Page 82 of Omar

"I'm right here." He kissed my forehead. "I ain't going nowhere."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

I pulled him closer, my arms tight around his back. He buried his face in my neck and we moved together, the rhythm building gradually, his breathing getting heavier against my skin. I was close again, the second orgasm building from somewhere lower and deeper than the first.

"Faster," I whispered into his ear.

He picked up the pace, his hips driving into me harder. I met every thrust, my hips rising to his. The bed shifted underneath us. His hand went to my thigh, hitching my leg higher on his hip, changing the angle.

"Fuck," I gasped. "Right there, stay right there."

He didn't stop. He fucked me harder, deeper, his mouth at my ear saying my name over and over like it was the only word he knew. I came again with my legs locked around him, my nails digging into his back, a cry coming out of me that I couldn't control. He followed me seconds later, pushing deep, his whole body going rigid against mine. His breath caught, his forehead dropped to the pillow beside my head, and he exhaled my name one last time into the fabric like he was giving it back to me.

We lay there in the aftermath. His weight on me, heavy and warm. My arms still around him. Our breathing ragged, our skin damp. He rolled to the side eventually but kept his arm across my stomach, his face against my shoulder.

The room was quiet. The apartment was quiet. Brooklyn was quiet outside the window, or as quiet as it ever got.

"I need to tell you something," I said after a while.

"What?"

"The last three years." I rolled onto my back and looked at the shadows on the wall. "I need to tell you what it was actually like. Being with him."

Omar didn't say anything. His hand tightened slightly on my stomach.

"He didn't beat me," I said. "People always assume that's what it was, some kind of physical abuse situation. But Supreme didn't need to hit me. He kept me by being kind when it suited him and terrifying when it didn't. He'd cook for me one night, then order someone's family threatened the next day. He'd buy me flowers, then have Cee follow me everywhere. He'd hold my hand in public like I was the love of his life, then unpack my bag when I tried to leave."

I paused. Omar waited.

"The worst part wasn't the fear. The worst part was the pretending. Having to smile at him, kiss him, make sounds while he... while he did his thing. Performing being a woman who loved him when every part of me was screaming to get out. That's what it does to you. Years of it. It hollows you out until you can't remember what your real face looks like."

Omar pressed his lips against my shoulder. "You don't gotta perform nothing with me. Ever."

"I know."

"Your real face is the one I'm looking at right now."

I turned my head to look at him. His eyes were steady, calm, certain.

"I want to believe that," I said.

"Then believe it."

I put my head on his chest. His hand went to my hair, moving through it slowly. The room was dark now. The streetlights filtered through the blinds, casting stripes across the ceiling.

My eyes got heavy. For the first time I didn't have to perform the act of falling asleep. I didn't have to lie there with someone's arm across me waiting for their breathing to change so I could finally let my guard down. I was lying with a man I'd chosen, in a bed I wanted to be in, and when sleep came for me I let it.

The last thing I heard before I went under was Omar's heartbeat against my ear. Steady and strong and mine.

Chapter 32

Asha

The voice note came through on my phone. Nene's voice, tight and controlled, the way she sounded when she was scared but trying not to show it.

I was in the kitchen making coffee when the notification buzzed. I picked it up expecting Omar. It wasn't.