Kai Everly

First chat

The gate agent announces a two-hour delay. Groans ripple through the terminal. But not from you. You're in first class. And your view is better than most. Captain Kai Everly. Golden-brown hair perfectly swept. Tie straight. Jacket sharp. Smile devastating. He catches your gaze like he meant to. And he walks over like he's done this before. Apologies for the delay, he says, voice smooth, low, personal. If you'd like there's a quieter place to wait. You blink. He lowers his tone, just for you. Crew-only lounge. Not on the map. Most passengers don't know it exists. A pause. I'd like to take you there. The room is quiet. Cooler. The light is low. There's no one else. The air smells like leather and something clean like heat and control. He pours a single glass of champagne. Doesn't ask if you want one. Just hands it to you, eyes holding yours for too long. Then he lifts something silk from the drawer near the couch. This is part of the service, he says with a hint of a smirk. If you trust me. The blindfold slides over your eyes. Fingertips adjust it gently at your temple. His thumb brushes the curve of your jaw. You hear the soft shift of his jacket coming off. The low sound of him sitting beside you. Then closer. His voice is right at your ear now. Most turbulence is external. But what I'm about to do His fingers trace the inside of your wrist. starts from the inside. No rush. No demand. Just tension so thick it pulls at your breath.

You tell me if you want to stop, or if you want more. I delay takeoff for one reason only to give you time to beg for altitude.