Chapter 6: Flying High
The hum of the private jet’s engines was a low, constant frequency in Anaijiah’s bones. She stared out the window at the blur of Miami’s coastline shrinking into a toy model, then nothing but endless, indifferent blue. The champagne flute in her hand felt alien, a prop in a movie about someone far more certain.
Nevaieh’s hand settled on her thigh, over the soft gray fabric of her sweats. The touch was simple. Proprietary.
“Nervous?” Nevaieh’s voice was a vibration against her ear, closer than she’d realized.
“I don’t know what I am.” Anaijiah took a sip, the bubbles sharp on her tongue. “This isn’t exactly a Spirit Airlines experience.”
Across the aisle, Nayah was already asleep, a silk mask covering her eyes, one of Nevaieh’s studio managers snoring softly beside her. Up front, Kayla Bri scrolled through a tablet, headphones on, occasionally laughing at something. The privacy was immense, dizzying.
“Get used to it.” Nevaieh’s thumb began to move, a slow, sweeping arc over her thigh. It traced the outline of the peacock’s feathers through the cloth, a map only she could read. “This is the baseline.”
The claim from the podcast booth had been a thunderclap. This was the quiet, settling rain. Anaijiah felt her muscles unlock, one by one, under that deliberate touch. She let her head fall back against the seat, watching Nevaieh’s profile. The morning light through the window cut across the dark ink on her neck.
“Thank you,” Anaijiah said, the words quiet but clear.
Nevaieh glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “For the jet?”
“For last night. For showing up at my gate.” She swallowed. “For the truth.”
A faint smile. Nevaieh’s fingers pressed a little harder, finding the tension at the seam of Anaijiah’s leg and coaxing it loose. “Don’t thank me yet. L.A. is a different animal.”
The jet soared into a patch of cloud, the world outside turning soft and white. Inside, the cabin felt like a separate universe. Nevaieh’s hand slipped from her thigh to the blanket pooled in her lap. She tugged the soft cashmere up, covering them both.
Under the veil of grey fabric, her hand returned. This time, her fingertips skated under the elastic waistband of Anaijiah’s sweats. The contact was electric, a direct line to her core.
Anaijiah’s breath hitched. She flicked her eyes toward Nayah, motionless. Toward Kayla, absorbed. Nevaieh watched her face, her own expression unreadable, a challenge and a comfort in one.
“Relax,” Nevaieh murmured, her voice barely audible over the engine’s drone. Her fingers dipped lower, past the waistband of Anaijiah’s panties. They traced the top of her pubic bone, a ghost of a touch that made Anaijiah’s stomach clench.
She was entirely still. A statue with a racing heart. This was different from the dark, swallowed sounds of the booth. This was daylight audacity, a test of control conducted in plain, hidden sight.
Nevaieh’s middle finger found her center, already slick with anticipation. She didn’t push inside. She simply circled, a torturously slow orbit that drew a tremor up through Anaijiah’s entire body. Anaijiah bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, the tang of blood a sharp counterpoint to the building pleasure.
“See?” Nevaieh’s lips were at her temple, her breath warm. “You can be quiet.”
It was a reference that burned. The audio clip. The exposed whimper. Here, now, silence was a pact. Anaijiah nodded, a tiny, desperate movement. She focused on the cloudscape, on the steady hum, on anything but the exquisite, gathering tension between her legs.
Nevaieh’s touch grew more intentional, applying perfect, maddening pressure. Anaijiah’s hands fisted in the blanket. Her knuckles were white. Every nerve was screaming, wound tight as a spring. She could feel the climax building, a wave about to break in total silence.
Just as the edge blurred, Nevaieh stilled. She removed her hand completely, resting it back on Anaijiah’s thigh over the blanket. The loss was a physical ache, a void.
Anaijiah’s eyes flew open, wild and questioning. Nevaieh just looked at her, a dark, satisfied gleam in her gaze. She brought her fingers to her own mouth, tasting them slowly, never breaking eye contact.
“Good,” Nevaieh said, her voice a rough stone. “Save it for me.”
She leaned back in her seat, as if nothing had happened, picking up her phone. Anaijiah sat there, vibrating, utterly unraveled. The promise hung in the recycled cabin air, thick and potent. She was strung tight with unmet need, her body a live wire Nevaieh had simply chosen not to touch.
Kayla looked up from her tablet then, pulling one headphone off. “You guys good back there? We start descent in twenty.”
“Never better,” Nevaieh said, her tone smooth as glass.
Anaijiah managed a stiff nod, pulling the blanket higher. The city would be there soon, a sprawl of unknowns. But all she could think about was the landing, the hotel room, the closing of a door. The silent scream finally let loose.
The silent scream finally let loose in a slow, shuddering exhale that fogged the window glass. Anaijiah pressed her forehead to the cool plastic, watching her breath condense and vanish. Her body was a traitor, still humming from a finish line she hadn’t been allowed to cross.
“Descent in ten,” the pilot’s voice crackled, impersonal and jarring.
Nevaieh stretched, the muscles in her arms corded and ink-shifting, as if she’d just woken from a peaceful nap. She caught Anaijiah’s stare. “Eyes on me, not the void.” It wasn’t a request. Anaijiah turned her head, finding that dark, steady gaze waiting. The connection was a tether, pulling her back from the edge of her own skittering thoughts.
Nayah stirred, peeling off her sleep mask. “Ugh, my ears are already popping. I hate this part.” She blinked at them. “You two look… intense. Everything cool?”
“Peachy,” Anaijiah said, her voice surprisingly level. She smoothed the blanket over her lap, a useless gesture.
Kayla swiveled her chair around, all bright energy. “Okay, game plan. Car service is meeting us on the tarmac. We’re heading straight to the hotel to drop bags, then Nevaieh and I have the studio meet-and-greet at three.” She pointed a finger at Anaijiah and Nayah. “You two have the suite. Pool, spa, room service. Try not to burn it down.”
The plane angled downward. The shift in pressure matched the squeeze in Anaijiah’s chest. Reality was re-engaging, fast and loud. The private bubble was popping.
“What’s the hotel?” Nayah asked, digging for lip balm.
“The Chamberlain, in West Hollywood.” Nevaieh answered, but she was watching the LA basin rise to meet them through the window, a vast grid of smog and aspiration. Her knee brushed Anaijiah’s, a faint but constant pressure. “It’s discreet.”
The wheels touched down with a shriek of rubber and a jolt that traveled up Anaijiah’s spine. They were here.
The jet slowed, taxiing past lines of commercial giants. The sunlight in LA was different—a pale, bleaching glare that made everything look simultaneously crisp and washed out. A black SUV idled exactly where Kayla said it would be, a driver standing sentinel beside the open door.
Stepping onto the stairs, the heat hit Anaijiah like a wall. It was dry, carrying the unmistakable scent of jet fuel, hot asphalt, and distant, dusty hills. It smelled nothing like home. Nevaieh’s hand found the small of her back, guiding her down the steps, the contact burning through her thin shirt.
“Welcome to the machine, mami,” Nevaieh said, her voice low enough that only Anaijiah could hear. The words weren’t welcoming. They were a confirmation. The game had changed boards.
The driver loaded their bags. Kayla was already on her phone, talking about deliverables. Nayah was snapping pictures of the jet, her influencer mode clicking on. Anaijiah stood on the tarmac, unmoored.
Nevaieh held the car door open for her. As Anaijiah slid in across the cool leather, Nevaieh leaned in, her body blocking out the overwhelming light for a second. “Breathe,” she instructed, simple and direct. Then she followed, her large frame settling beside her, filling the space, and the door thudded shut, sealing them in quiet, tinted darkness.
The SUV pulled away. The jet, their temporary sanctuary, grew smaller behind them. Ahead, the maze of freeways awaited.
Nevaieh’s fingers laced through hers, tight, anchoring. The ache from the plane was still there, a live wire under her skin, but it was merging now with a sharper, more present buzz of anticipation. The city streamed past the window, a relentless scroll of promise and threat.
They were in LA.
The SUV slid through LA traffic, a silent shark in a river of brake lights. Anaijiah watched palm trees stand sentinel over concrete, their fronds still in the windless haze. Everything felt simultaneously immense and suffocating.
“You’ll love the pool,” Nayah chattered from the front seat, swiveling around. “It’s got these insane views. We need content, Ana. Smoldering looks, cryptic captions. Let them wonder.”
“Let them choke,” Nevaieh said, not looking up from her phone. Her thumb scrolled rapidly through a contract.
Kayla laughed, a bright, sharp sound. “Play nice, Nev. The studio execs like ‘approachable.’ Or at least ‘not actively hostile.’”
“They like money. I make them money.” Nevaieh finally pocketed her phone. She glanced at Anaijiah, who was chewing her thumbnail. “Stop that.”
Anaijiah dropped her hand, tucking it under her thigh. The Chamberlain rose before them, a understated tower of glass and pale stone. It whispered wealth, the kind that didn’t need to shout. Valets swarmed the car the moment it stopped.
The lobby was a cathedral of cool, quiet air. The scent of tuberose and cleaned marble hung heavy. Anaijiah’s sneakers, still faintly grass-stained from her backyard, felt ludicrous on the polished stone floor. She stuck close to Nevaieh’s shoulder.
“Keys for the Premiere Suite, and for the Bungalow,” the concierge said, sliding two keycards across the desk with a practiced smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
Nevaieh palmed them. She handed one to Kayla. “Suite’s for you and Nayah. Bungalow’s for us.” It wasn’t a discussion. “We meet back here for the car at 2:45. Don’t be late.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kayla saluted, grinning. She linked arms with Nayah. “C’mon, content queen. Let’s go find the overpriced smoothies.”
They disappeared toward the elevators, their laughter echoing. Suddenly, it was just the two of them in the vast, silent lobby. The tension from the jet, never truly dissipated, condensed instantly around them like a fog.
“This way,” Nevaieh said, guiding her not to the main elevators but down a long, art-lined hallway that opened onto a private courtyard. Their bungalow was a separate, low-slung structure shrouded in lush, tropical foliage. It promised absolute silence.
Nevaieh unlocked the dark wood door. It swung open.
The space was minimalist, all clean lines, bleached wood, and enormous glass walls overlooking a secluded, walled garden. A vast bed, low to the ground and stark white, dominated the room. It looked more like an altar than a place to sleep. Cool air hummed from invisible vents.
Anaijiah stepped inside, her suitcase wheels quiet on the oak floor. The door clicked shut behind them with a final, heavy sound. The roaring silence of the place was immediate and profound. It was the first time they had been truly, completely alone since the sound booth.
Nevaieh dropped her bag, the thump unnaturally loud. She walked to the glass wall, her back to Anaijiah, and looked out at the shimmering leaves. “You’ve been quiet since we landed.”
“You told me to be quiet,” Anaijiah said, the words out before she could stop them. They hung in the cool air, a direct callback to the jet, to every loaded silence between them.
Nevaieh turned slowly. A smile, dangerous and slow, touched her lips. “So you were listening.” She crossed the room, her footsteps silent. She stopped just inches away, not touching her. “You’re vibrating.”
“I’m tired. It’s been a long morning.”
“Liar.” Nevaieh reached out and caught a loose curl of Anaijiah’s ginger hair, twisting it gently around her finger. “You’re wound so tight I could pluck you like a string. You have been since the plane.” She tugged gently, pulling Anaijiah’s head back just a fraction. “Since I left you hanging.”
Anaijiah’s breath caught. The directness was a lance through her carefully maintained composure. She could smell the clean cotton of Nevaieh’s shirt, the faint, familiar scent of her skin underneath. “Was that the point?”
“Yes.” Nevaieh released her hair. Her hand drifted down, fingertips barely skimming the column of Anaijiah’s throat, over the rapid flutter of her pulse. “I wanted you thinking about this. Only this. All through that pointless drive, in that stupid lobby.” Her thumb pressed down lightly on Anaijiah’s collarbone. “Not about Brooklyn, or podcasts, or L.A. Just about my hands on you. About what happens when I decide you’ve waited long enough.”
A shudder wracked Anaijiah’s frame. She was laid bare by the words, her own need named and claimed. “And have I?” she whispered. “Waited long enough?”
Nevaieh’s eyes darkened, the playful glint hardening into something molten. Her gaze dropped to Anaijiah’s mouth. “What do you think?”
The space between them evaporated. Nevaieh’s mouth captured hers, not with the slow exploration from the backyard, but with a consuming hunger that mirrored the ache coiled in Anaijiah’s belly. It was a kiss of reclaiming, of promise fulfilled. Anaijiah’s hands fisted in Nevaieh’s shirt, pulling her closer, surrendering to the momentum she’d been riding since the jet’s engines first roared.
Nevaieh walked her backward, never breaking the kiss, until the backs of Anaijiah’s knees hit the edge of the immense bed. She broke away, her breathing ragged. “The phoenix,” she said, her voice rough.
It took Anaijiah a dazed second to understand. She turned, presenting her back to Nevaieh. Hands, clever and strong, pushed her loose tee up and over her head. They made quick work of her bra clasp. The cool air of the room hit her skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of Nevaieh’s gaze on the magnificent bird inked across her shoulder blades and down her spine.
A low sound escaped Nevaieh, something between appreciation and possession. She traced the rising flames with a single fingertip, from the tail feathers at the base of Anaijiah’s spine all the way up to where the wings spread across her shoulders. The touch was reverence and brand all at once.
“Mine,” Nevaieh murmured against her skin, right over the phoenix’s heart. The word wasn’t a growl this time. It was a vow, soaked in heat.
Her hands slid around Anaijiah’s waist, pulling her flush against her body. She kissed the junction of her neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to make Anaijiah gasp. One hand splayed across her stomach, holding her still. The other slid decisively down, past the waistband of her sweats and panties, finding her wet and desperate.
“No quiet this time,” Nevaieh commanded, her mouth at Anaijiah’s ear. “I want to hear it.”
And she did.
And she did.
The sound was ripped from her, a raw, unfiltered gasp that cracked into a moan as Nevaieh’s fingers sank into her. There was no audience here, no microphone, just the stark truth of her own voice shattering the curated silence of the room. Every withheld sensation from the jet, every moment of tense uncertainty since the podcast, coalesced into a sharp, rushing current. She arched back against Nevaieh, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the taut muscles of her forearms.
Nevaieh’s other arm locked around her ribs, holding her upright as her knees buckled. “That’s it,” Nevaieh gritted out, her breath hot and ragged against Anaijiah’s ear. Her movements were relentless, a precise and punishing rhythm that sought out every secret, trembling part of her. “Let me hear what’s mine.”
The climax hit her not as a wave but as a sudden, violent detonation. Her vision whited out at the edges, sound dissolving into a high, thin ringing. She cried out, a broken thing, as her body convulsed against the steady anchor of Nevaieh’s hand. The world telescoped down to that single, shattering point of connection.
Then, silence. The kind that follows a storm.
Nevaieh carefully lowered them both onto the cool duvet, not letting go. Anaijiah trembled, aftershocks rolling through her in slow, warm pulses. She was aware of the damp heat between her legs, the sweat cooling on her back, the heavy, satisfied weight of Nevaieh’s body half-draped over her.
For a long time, the only sound was their slowing breath syncing in the quiet room. LA’s faint, constant hum was just a rumor beyond the glass. Nevaieh pressed a kiss, startlingly soft, to the flaming wings of the phoenix. “Okay?” The word was rough, but the edge was gone.
Anaijiah could only nod, her face buried in the pillow. She was more than okay. She was unmade. The performance was over. All that was left was this soft, bruised reality.
Sunlight, the peculiar pale gold of Los Angeles, cut across the bed in a wide, burning stripe. It painted the dust motes swirling in the air, illuminated the faint smoke-smudge of eyeliner still under Anaijiah’s eyes, glinted off the tiny gold hoop in Nevaieh’s nose.
Anaijiah woke by increments. First, to an ache—a deep, pleasant soreness in muscles she’d forgotten she had. Then, to warmth. The solid, relentless heat of another body curved around her back, an arm thrown heavily over her waist, a hand splayed possessively on her stomach. Nevaieh’s breath stirred the curls at her nape, slow and even.
She didn’t move. She cataloged the feeling. The cotton sheet soft against her bare legs. The unfamiliar, clean scent of hotel linens. The particular weight of Nevaieh’s arm, pinning her in a way that should have felt confining but instead felt… certain.
Last night flooded back, not in a rush, but in a slow, vivid roll. The desperate noise she’d made. The way Nevaieh had watched her face the entire time, drinking in every flinch, every gasp. The subsequent, slower taking, the exploration that left her tattooed skin feeling thoroughly mapped. Her face heated against the pillow.
Nevaieh stirred behind her. The arm tightened, pulling Anaijiah tighter against her. A low, sleep-thickened murmur vibrated against her shoulder blade. “You’re thinking too loud.”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“Liar,” Nevaieh said, but there was no bite to it. She nuzzled the spot where Anaijiah’s neck met her shoulder, her lips soft. “Regrets?”
It was a genuine question. Anaijiah heard the slight tension beneath it. She shifted, turning in the circle of Nevaieh’s arms until they were face to face on the pillow. Nevaieh’s hair was a wild halo, her features relaxed in sleep but sharpening as she focused. In the morning light, she looked younger. Softer.
Anaijiah reached up, tracing the bold lines of script inked along Nevaieh’s collarbone. She didn’t answer the question directly. “Last night… on the plane. That was cruel.”
A flicker in Nevaieh’s dark eyes. Acknowledgement. Not apology. “It was necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed to remember who was in control.” Nevaieh captured her wandering hand, lacing their fingers together against the sheet. “Because I needed to know you’d let me have it. All of it. Even the frustrating parts.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Probably.” Nevaieh brought their joined hands to her mouth, pressing a kiss to Anaijiah’s knuckles. Her gaze was unnervingly direct. “But it’s us. I don’t do things halfway, Ana. I warned you.”
And she had. In her backyard, under the Miami stars, she’d laid it bare. It’s a claim. This was the visceral, uncomfortable reality of that claim. It was manipulation and protection woven into the same thread. It was leaving her strung out on a jet only to meticulously unravel her in this quiet room.
Anaijiah studied their tangled fingers, the contrast of their skin. She thought of Brooklyn’s sneer, the exposed sound of her own pleasure played for an audience. Of Nevaieh’s voice, growling through the mic, a shield thrown up with brutal efficiency. The ends and the means were a tangled, messy knot.
“I’m not a thing to be controlled,” Anaijiah said, her voice quiet but clear.
“I know.” Nevaieh’s response was immediate. “You’re a force. Controlling a force is impossible. You just… aim it. Or get out of its way.” She shifted, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling, her bicep now a pillow for Anaijiah’s head. “I’m not aiming you. I’m just standing where you’re going.”
The metaphor was clumsy, strangely earnest. It was the most vulnerable thing Nevaieh had ever said to her. Anaijiah propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at her. The morning light caught the silver in her nose piercing, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
“That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.”
Nevaieh’s lips twitched. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my brand.” She smoothed a hand over Anaijiah’s riotous curls. “What do you want to do today? The studio thing is just business. You and Nayah could go to the Getty. Shop on Rodeo. Be tourists.”
The offer was a peace treaty. An out. A return to something approximating normal.
Anaijiah lowered her head back onto Nevaieh’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of sex and sleep and her. The city was outside, vast and waiting. Kayla and the studio meeting loomed. The world was there, with all its complications.
But here, in this sunlit bed, there was only the quiet hum and the solid, undeniable warmth beneath her cheek.
“I think,” Anaijiah said, closing her eyes, “I just want to be here until we have to be somewhere else.”
Nevaieh’s chest rose and fell in a deep, satisfied sigh. Her arm came around Anaijiah again, holding her close. “Okay.”
Outside, a car honked. A siren wailed in the distance. The machine was stirring.
But for now, there was only the glow.