
One hand slid down, hooking into the lace of her underwear and yanking them to the side, not even bothering to take them off. Her fingers delved between Anaijiah’s legs, finding her soaked.
“Fuck, you’re always so ready for me,” Nevaieh groaned, sliding two fingers inside her, fucking her with them roughly. “This perfect, greedy cunt.”
Anaijiah gasped, her head falling forward. The mirrored image was obscene: her body arched back, Nevaieh’s dark form molded to her, the explicit motion of her hand.
Nevaieh withdrew her fingers. She guided her cock to Anaijiah’s entrance, the broad head pressing insistently. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” Anaijiah panted, pushing back against her.
“Say my name.”
“Nevaieh. Please.”
With a grunt, Nevaieh slammed into her in one relentless thrust, filling her utterly. Anaijiah cried out, her nails digging into the leather. The reflection showed Nevaieh’s face, a mask of pure, unadulterated need, her eyes locked on where their bodies joined.
Nevaieh set a brutal, punishing pace from the start. Each drive punched the air from Anaijiah’s lungs. The couch creaked in protest. She gripped Anaijiah’s hips, holding her in place for the assault, her balls slapping against Anaijiah’s skin with every impact.
“Look,” Nevaieh choked out, her rhythm faltering. “Look at how deep I am in you. Look at how your body takes me.”
Anaijiah forced her eyes open, meeting the frantic gaze of her own reflection. She saw the flush on her skin, the sweat glistening on her chest, the way her body yielded and accepted every inch. It was filthy. It was hypnotic.
“I’m gonna come,” Nevaieh warned, her thrusts becoming erratic, harder. “I’m gonna fill this perfect pussy. You’re gonna feel it for days.”
The crude promise tipped Anaijiah over the edge. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and silencing, clamping down on Nevaieh’s cock with a vicious, pulsating grip.
The feeling tore a roar from Nevaieh’s throat. She buried herself to the hilt and held, her body rigid as she emptied into Anaijiah in hot, endless pulses. They collapsed forward together, a mess of tangled limbs and heaving chests against the back of the couch.
Minutes passed. The only sound was their ragged breathing. Slowly, Nevaieh softened and slipped out. A hot trickle followed immediately onto Anaijiah’s thigh.
Nevaieh turned her, gathered her into her arms, and carried her to the bedroom. She laid her on the sheets, then disappeared, returning with a warm, damp cloth. She cleaned her between the legs with a tenderness that contrasted violently with the sex. She then slid into bed beside her, pulling Anaijiah against her, skin to skin.
“Stay,” Nevaieh whispered into her hair, her arms locking around her.
It wasn’t a question this time. It was a fervent, quiet plea. Anaijiah looked at the unfamiliar room, at the tools on the dresser, the faint streetlight through the window. This was where Nevaieh had spent that month, haunted by her. The thought was a strange comfort.
She nestled back into the solid warmth. “Okay.”
The word was a key turning in a new lock. Nevaieh’s breath evened out into sleep. Anaijiah lay awake, feeling the weight of the arm around her, the steady heartbeat against her back. The date was over. Something else, vast and uncharted, had begun.