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.
