31. Asha
Asha
The apartment was quiet when we got back from Portia's. Omar locked the door behind us and I stood in the hallway for a moment, just breathing. The debrief with Kadeem was done. Stone had reviewed everything. The Associates meeting was set. All the pieces were moving now.
I went to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed with my small bag next to me. One change of clothes, my phone charger, my wallet. Everything I owned that Supreme hadn't bought me fit into a bag the size of a purse.
All of it. The performing, the smiling at the right times, of making sounds while Supreme wanked himself off, of eating dinners across from a man who ordered people killed between courses.
Three years of saving money in an account he didn't know about, of planning exits I never took, of lying in the dark counting the days until I could leave.
And now I was here. In Omar's apartment. In Bed-Stuy. With my bag on the bed and Supreme's people searching for me and no plan beyond tonight.
I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd spent so long planning the escape that I hadn't thought about what came after.
The freedom had no shape to it. No schedule, no performance, no Cee in the waiting area, no Supreme coming home expecting dinner and compliance.
Just quiet. Just this room and this bed and the sound of Omar moving around the kitchen.
He came in after a while. He didn't ask if I was okay because he could see the answer. He sat down beside me on the bed, close enough that our shoulders touched.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Portia fed me enough for a week."
"That's Ma. She thinks love is measured in portions."
I almost laughed. "She's wonderful."
"She is."
We sat there for a minute. His hand found mine between us on the bed, his fingers lacing through mine.
"I've got you," he said quietly. "Whatever happens next, I've got you."
I turned to look at him. His face was serious, steady.
He meant it. Every part of him meant it.
This man had put his family's operation at risk for me.
He'd told Kadeem everything, brought Stone to the table, sent Shanay into the salon.
He'd built an entire extraction around getting me out of Supreme's cage and he'd done it because he genuinely cared about me.
I kissed him. Softly, my hand on his face, my thumb against his cheekbone. He kissed me back with the same softness, his hand coming up to the back of my neck, holding me gently.
This kiss was different from all the ones before it. There was no urgency, no stolen minutes, no Cee waiting in a car, no Supreme coming home. There was just us in a quiet apartment with the whole night ahead and nowhere to be tomorrow.
"Take this off," I whispered, tugging at his shirt.
He pulled it over his head. I ran my hands across his chest, his shoulders, the scar on his arm. I kissed the scar again because I'd done it before and I wanted to feel him react to it the same way.
"Asha." His voice was rough.
"Yeah?"
"I need you to know something."
"What?"
"This right here." He put his hand over mine on his chest. "This ain't temporary. This ain't me getting you out of a situation and then walking away. You understand?"
"Yeah." My voice cracked. "I understand."
He lifted my shirt over my head. His hands moved down my sides, along my ribs, settling on my waist. He pulled me onto his lap, my knees on either side of his hips, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
We undressed each other slowly. His hands on my bra clasp, easing it off.
My fingers at his belt, pulling it through the loops.
He laid me back on the bed and slid my jeans down my legs.
I lifted my hips to help. He took my underwear off last, pulling them down carefully, his lips following the path of the fabric down my thigh to my knee.
He knelt between my legs and looked at me lying there. His eyes moved over my body and there was something in his face I'd never seen before. Reverence, maybe. Or wonder. Like he still couldn't believe I was here in his bed and free and choosing to be with him.
"Stop staring," I whispered.
"Never." He leaned down and kissed my stomach, then lower, his mouth moving down until his lips were between my thighs.
His tongue found my clit and I gasped, my hand going to the back of his head. He licked me slowly, taking his time, his tongue moving in long strokes that made my back arch off the bed. He wasn't rushing. He wasn't performing. He was giving me something and I was letting him.
"Oh shit," I breathed. "Right there."
He stayed right there. His tongue working in circles, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me open for him. My body was getting wetter, my hips moving against his mouth. He slid a finger inside me while his tongue kept working and I made a sound that surprised both of us.
"More," I gasped.
He added a second finger, curling them upward while his mouth stayed on my clit. The combination was devastating. My hands gripped the sheets, my legs shaking on either side of his head.
"Omar, I'm gonna..." I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Let go, baby. I got you."
I came on his mouth with my back arching off the bed, my hand gripping his hair, tears running down the sides of my face into my ears.
The orgasm hit me so hard my whole body shook and I couldn't stop crying.
The tears came from somewhere deep and exhausted.
Three years of tension releasing at once, three years of faking it for a man I despised, and now this man between my legs was giving me something real and my body didn't know what to do with it except shake and cry.
Omar came up from between my thighs, his face wet. He saw the tears and stopped.
"You okay?" he asked, his hand on my face. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." I shook my head, more tears coming. "You didn't hurt me. I'm just... I'm okay. I promise. Keep going."
He wiped my tears with his thumb. "You sure?"
"Omar Baptiste, if you stop right now I will never forgive you."
He almost smiled. He kissed me and I could taste myself on his lips. He stood up long enough to push his jeans and boxers off, then his body settled over mine, his weight on his forearms, his hips between my legs. I reached down and guided him inside me.
He pushed in slowly. I was still sensitive from coming on his mouth and the feeling of him filling me made fresh tears slide down my temples. He stopped halfway.
"Keep going," I told him. "Please keep going."
He pushed the rest of the way in and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper.
He started moving slowly, long deep strokes, his eyes on mine.
Our breath mixed between us. I kept my eyes open too because I wanted to see him.
I wanted to see the face of a man who was making love to me because he wanted to, because I wanted him to, because we chose each other.
"You're crying," he said softly.
"Yeah."
"You want me to stop?"
"If you ask me that one more time I swear..."
He kissed the tears off my cheeks. His hips kept moving, slow and steady, hitting deep on every stroke. I ran my hands down his back, feeling the muscles working underneath his skin.
"I missed you," I said. "Every single day for fourteen years."
"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.