James
One of the perks of flying private was that the jets provided a kind of white noise that made the whole cabin feel cocooned from the world.
Calla didn’t do anything halfway, not even a quick trip to New York.
True Black fashion meant we were flying on her brother’s private jet, a sleek, obsidian bird cutting through the clouds.
Amiyah sat across from me, curled into one of the cream leather seats, her curls tucked under a silk scarf, barefaced and still somehow the most beautiful person I’d ever seen before noon. Calla was beside her, laptop open, a glass of wine already in hand like she’d earned it just by existing.
I’d been sitting there, watching them both, thinking about how damn right it felt, us, here, together, able to be just who we were with no judgment, when the thought hit me.
If this kept going the way it felt like it was, what would forever look like?
“So,” I said finally, setting my bourbon down. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
Amiyah glanced up, eyes soft and curious. Calla didn’t look away from her laptop, but I saw the faint lift of her brow. “That sounds dangerous,” she said dryly.
I smirked. “You’d be surprised. I just wanted to ask y’all about what you want long term.”
That got her attention. The laptop closed with a soft click. “Define ‘long term,’ Carter.”
I shrugged, leaning back. “Marriage, kids, y’know that kind of thing.”
Amiyah tilted her head. “What about you?”
“Me?” I ran a hand down my beard, buying myself a second. “I don’t want kids. Never really have. I like my peace too much. But commitment… I could see that. Marriage, if it feels right.”
Amiyah hummed, thoughtful. “You know, I’ve never really wanted kids either. I used to feel weird about saying that out loud, like it made me less of a woman or something.”
“It doesn’t,” I said immediately, meaning it.
She gave me a small smile before continuing.
“I guess part of it’s because I grew up mostly alone.
My parents died in a car accident when I was ten.
My grandparents raised me, but they were gone by the time I was twenty-two.
Since then, it’s just been me, Lena, and her family.
I’ve tried to find other family, but…” Her voice faltered, her fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve.
“I can’t seem to locate any living relatives. ”
The silence that followed was heavy. Calla reached over without hesitation, her hand covering Amiyah’s.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Her voice softened in a way I didn’t think I’d ever heard before.
“You didn’t deserve to lose that much that early, but you have us now and everyone we love as an extension of us. ”
Amiyah’s chin trembled as she blinked hard. “Sometimes I tell myself I’m fine, you know? That I’m used to being alone, then I meet people who make me feel safe, and it hits me all over again.”
Calla didn’t say anything else, just got up, and sat beside her. She pulled Amiyah in, letting her cry quietly into her shoulder. I sat there, watching them, the two of them wrapped in that quiet kind of intimacy that didn’t need an audience.
And damn if it didn’t hit me right in the chest, I was in love with both women; they were the physical embodiment of fire and ice, structure and chaos, two halves of a whole that completed me.
When Amiyah’s tears had slowed, Calla smoothed a hand down her hair, her own expression distant for a moment before she spoke.
“I used to think marriage was everything,” she said softly.
“That it was the one goal every woman was supposed to chase. Then I watched my parents’ marriage burn from the inside out.
Sr. is the kind of man who believes love is ownership, and any woman who knows her worth should fall in line.
He drilled into me that powerful men cheat, and if I was smart, I’d learn to accept it. ”
Her voice didn’t waver, but her eyes hardened. “He broke my mother down piece by piece. And when she couldn’t take it anymore, she shut down instead of leaving. I told myself I’d never be her, and for a while I thought that meant I had to be like him, cold, detached, in control.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Now I know better. Marriage doesn’t guarantee happiness. It damn sure doesn’t guarantee forever, and knowing that, I’d rather have something honest, something healthy, something custom crafted for me.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, because what the hell could I say?
I knew Caleb Black Sr. by reputation, a broken child pretending to be a man who wore power like a tailored suit and left wreckage in his wake.
Hearing it from Calla’s mouth, though… that was different.
It was personal. It was pain turned into armor.
“You’re not him,” I said quietly.
She looked at me, her expression unreadable, and for the first time, I realized she needed to hear it just as much as I needed to say it.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she said finally.
We sat there for a while, the whir of the jet filling the silence. Amiyah was nestled against Calla’s side now, her breathing slow, calm again. I continued to watch them both, and something was settling in me, a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time.
This wasn’t chaos. This connection was real, messy, and unfiltered, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to control it; I just wanted to be present and feel it.
By the time our jet touched down at Teterboro, the mood had shifted.
The heavy stuff from the flight lingered somewhere in the air behind us, not in a bad way, more like we’d all exhaled and decided not to pick it back up again because there was an understanding of not only our wants and needs, but also the pieces of us that helped shape them.
Calla had swapped her silk blouse for a fitted hoodie and leggings that looked far too good on her to be considered “casual,” and Amiyah, well, she had this big grin on her face that told me she was plotting something. I didn’t trust it one damn bit, but it was cute as hell.
We slid into the waiting black luxury SUV, of course, because Calla didn’t do “regular” and headed into Manhattan.
She was on her phone, handling some last-minute emails, while Amiyah was pressed against the window, eyes bright, as we crossed the bridge into the city.
I could feel her excitement vibrating through the seat.
“You act like you’ve never been here before,” I teased.
Amiyah turned, grinning. “Not like this, I haven’t! Private jet, Aman hotel, Comic Con? This is luxury nerd behavior, baby.”
Calla chuckled low under her breath without looking up. “You’re welcome.”
When we pulled up to the Aman, it felt like stepping into another world, warm wood, minimalist lines, and that subtle scent of money that no candle could ever replicate. The concierge greeted us by name, of course, and I smirked when Calla realized I booked the presidential suite.
“That civil servant money must pay better than I think,” she giggled, her hand rubbing my chest.
I chuckled as the elevator doors closed, and Amiyah was practically bouncing on her toes. “Okay, okay, I have to tell you both something before we get upstairs.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” Calla murmured.
Amiyah’s smile was all mischief. “I picked our Comic Con costumes.”
I groaned. “Oh, hell. I said you could choose, but that don’t mean—”
“It’s too late,” she interrupted. “They’ve already been delivered to the room. I promise we’re gonna be some sexy ass cosplayers.”
Calla arched an elegant brow. “Sexy, huh? I’m intrigued.”
Amiyah just grinned wider.
The doors opened to the suite, and even I had to admit, it was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling windows with the city stretched out beneath us, a soaking tub the size of a small pool, and a dining table already set with champagne and fruit.
Amiyah dropped her bag and immediately darted for the garment rack near the window. “Okay! No backing out now.”
She pulled out three costumes like a magician showing her hand.
Calla laughed first, a rare, unguarded laugh that made my body ache with need and my heart beat with joy. “Oh my God, Amiyah.”
“Wait, what the, are those Naruto characters?” I asked, squinting.
Amiyah nodded proudly. “Yup. I’m Hinata. Calla, you’re Lady Tsunade, and James…” She held up a black-and-green outfit with fingerless gloves and tactical boots. “You’re Kakashi.”
I stared at it. “The dude with the mask?”
“Yes, the dude with the mask,” she giggled. Her grin turned wicked. “You’ve got the voice and the attitude already. All you need to do is look mysterious and occasionally be mean to me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re a menace.”
Calla held her costume up to her body, eyeing it with a smirk. “So I’m the Hokage? Fitting.”
“Absolutely,” Amiyah said, biting into a strawberry like she’d just pulled off a heist, her face full of surprise at Calla knowing about her character. “You’re the boss of everything, even in cosplay,” her voice dripping with seduction and a need to be told what to do.
Calla smirked, setting her costume aside and grabbing a flute of champagne. “Come here.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Amiyah answered, sauntering over to Calla.
I watched Amiyah stand in front of Calla as Calla’s hand went to her throat and pulled her within an inch of her mouth.
Drinking the champagne she held in her other hand, she pulled Amiyah’s mouth to hers, kissing deep and nasty, causing Amiyah to moan.
Seeing the ease and comfort between my women, the heat under their words, the easy laughter that came so naturally, and the way they touched each other, not only did my dick get hard, but something inside me eased again.
This was us, doing what Calla said on the jet, tailoring a love that was just for us. It was imperfect, messy, but also fun.
Pulling back from Amiyah, Calla had nothing but lust in her eyes. “Strip and sit on the table, I’m starving,” she demanded.
I watched Amiyah remove every piece of clothing from her curvy, plush body as she sat on the table and spread her thighs, showing Calla her wet, sticky pussy.
“Fuck,” I cursed at the scene unfolding before me, my dick straining against my thigh.
“James,” Calla called as I looked at her. “It’s a meal for two.”
As I walked over, Calla reached for my hand, drawing me in until we were both standing over Amiyah. Her voice dropped to a whisper that brushed my ear.
“Watch me. Then help me.”
The words weren’t an order as much as an invitation. The tension between us wasn’t just lust, it was trust, every breath, every glance, a wordless conversation about want and power and belonging.
I shed my clothes, my rock-hard dick throbbing as it sprang free. Calla’s hand snaked out, grabbing my shaft, smearing the precum that oozed from the tip, across the head of my dick, her eyes never leaving mine as she licked her fingers.
“On your knees, James,” she commanded, her voice a sultry whisper. “It’s time to eat.”
I complied, kneeling beside the table, my eyes level with Amiyah’s glistening pussy.
Calla sat in the chair beside me as her hand guided my head to its destination.
I could smell her arousal, leaving me intoxicated.
My tongue darted out, tasting her sweet nectar.
Amiyah moaned, her hips bucking against my face as Calla pushed two fingers inside her.
Calla joined me as she got on her knees, entangling her tongue with mine as we licked, sucked, and tongue fucked Amiyah until she was crying out, gushing out, and writhing against the table and our tongues.
Coming down from her orgasm, she eased off the table and made her way to the bathroom to clean up the mess she’d made and test the fit of her costume.
Calla leaned close enough for her perfume to hit me full force: amber, smoke, a seductive hint of danger. “You’re smiling,” she said softly.
“Can’t help it,” I admitted. “This feels good.”
She tilted her head, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile but definitely wasn’t neutral. “It does, doesn’t it?”
Before I could answer, Amiyah’s voice called from behind the bathroom door, “Okay! Don’t freak out, but I look hot as fuck!”
I exchanged a look with Calla. Her lips twitched. “Oh, I believe her,” she murmured.
I knew then, Comic Con hadn’t even started yet, but I was in deep trouble.