Chapter Two. Trim and Attitude. The Cessna one eighty-two Skylane climbed steadily above the Los Angeles basin, leaving behind the brown haze that clung to the city like a shroud. Ana sat in the passenger seat, her hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles white despite her attempts to appear composed. The week since their interview had been a blur of research, writing, and increasingly explicit text messages from Zee. “Afraid of heights?” Zee asked, his eyes scanning the horizon as he adjusted the plane’s trim. “No,” Ana replied, her voice thin. “Just not used to leaving the ground without a security briefing and a seatbelt sign.” Zee laughed, a sound that still made her stomach clench. “Life’s too short for seatbelt signs, Ana. The best experiences happen when you’re flying by the seat of your pants.” He banked the plane into a gentle turn, the landscape tilting below them. “Tell me what you learned about supersonic flight this week.” She recited facts she’d memorized from engineering journals, her academic knowledge now mingled with personal experience. “At Mach one, shock waves form at the leading edges of the aircraft. The pressure differential can reach twenty pounds per square foot — enough to tear apart a conventional fuselage.” “Excellent,” Zee said, reaching into the storage compartment between the seats. “Now let’s talk about pressure differentials of a more personal nature.” He pulled out a silk scarf — Hermès, of course — and a blindfold. “Ever joined the mile-high club, Ana?” Her pulse quickened. “I’ve barely joined the ground-level club.” “Well, today’s your initiation,” Zee said, handing her the scarf. “And unlike the X one Vector, this aircraft has already been thoroughly tested and approved for... unconventional flight maneuvers.” He guided the plane into a smooth ascent, leveling off at eight thousand five hundred feet. “Now, put this on.” She hesitated for only a moment before tying the silk scarf around her own eyes. The darkness that enveloped her was immediate and disorienting. She could feel the plane’s vibrations more intensely now, hear the engine’s drone more clearly, and feel Zee’s presence as if it had substance. “Good girl,” he said, his voice seeming to come from everywhere at once. “Now, the seatbelt can come off.” She heard the click of her own buckle releasing, felt his fingers brushing against her waist as he undid it. “Hands on the dashboard.” Ana complied, her palms flat against the curved surface in front of her. She heard Zee adjusting his own seat, then the rustle of clothing. When he spoke again, his mouth was close to her ear. “Supersonic flight requires understanding flow dynamics — the way air moves over surfaces,” he said, his hand sliding up her thigh. “The same principles apply to other kinds of flows.” His fingers traced the edge of her panties through the thin fabric of her skirt. “Do you feel that, Ana? The way your body responds to stimulus?” She nodded, unable to form words as his fingers found her c**t, circling it with maddening lightness. “That’s laminar flow,” Zee continued, his other hand unbuttoning her blouse. “Smooth, predictable. But what we’re really interested in is turbulence — the chaotic, unpredictable patterns that generate both drag and lift.” He pinched her nipple, hard enough to make her gasp. “Now, I want you to show me how you handle turbulence.” His hands guided her head down toward his lap, where she found him already hard and waiting. The unfamiliar combination of the aircraft’s movement and the blindfold heightened every sensation — the heat of his skin against her lips, the slight saltiness of his pre-come, the way the plane’s occasional jostles changed the angle and depth of her movements.
