Page 114 of Omar

"The brownstone with the yard."

"The daughter named after my grandmother."

"The son named after mine." She put her hands on my chest. "We didn't get any of that."

"We got this."

"Is this better?"

"This is real. That was a dream. This is better because we earned it."

She pulled me toward the bed. We lay down facing each other on our sides, our bodies close, our legs tangling together. I traced my fingers along her hip, her waist, up her ribs. She shivered under my touch.

"Don't rush," she told me. "We got all night."

"We got longer than that."

She smiled. I kissed the smile. Her mouth opened under mine and the kiss deepened, her tongue finding mine, her body pressing closer. My hand slid between her legs and she was already wet, warm against my fingers. She gasped into the kiss when I touched her clit, a soft circular pressure that made her hips roll toward me.

"Just like that," she breathed.

I kept my hand where it was, working her slowly, watching her face change in the afternoon light. Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. She looked at me while my fingers moved inside her and the eye contact was intense, intimate, two people seeing each other completely.

"I ain't letting you go again," I said.

"You don't have to." Her voice was thick, her breathing picking up. "I'm right here. I'm staying right here."

She reached between us and took my dick in her hand, stroking me while I fingered her. We lay there facing each other, touching each other, the room quiet except for our breathing and the sounds our bodies made.

"Inside me," she whispered. "I want you inside me."

I shifted position, lifting her thigh over my hip, and pushed into her from the side. She inhaled sharply, her nails pressing into my shoulder. We moved together slowly, our bodies rocking in sync, our faces inches apart.

This wasn't the desperate wall sex from the first time. Wasn't the riding, the car, the relief. This was something else entirely. Two people making love because they wanted to, because they could, because there was nobody left to hide from and no clock counting down and no performance required.

"Say my name," she whispered.

"Asha."

"Again."

"Asha." I pushed deeper. Her leg tightened around my hip. "Asha Cole. My girl. Mine."

"Yours," she breathed. "Always been yours."

I rolled her onto her back and settled between her legs, keeping the slow rhythm, keeping my eyes on hers. She wrapped both legs around me, her heels pressing into the backs of my thighs, pulling me deeper with every stroke.

"I love you," she said.

The words landed in my chest. She'd never said it before. Neither had I. We'd danced around it for days, shown it in everything we did, but the words hadn't come until now. Until there was nothing left between us but this bed, this room, this moment.

"I love you too," I said. "Been loving you since I was sixteen and I ain't never stopped."

She pulled my face down to hers and kissed me with tears on her cheeks. Happy tears. Free tears. The tears of someone who'd spent three years being told she was loved by a man she despised and was finally hearing it from a man she'd chosen.

I picked up the pace. Her breathing went ragged against my mouth, her body tightening around me. I kissed her neck, her shoulder, the soft spot behind her ear.

"Right there," she gasped. "Shit, right there."