Chapter 7: Morning Claim
The first thing Anaijiah registered was the deep, solid warmth at her back. The second was the tickle of Nevaieh’s breath against the nape of her neck. They were still tangled, Nevaieh’s arm a lead weight across her ribs, their legs entwined. Dawn had not yet broken; the loft was a study in navy blues and grays, the city lights outside casting long, slow-moving shadows across the ceiling.
She felt drugged with sleep, her body heavy and pleasantly sore. Every muscle ached with a memory—the press of the couch, the bite of teeth, the yielding of flesh. A faint throb pulsed between her legs, a ghost of Nevaieh’s possession. She shifted slightly, and the arm around her tightened.
A low, sleep-rough voice vibrated against her spine. “You’re thinking too loud.”
Anaijiah smiled into the pillow. “Can’t help it.”
Nevaieh’s hand slid from her ribs, over the dip of her waist, coming to rest on the swell of her hip. Her fingers spanned the bone, possessive even in half-sleep. “Think quieter.”
For a while, they just breathed. Anaijiah listened to the rhythm of Nevaieh’s heart against her back, steady and sure as a drum. She traced the patterns of her own tattoos on her forearm, visible in the gloom. The peace was a physical thing, a blanket settled over them.
Then Nevaieh moved. It wasn’t a wakeful stretch, but a deliberate, predatory shift. Her lips found the knob at the top of Anaijiah’s spine. She kissed it, once, a soft press. Then her teeth grazed the same spot.
Anaijiah’s breath hitched.
Nevaieh’s mouth traveled down, vertebra by vertebra, a slow, deliberate descent. Her teeth dragged lightly, leaving a faint trail of heat, her tongue smoothing the path after. It was a claim, a re-mapping. Her hands came up, pinning Anaijiah’s wrists gently to the mattress above her head, holding her in place not with force, but with an unspoken expectation.
Anaijiah yielded, her body going pliant. She arched her back, presenting more of her spine to that devastating mouth. A soft sound escaped her, lost in the pillows.
Nevaieh reached the small of her back, where the sunset roses bloomed across her skin. She lingered there, her lips tracing the inked petals, her breath hot and damp. Then she murmured, her voice a dark syrup poured directly into Anaijiah’s ear, “Morning, babygirl.”
Her grip on Anaijiah’s wrists tightened. “Time for your first lesson in Chicago rules.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, she flipped Anaijiah onto her back. The world tilted, the dim light from the window now framing Nevaieh’s face above her. Sleep was gone from her eyes, replaced by a focused, hungry glint. The fresh rose on her shoulder was a lurid, beautiful wound in the half-light.
Nevaieh didn’t kiss her mouth. She moved down Anaijiah’s body with a single-minded intent, her knees pushing Anaijiah’s thighs apart. The cool morning air kissed Anaijiah’s exposed skin, raising goosebumps. Nevaieh’s eyes locked onto hers as she lowered her head.
The first touch of her tongue was a flat, demanding stripe from Anaijiah’s opening to her clit.
Anaijiah gasped, her hips jerking off the mattress. Nevaieh’s hands clamped down on her thighs, holding her in place with immovable strength. “Stay,” she commanded, the word vibrating against Anaijiah’s wet flesh.
Then she dove in.
There was no finesse, no gentle exploration. This was a conquest. Nevaieh’s tongue was a ruthless instrument, licking and thrusting with a brutal precision that stole the air from Anaijiah’s lungs. She ate her like she was starving, like she was claiming territory. Her mouth sealed over Anaijiah’s clit, sucking hard, her tongue flicking mercilessly.
“Fuck… Nevaieh…” Anaijiah whimpered, her hands flying to tangle in Nevaieh’s hair. She didn’t pull, just held on, anchors in a storm.
Nevaieh growled in response, the sound a visceral vibration that went straight to Anaijiah’s core. She released her clit, her breath coming in hot gusts. “You taste like me,” she snarled, her voice thick. “Like us.” Then her tongue speared inside, curling, searching.
Anaijiah was dissolving, mindless, a creature of pure sensation. The sharp pleasure-pain of Nevaieh’s stubble on her inner thighs, the wet, filthy sounds of her mouth working, the impossible heat coiling in her belly—it was too much. She was begging, soft, broken pleas falling from her lips. “Please… right there… god, don’t stop…”
Nevaieh didn’t stop. She added a finger, then two, pumping them deep in time with the lash of her tongue. She was orchestrating Anaijiah’s undoing, finding a rhythm that was both punishing and perfect. The pressure built, catastrophic, inevitable.
“Come,” Nevaieh ordered, lifting her head for a second, her chin glistening. Her eyes were black holes of demand. “Come on my tongue. Do it.”
The command shattered the last of Anaijiah’s control. A ragged scream tore from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her, convulsing her around Nevaieh’s fingers, blinding her. Nevaieh didn’t let up, drinking her in, prolonging the shocks until Anaijiah was sobbing, limp against the sheets.
Only then did she pull back. She crawled up Anaijiah’s body, her own breathing labored. She kissed her, deep and filthy, letting Anaijiah taste herself on Nevaieh’s tongue.
“Rule one,” Nevaieh breathed against her lips, her voice raw. “Mine. Every morning. Every night. However I want it.”
She wasn’t done. Her hand slid between their bodies, gripping herself. Anaijiah, still spasming from her climax, felt the blunt, insistent pressure against her entrance. Nevaieh didn’t ask. She pushed in, a slow, inexorable invasion that stretched Anaijiah exquisitely, filled the last empty spaces inside her.
Anaijiah cried out, a sound of overwhelmed pleasure. She was oversensitive, every nerve ending screaming, and the fullness was almost too intense to bear.
Nevaieh began to move, a deep, grinding roll of her hips. Her face was a mask of ferocious concentration. “Rule two,” she gasped, her rhythm building. “You take me. Always. Whenever. However hard.”
She fucked her like that, a relentless, claiming pace. The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, their mingled grunts and moans filled the loft. Anaijiah wrapped her legs around Nevaieh’s waist, pulling her deeper, meeting each thrust. She bit Nevaieh’s shoulder, right next to the new rose, marking the mark.
Nevaieh’s control broke. Her thrusts became erratic, her curses a ragged litany against Anaijiah’s skin. “This cunt… this perfect, tight fucking cunt… it’s mine… say it.”
“Yours,” Anaijiah sobbed, her nails digging into Nevaieh’s back. “All yours.”
With a guttural roar, Nevaieh drove deep and stilled, her body shuddering as she pulsed inside Anaijiah. The heat of her release triggered a second, smaller climax for Anaijiah, a bright, sharp aftershock that left her trembling.
They collapsed, a mess of sweat and spent desire. Nevaieh’s weight was crushing, anchoring. Anaijiah welcomed it.
As their breathing slowed, Nevaieh nuzzled into the crook of Anaijiah’s neck. “Your phone’s been buzzing,” she muttered. “For an hour.”
Reality, cold and unwelcome, seeped back in. Anaijiah groaned. “Kayla.”
“Probably.” Nevaieh didn’t move. “Told you she was trouble.”
“She’s worried.”
“She should be.”
Anaijiah pushed at her shoulder until Nevaieh rolled off with a grunt. The cool air hit her sweat-slicked skin. She found her phone on the floor. Seven missed calls from Kayla. Three from Dove. A string of increasingly frantic texts.
Kayla: Where the fuck are you?
Kayla: It’s 9:30. Your 10 o’clock is here.
Kayla: Ana. Seriously.
Dove: Kayla’s freaking out. You okay?
She sat up, the pleasant soreness now a reminder of her negligence. “Shit. My ten o’clock.”
Nevaieh watched her from the pillow, her expression unreadable. “So go.”
“Just like that?”
“You think I’m gonna chain you to the bed?” Nevaieh sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. The morning light now streamed in, illuminating the multitude of tattoos, the fresh rose, the sheer power of her. “You have a life. I have a life. That’s rule three.”
Anaijiah stood, her legs unsteady. She gathered her scattered clothes. The silence was different now, charged with the morning’s intensity but also a new, quiet understanding. She dressed quickly. Nevaieh didn’t help, just watched, her eyes tracking every movement.
“Tonight,” Anaijiah said, pulling her shirt over her head. It wasn’t a question.
A slow, predatory smile touched Nevaieh’s lips. “I’ll send a car.”
Anaijiah nodded. She walked to the door, her body humming with the echoes of Nevaieh’s touch. As her hand touched the cold steel of the doorknob, Nevaieh’s voice stopped her.
“Anaijiah.”
She turned.
Nevaieh was still on the bed, a queen amidst rumpled sheets. Her face was serious. “Be careful what you walk into.”
The warning was clear. It wasn’t about the streets outside. It was about this. About them.
Anaijiah held her gaze. “I see what I’m walking into.”
She left, the door clicking shut behind her with a sound of finality. In the quiet elevator descending, she leaned against the wall, her mind reeling. The smell of Nevaieh was on her skin, in her hair. Her body ached in the best way. She felt marked, seen, and utterly, terrifyingly alive.
When she pushed open the door to her tattoo shop, the bell jangling too cheerfully, all eyes snapped to her. Dove’s were wide with relief. Kayla’s were narrow slits of pure fury.
Her ten o’clock client, a young man with a sketch of a dragon, looked up from his phone, annoyed.
Kayla stood up from the reception desk, her voice low and dangerously calm. “You’re late.”
Anaijiah walked past her, offering the client a professional, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. Let’s get you set up.” She glanced at Kayla, meeting her furious gaze. “We’ll talk later.”
She led the client to her booth, her hands steady as she laid out her needles. The familiar ritual soothed her. This was her world. Her clean, bright, controlled world.
But as she turned on her machine, the buzz filling the small space, she felt the ghost of teeth on her spine, the imprint of a hand on her hip. The rose on Nevaieh’s arm flashed in her mind’s eye—her art, her mark, now living on the skin of a storm.
She took a deep breath and bent over the client’s arm. The storm was hers now, too. And she had never felt more awake.
The dragon’s scales took shape under her buzzing machine, a blaze of emerald and gold. Anaijiah’s hand was steady, her focus absolute, but her mind was a split screen. Here, the sterile sting of antiseptic, the client’s controlled breaths. There, the memory of crushing weight, the scent of sweat and weed, the sharp bloom of pain-pleasure deep inside her. Each pass of the needle was a heartbeat, each drop of ink a permanence she now understood in her bones.
“You’re quiet today,” the client muttered through a clenched jaw.
“Just concentrating,” she answered, her voice perfectly level. She wiped away the excess pigment, revealing a sharp, gleaming claw. Her own skin felt too sensitive, her clothes a rough whisper against the memory of Nevaieh’s hands. The fresh bites on her shoulder throbbed in time with the machine.
She finished the session on autopilot, her professionalism a shell over the raw nerve she’d become. The client left, pleased, the new dragon coiled around his forearm. The door closed behind him. The buzz of the machine died, leaving a ringing silence.
Kayla was at her in three strides. “Talk. Now.”
Dove hovered by the supply cabinet, a bottle of green soap forgotten in her hand. Her eyes were wide, pleading.
Anaijiah began cleaning her station, methodically capping inks, discarding needles. “There’s nothing to talk about, Kay.”
“Bullshit.” Kayla slapped a hand on the stainless steel table. The sharp sound echoed. “You disappear for over a day. You waltz in here smelling like sex and trouble. You’re covered in fresh marks. Look at me.”
Anaijiah turned. She met Kayla’s furious gaze head-on, didn’t flinch. Dove inhaled sharply, seeing the purpling bruise on Anaijiah’s neck, the reddened scratch marks vanishing beneath her shirt collar.
“I was with someone,” Anaijiah said, her voice low.
“We gathered,” Kayla spat. “Who? Some random hookup from the bar? Because this,” she gestured at Anaijiah’s entire being, “doesn’t look random. This looks like you got hit by a truck.”
“It’s not random.” Anaijiah took a breath. The loft’s silence, Nevaieh’s sleeping form, the absolute certainty of it all rose up in her. “It’s Nevaieh.”
The name hung in the air. Dove looked confused. Kayla’s face went pale, then flushed with a deeper, more profound anger. She knew the name. Everyone on their block knew the name.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Kayla’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Nevaieh? As in, runs the whole south side, teardrop-tattoo-on-her-face, seen-leaving-bodies-in-alleys Nevaieh?”
“She’s a client,” Anaijiah started, defensive.
“She’s a felony waiting to happen!” Kayla interrupted. “What did you do, Ana? Get yourself into some kind of debt? Is that what this is?”
“No.” Anaijiah shook her head, frustrated. How could she explain the magnetic pull, the terrifying rightness? “She came for a tattoo. The rose on her arm. I did it. She… invited me back to her place. For aftercare.”
Dove made a small, distressed noise. “And you just went?”
“Yes.” Anaijiah’s chin lifted. “I went. And I stayed.”
Kayla stared at her, comprehension dawning with horrified clarity. “Oh my god. You’re sleeping with her. You’re actually…” She ran a hand over her face. “Do you have any idea what she is? What her people do?”
“I know what I see,” Anaijiah fired back, the heat of the morning still on her skin. “I know she’s more than what they say on the street.”
“You know nothing!” Kayla snapped. “You’ve been here five minutes. This city eats people like you for breakfast. People like her are the teeth.” She leaned in, her voice trembling with intensity. “What happens when she gets bored? When you see something you shouldn’t? You think your art is gonna protect you?”
The words were meant to wound, to scare. They scraped against a fear Anaijiah hadn’t let surface. She thought of Nevaieh’s vulnerability in the dark, the weight of her arm, the request: Don’t go.
“It’s not like that,” Anaijiah insisted, but the defiance was leaching away, leaving raw uncertainty.
“Then what is it like?” Dove asked quietly, her first words. She looked scared, not angry. “Ana, you’re our friend. You’re family here. We see you coming in with… with marks. You’re not yourself.”
Anaijiah looked from Dove’s worried eyes to Kayla’s furious, fearful ones. These were her people. Her crew. She owed them truth, even if it was messy. She let out a long, shaky breath.
“It’s like… a current,” she began, choosing her words slowly. “You can’t fight it. You just have to decide whether to drown or swim. She’s brutal, yeah. And she’s real. She doesn’t play games.” She touched the bite on her shoulder unconsciously. “When she wants something, she takes it. And she wants me.”
Kayla opened her mouth to protest, but Anaijiah held up a hand.
“But it’s not just taking.” Her voice softened. “Last night, after… everything. She held me. She told me about her brother. The teardrop. She smoked with me. She listened to me talk about my grandma’s roses.” She met Kayla’s gaze, willing her to understand. “This morning, she… she was different. It wasn’t just sex. It was a claiming. She said ‘you’re mine.’ And Kayla, I wanted her to say it.”
The admission lay bare between them. Dove’s hand went to her mouth.
Kayla’s anger seemed to deflate, replaced by a weary dread. “And what happens when you want to stop being hers?”
Anaijiah had no answer. The buzzing silence of the shop rushed back in.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I’m not there. I’m in it. I walked into it with my eyes open.”
Kayla studied her for a long moment, seeing the resolve, the dangerous light in her friend’s eyes. She sighed, the fight leaving her shoulders. “You’re a grown woman. A stubborn, brilliant, idiot grown woman.” She rubbed her temples. “Just… be smart, Ana. Please. This isn’t Miami. The rules are different here.”
“I’m learning the rules,” Anaijiah said, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.
Dove stepped forward, tentatively, and put a hand on Anaijiah’s arm. “We’re here. Okay? No matter what.”
The simple solidarity brought a sudden lump to Anaijiah’s throat. She nodded, squeezing Dove’s hand.
They understood. Not the specifics, not the dark, addictive taste of it, but the essence. They saw her commitment, her recklessness, her fall. It was enough, for now.
The shop phone rang, shattering the moment. Dove jumped to answer it. Kayla gave Anaijiah one last, lingering look—a mix of warning and helpless worry—before turning back to her station.
Anaijiah turned to her own space, the buzz of the interrupted confrontation still humming in her veins. She looked at her hands, stained with dragon’s ink. They were the same hands that had traced Nevaieh’s rose, that had gripped her shoulders, that had clung to her in the dark.
She picked up her sketchbook, flipping past dragons and phoenixes to a fresh page. Her pencil hovered, then began to move. Not with the clear lines of a client’s design, but with a furious, needed energy. She drew dark waves and sharp teeth, a current that both threatened and carried. She drew a single rose, its roots tangled deep in the storm, its petals open to the violent sky.
Outside, a black sedan she hadn’t noticed before pulled slowly away from the curb.