This was it…this was them, not perfect, not soft around the edges, but real in a way neither of them ever got to have before.
The jet tilted gently, and Meadow’s fingers brushed his thigh as she steadied herself. It was innocent, but Zaire didn’t do innocent well. His hand rose without thought, cupping the back of her neck with slight force as his thumb stroked behind her ear.
He bit the corner of his lip, fighting a smile he didn’t win. “You tryna get fucked on this plane?”
Her head fell forward in a sputtering laugh. “Zaire, can you be serious for two minutes?”
“I am serious,” he whispered, leaning in. “You do a lot of shit that make me want you.”
She swallowed, pulse jumping.
“I brought you up here so you could see the peace you deserve,” she breathed. “The view…the quiet…the space to just be somebody’s dream for once instead of somebody’s work.”
His eyes softened in a way that made her stomach flip. “Say it again,” he said quietly.
“What…that you deserve peace?”
“No.” He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “The part about bein’ somebody’s dream.”
Meadow drew a slow breath, both hands resting on his thighs, her fingers pressing into his warm muscle. “You are someone’s dream,” she whispered, “you’re mine.”
That broke him.
Not in a weak way…in the way men broke when they finally stopped running from hope.
He leaned in, kissing her with slow certainty, like he wasn’t in a rush and didn’t care if the plane never landed. Meadow lifted herself onto his lap, straddling him without hesitation, her hands framing his face while his palms anchored her hips.
Her breath brushed his mouth. “We can’t…we’re in the sky…”
He kissed her again, deeper. “Ain’t nobody up here but us, so welcome to the mile high club.”
The flight attendant had a small curtain pulled that separated them from her and the pilot was busy. The low sound of the playlist Meadow had curated for their date helped keep their flirting private.
The hum of the engine filled the space between their bodies…loud enough to feel, soft enough not to break the spell.
Meadow pulled back. “You remember what you called me?”
His fingers squeezed her hips. “Marai.”
“Do you know why that stuck?” she whispered.
“Nah, why?”
“Because Cinderella ain’t never been made for Black girls in the real world. We scrub floors. We take care of everybody. Welose pieces of ourselves just trying to keep a little bit of magic alive.” Her voice trembled. “But you, Zaire…you show up for me…you make room for me… you hold me like I’m allowed to be wanted.”
She smoothed lines across his thighs.
“And this?” She gestured around the jet. “This is me returning that energy. Pouring into you. So you know you’re wanted too. You’re not just Prince Charming, you’re the big bad wolf. The perfect fit glass slipper…my Northstar.”
Zaire brought her closer until her forehead touched his. His hands slid up her back.
“You the only version of Cinderella I believe in,” he murmured. “The Black one…the one who doesn’t wait for anybody to save her…the one who still got the heart to love even though she never had shit handed to her.”
Her tears brimmed her eyes. “This is supposed to be about you…damn, Zaire!” Angrily, she flicked a tear.
“I love you.”
Meadow kissed him so hard it almost knocked the wind from both of them. Her hips rolled hungrily and too real for the small space between them. He groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her chest.
