Page 5 of Omar

The mattress dipped as he climbed in next to me on top of the covers. He was bare from the waist up, his white undershirt rolled in his hand, his pants already undone. He turned the lamp on his side up to half and the light made a warm gold circle over us.

"Roll over here, baby," he said. "Let me see them pretty eyes."

I did as he asked.

He was up on one elbow already, watching me, that smile on his mouth I'd learned to recognize. Soft. Expectant. Smug. His other hand was resting low on his stomach where his pants gaped open.

"Hey, baby," he said.

"Hey."

"I missed you."

I didn't answer that one.

"I been thinkin' bout you all the way home," he said, sliding that hand down inside his pants. His eyes did a slow drag along my body. "Whole drive. You know what I need."

I knew what he needed.

He pushed his pants down off his hips, kicked them off the side of the bed, and took his semi hard cock in his hand. He gave himself a long slow stroke, exhaled, gave himself another, looking over at me to make sure I was looking.

"Tell me what you see, baby," he said.

"I see you," I told him.

"Yeah you do. Mmm. Damn, baby."

He wanked himself slowly, taking his time, watching my face as much as he watched his own hand.

"You see what you do to me?"

"Yeah, Premie, I do." I see that you get off having me watch you wank, knowing deep down that I don't want to be here. That I'm forced to be here or you'll likely kill me and hunt my sisters.

"Look at this," he said, angling himself toward me. "Look at this dick. This dick is yours. Whose dick is this?"

"Mine."

"Damn right it's yours," he muttered. "Damn right." His head tipped back against the pillow and a long groan rolled out of his chest. "Fuck. Look at me, baby. Look at what you doin' to me."

"I'm lookin'," I told him.

"Tell me."

So I told him. I told him slow because slow was how he wanted it, low and steady, mirroring back to him exactly what he wanted to hear about exactly what he was doing to himself. His eyes half closed. His mouth fell open. The sounds coming out of him were wet and unguarded, more whine than moan, and I lay there watching the man whose name made grown men in this borough cross the street suddenly become this.

Dangerous, terrifying Supreme in his own bed, eyes rolled back, talking dirty to himself.

"Oh fuck, baby," he panted. "Oh fuck. Fuck."

His hand sped up. His breath caught. He whined like a man being undone, watching himself watch me, and I thought: if Nene could see me right now.

"Tell me you watchin'," he gasped.

"I'm watchin'," I said back.

"Oh fuck. Oh... yeahhh."

He came with a long shuddering moan, mouth wide, head thrown back, a noise crawling out of his throat I wouldn't have recognized as his if I hadn't heard it eighty thousand times before. His hand stayed wrapped around himself. He'd made a mess of his hand and his stomach, and he didn't seem inclined to do a thing about it.