19. Omar
Chapter nineteen
Omar
Golden curls fell across a pillow of snow white.
I lay transfixed, my eyes in perpetual motion, drinking in every inch of Matty I could see above the covers. Pasty white skin, so smooth and clear, contrasted with my dark tones and black hair. What dreams drove his eyes to dart and shift beneath his heavy lids? I wished some work of magic or advanced technology could allow me to see his sleeping visions. Was I in his dream? Were thoughts of me curling his lips as he slept?
Reaching out, but careful not to touch his skin, I traced a finger along the shape of his cheek, then his lips, then down his chin to his neck. Matty had never seen an ounce of fat, much less struggled with it on his body, and the sharp angle of his chin against his neck was model-perfect. My hand lingered there, desperate to touch the Adam’s apple that bobbed as he swallowed.
He sucked in a deep breath and shifted but didn’t roll onto his side.
I froze, not wanting to wake him—or to get caught gawking at his sleeping form.
Once he settled, my gaze was drawn to his chest. The covers were pulled to his neck, so all I could see was the rise and fall of his breathing beneath a plush comforter and sheet; and yet, the steady, hypnotic rhythm was everything. It was Matty’s life, a manifestation of how easily he drew in breath and somehow captivated me.
I couldn’t turn away.
I wished I never had to.
Then a thought intruded on my perfect moment.
What are you doing? a voice asked in my mind. You’ve known this guy, what, five weeks, and you’re already putting out? Worse, you’re giving him your heart.
Stop it. Matty’s not like other guys. He’s one of the good ones , I muttered in my mind.
The voice’s laugh was filled with derision. Keep telling yourself that. They’re all the same.
My experience with dating had not been great. Hell, my longest relationship lasted two months, and that was only because the guy lived across the country, and we only saw each other three times during that period. Did that count? Was that a relationship? Did total time outweigh actual time spent together—or how many dates we’d been on?
Did this game even have rules?
I was such a bad gay.
Or maybe, I was just a bad guy.
Was I the common denominator, the reason none of those attempts at letting someone in had failed? Was I too walled-off? Too protective—or defensive, or whatever a psychologist would call it? All guys couldn’t be jerks, though that had certainly been my experience thus far.
What if, now that Matty got his sex, he lost interest?
The question stuck in my throat.
That’s how guys work. They love the hunt then toss you aside when they get what they want.
That fucking voice again. Why did someone, way back during the early days of evolution, allow inner dialogue to develop? Sure, it might be a great way to process events or experiences, but that stupid, vile voice always found a way to remind me how inadequate I was, how I would never measure up to anyone—to my father. Staring at the beautiful boy beside me, enjoying the glow of our closeness and warmth of his touch, I couldn’t help but wonder if I could measure up to his compassion and goodness. Hell, the guy brightened a room just by entering it. I’d never been able to do that. Matty was special.
And he wanted to be with me?
Something about that didn’t add up. I didn’t need my nagging voice to tell me that.
This would end in tears, just like all the others. It was only a matter of time.
Matty’s whole body jerked, then his eyes twitched and darted so fast I could barely keep up. He was running or chasing something or—was he replaying our little couch exploration? I wanted to check his pulse, to see just how much his heart raced at those dreams, but dared not lest he wake.
I watched him and grinned.
The look of utter panic on his face when I’d told him I wanted him naked had been priceless. Maybe panic wasn’t a fair term. He looked shocked. For weeks, he’d known me as the demur, borderline shy bloke who begged to take things slowly. Then BAM! , I was ripping his shorts off and sucking him dry. I bet he thought, when the day came, he would have to pry my clothes off me and prod me to have sex.
Oh, no, mon frère . Oh, no.
That had to be a head spinner.
I stifled a laugh at the double entendre.
His saltiness still lingered on my tongue.
No longer able to resist, I reached across and moved a curl off his forehead. The darn thing never stayed in place—and I loved it. It gave me a constant excuse to touch him, to tend to him, to care for him.
God, nurses are such caretaking messes!
I giggled to myself and arranged more of his hair. Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Well, hey, you.”
I jerked my hand back to find gray eyes struggling to adjust to the light streaming through the partially curtained window.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He smiled, all bleary and “little boy who just woke up.” My heart sang.
“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for—
"Wait, you were awake?” I blinked in horror. “For how long? I was . . . I’ve been—”
“Watching me sleep.” A sly grin replaced his innocent one as he finished my sentence. “I know how to play possum, sug. I even snuck a peek or two when you thought I was snoozing. You’re cute when you think you’re getting away with something.”
Well, that hadn’t gone as planned.
I propped myself up on an elbow and went back to work on his hair, no longer concerned with being delicate or waking the dead. He turned his head and leaned into my touch, pressing his face into my palm.
“I like waking up and seeing you first thing,” he said, his voice dreamy and distant. “You make me feel good, Omar.”
I make him feel good? Sweet mother of pearl. He made brass bands play in my chest and fireworks flash behind my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy looked at me with such, I don’t know—it wasn’t simply attraction, not from Matty. His emotions were more complex than a single word.
Admiration? Respect?
It felt as though Matty saw me as his equal. He asked for my thoughts and opinions, not to extend conversation, but to understand how I felt and what I wanted. The guys of my past never cared much for anything outside of my cock—a fabulous feature, I must admit, but not the basis of a lasting bond.
Bondage maybe, but not a bond.
I chuckled.
Matty cocked his head. “Care to share?”
“Sorry.” I leaned down and kissed his shoulder. “My mind’s a bit racy this morning.”
He smiled, reached up to run his fingers through my hair, then said words that stilled all my doubts.
“You were in my dreams.”
“Really? Not nightmares, I hope.”
He grinned. “Nope. Not even close.”
I tried to keep my eyes locked on to his, but his stare was so intense, so raw. He didn’t hide behind a screen or veil. He didn’t try to mask his emotions or guard himself. Matty was just, well, Matty. That was one of the many things that drew me to him, but it was also something that terrified me.
For most of my life, I’d lived in the open, yet never allowed anyone to see me. My father’s role demanded a level of propriety barely understood by most people. If a high-ranking, devoutly Muslim member of the Egyptian delegation had a gay son, who knew what might happen? The pyramids might sink back into the sand. The sphinx might bite off its tail to match its nose. Egypt, a civilization cultivated over thousands of years, might cease to exist.
All right, maybe I was being a tad dramatic.
Still, it felt that way.
I could never just be myself.
Hell, I couldn’t even lower my shield at home. Mother and Father knew of my sexuality but dared not speak of it. They tolerated my “hidden differences” because we kept them hidden, neatly swept beneath the tapestry of our perfectly woven lives, away from the light where prying eyes might see too much.
What would they think if they met Matty?
That chilled my heart.
Matty wasn’t simply a gay man. He was a proud, out, fabulously over-the-top queen of whatever desert he chose to inhabit. And that was an understatement.
Mother might be amused by his outrageousness, but Father would detest “how gay he was.” I could already hear the words. I didn’t need to see the movie; I knew the script.
And now that he was to become the ambassador, the crowning achievement of a lifetime of work, the pressure to remain perfect and unsullied would be even greater. I thought moving to a different continent with an ocean between us would tamp down those expectations, but I still felt them. That darn ocean was a different conductor for my parents’ moral demands.
Why did life have to be so complicated? All I wanted was to be happy.
When was the last time I felt that way? I meant happiness, that light-hearted freedom to be and not worry about what anyone else thought?
Ironically, it was when I last visited Egypt, visited my Teto.
Teto was my respite, a tranquil oasis amid a sea of sand.
And she lived a million miles away in our homeland—a homeland I had only visited a few times and barely remembered. Yet, a homeland that guided so much of what I thought and how I lived.
Or was it how I was forced to live?
I hadn’t wasted much mental energy on untangling that puzzle. What difference did it make if shackles were self-imposed or placed on my wrists by my parents or teachers or society? They were restraints, regardless of their origin.
Resentment was useless. It changed nothing. I knew better.
So why did I feel it so?
“Hey, you okay over there?” Matty trailed his fingers across my arm, so gently it made me shiver with his tickling touch.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry, was just lost in thought.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I hesitated.
Did I want to talk about it? Had I ever vocalized how I felt? Had I ever even come to terms with it myself?
Why did I have so many unanswered questions?
“Was last night okay? Are you having second thoughts about—”
“No!” I snapped, far sharper than I intended. Matty pulled back, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, no. I regret nothing about last night.”
He chewed his bottom lip, then stuck his toes in deeper water. “So, I have to ask, what happened? I mean, what changed?”
“In what way?” I asked, perplexed.
“Well.” He paused to suck on his lip again, his eyes looking everywhere but into mine. “Before . . . like a minute ago . . . we were waiting and being good boys. Then, out of nowhere, you were tossing my undies across the room and sucking my cock like the Hoover Dam.”
I had to cover my mouth lest he think I laughed at his vulnerable moment. He was being serious for once.
“Don’t laugh at me!” He slapped my arm.
I let my amusement loose. “Sorry, it’s just . . . the Hoover Dam doesn’t suck anything. It contains and releases, which might be apt for what you did down my throat, but it would be a poor description of what I did, from my perspective, at least.”
He crossed his arms over his bare chest, making his pecs pooch out.
“You know what I mean, Omar Gamal. Don’t get sassy with me.”
I cocked a brow. “Or what, boy?”
He wilted, a wicked smile forming, then thrust a finger toward me. “That! That’s what I’m talking about. You were such a shy little thing and then, WHAM, you were all ‘Get on your knees, boy,’ and ‘I’m going to rock your world, boy.’ I don’t even remember when you started calling me boy. It just happened. Where did that Omar come from? And where was he hiding?”
I grinned and shrugged. “I suppose I had to get comfortable with you before showing my alter ego.”
“So, are you always a Daddy? Is that even what I would call you?”
I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. “I am whatever you want me to be, Matty, nothing more. We don’t need silly names or titles or roles. We just need each other. At least, I mean, not that we need each other. This is new, and there’s no pressure or anything. God, did I just say I needed you? I’m such an idiot.”
He mirrored my gesture, leaning forward and kissing me, his hand stroking my cheek as he did. It was such a simple motion, but one packed with more meaning than words could convey.
“I like it when you word vomit. It’s cute. Besides, you’re always so put together. It’s nice seeing you let your hair down and just be human for a change.”
How could he think I was perfect all the time? I was a bloody disaster most days. And when it came to relationships and dating or whatever we were doing, I felt as lost and mindless as a child stumbling through dark woods. Half the time, I wondered if I was even supposed to be in the woods, much less figuring out how to navigate them.
How could Matty not see what a mess I was?
What distorted version of me had he witnessed?
“I’m sorry,” he said, probably sensing my inner turmoil. “I shouldn’t push—”
I pressed a palm to his chest, stilling his words. “Matty, you are one of the best things in my life right now. Whatever this is between us is new, and I would never put the carriage before the horse—or however you Yanks say that ridiculous phrase—but I know I want to learn more. I want to be with you more, to discover what makes you tick and smile and grumble. I want to see you first thing in the morning and laugh at your hair.”
He faux gasped. “Thou shall not jest at the expense of my golden locks.”
I couldn’t suppress a snort, though I tried by burying my face into his arm.
“You are ridiculous. You know that, right?”
His grin made the darkness in my bedroom flee.
“But you like me anyway.”
I leaned down and pressed my lips to his, then pulled back and smiled, my gaze no longer wavering. “I certainly do, Matthew Vance. Very much.”