20. Matty
Chapter twenty
Matty
Me : Omar’s in the bathroom. We only have a minute.
Sisi : Um, okay. Is there some Mission Impossible thing we need to do? Did I miss a briefing?
Me : Stop it, silly. Although, I could snoop while he showers.
Sisi : Matthew Michelle Obama Vance, don’t you dare. You are a slut but not a creeper.
Me : Slut? I’ll have you know I gasped in alarm at that text.
Sisi : LOL. Was there a reason for this conversation? What am I missing?
Me : OMG, Sisi, I think he might be the one. Or, at least, the one right now. Or the one for now. I’m not sure what the right term is.
Sisi : Slow down, Speed Racer. What happened?
Me : Well, I was tired after a long day, so he invited me to his place where he cooked an Egyptian dish then led me to the couch, where he took total charge, stripped me down, and sucked the life out of my pecker.
The dots were still for a long moment, then danced, then stilled, then danced again.
Sisi : That’s descriptive.
Me : God, his tongue is good. You should feel it.
Sisi : Hard pass.
Me : You would love it. It’s long, and he can curl it just right.
Sisi : Matthew, I am about to channel the wrath of my entire island on your ass, and not in the way you hope to get from Omar soon. How many times do I have to tell you I am not a vampire?
Me : A vampire? You lost me.
Sisi : I do not suck the life out of just anyone. I have standards.
I snort-laughed so loud I had to cover my face with a pillow, worried Omar might’ve heard.
Me : I know you, Sisi. Your standards are lower than the ride on your trashy, piece-of-shit car.
Me : This is about me, not you. Focus.
Sisi : Fine. You had sex. Woo-hoo. You knock that out on the first date with most guys. Why’s this such a banner event?
Me : Because we were waiting, and, well, because he kind of took charge. No, it wasn’t kind of. He totally took charge and turned into this alpha wolf or something. It was so freakin’ hot, Sisi.
Sisi : Did he slap you around? I’ve wanted to do that since the day we met.
Me : Ha, no. There was no slapping. He was just, I don’t know, forceful isn’t even the right word. He just went from this shy, scared little rabbit to a raging inferno in two point three seconds flat. I never saw it coming.
Sisi : I bet you did . . . see it coming, I mean.
Me : STOP THAT!
Me : Oh, shit. The door is opening. Gotta go!
“You have a couple of options,” Omar said as he rubbed his wet head with a towel. Another towel was secured tightly around his waist, giving a good view of his very lean, very furry torso. Wiry black hair curled and sprouted in all directions, covering his runner’s build in a pelt I wanted to devour.
“Okay.” I popped up onto my knees like a kid waiting to get picked for dodgeball. “Talk to me. I’m good with decisions.”
Omar chuckled. “I can cook breakfast, or we can go to a local diner around the corner. At home, we’re down to blueberry pancakes and bacon. At the diner, well, you can get whatever greasy mess is on the menu.”
He finished drying his hair and held the now-wet towel by his side. His head looked like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket, with hair flying all over in a disheveled mess. In short, he was sexy as hell. I wanted to grab his hair and yank it back and—
“So, pick your pleasure,” Omar said, interrupting my racing mind.
“You cooked last night—a fabulous meal, by the way. Let’s go out this morning. Today’s my treat.”
He smiled. “I will never argue with a man spending pounds on me.”
I giggled.
“What?”
“It sounded like you were saying I wanted to pound you.”
He shook his head. “Pounds. As in British dollars, you horny goofball.”
“So the pounding is out?” I pooched out my lower lip.
“I just worked up the nerve to drink you like a milkshake, then hold you all night. Give me a minute before going all sledgehammer on me, all right?” His grin widened as his head tilted. “Although, with you sitting there so obedient and half naked, the sound of a good pounding has a definite ring.”
“You can ring my bell anytime you like, my Arabian prince.”
“Oh, God, he’s resorting to Aladdin . Egypt is not Persia or Arabia. I know you Americans struggle with maps and geography when it stretches beyond your borders, but please, do not start making ‘rub my lamp’ references.”
I knee-walked to the edge of the bed so our chests were only inches apart. I could feel his breath warm against my skin. With my index finger, I started with his chin and traced a line down the center of his chest to his navel, teasing where his towel was tied. He squirmed, and I thought he might run away, but he stayed still.
“You can rub anything of mine you like, Omar Gamal. I won’t even restrict you to only three wishes.”
“That’s because my wish is your command, boy.”
And just like that, I almost piddled.