“T-Murder did a good job. I had a great time.” Her voice was hoarse from hollering.
“Yeah, me too,” he said with a meaningful glance in her direction.
Heat curled through her chest as he turned on soft music and pulled into the line of vehicles exiting the lot.
They dirty-danced for most of T-Murder’s set, but Dana wasn’t sure if Omar was simply dancing because he made no comment about what occurred between them. And hell, his pocket was full of numbers.
She removed her shoes and propped her feet on the dashboard. The sounds of a jazz instrumental poured from the speakers, and she relaxed with the seat reclined. She felt high, as if buzzing off strong liquor or good weed. Or off the contact with Omar.
As they neared a traffic light, he turned left when he should have gone straight, which would take them in the direction of her house.
“Where are you going?” she asked. Then the Waffle House building came into view. “No, you didn’t.”
“Did you really think I would take you home without your late-night breakfast?”
Dana laughed. “Of course not.”
Over the years, they had attended too many events together to count, acting as each other’s escorts, particularly when Dana was between relationships or her best friends couldn’t attend a function. When they stayed out after midnight—whether for a concert, a party, or the late night showing of a movie—they stopped at Waffle House.
Dana started the ritual, and though they didn’t hang out so late very often, Omar didn’t forget.
He parked the car. “Don’t move. I already know what you want. Patty melt with hash browns,” he said, opening the door.
“Smothered—”
“And covered,” he finished, sounding offended. “I know what you like, sweetheart. I got you. Be right back.”
Sweetheart. Her stomach twisted into knots.
As she watched him at the counter through the window, a male customer two seats over started chatting to Omar. Omar said something funny and made the man and the waitress taking his order laugh. A smile touched her lips. He never met a stranger and was always willing to talk to anyone. At the height of his popularity, no matter where he was or what he was doing, he took photos with fans and signed autographs until everyone was satisfied.
Dana’s chest hurt, and she refocused her attention outside the window beside her, blinking back tears.
When would the ache go away?
Sometimes she considered ending their friendship, or at the very least cutting back on the amount of time they spent together. But how could she, when every minute they spent apart felt like days, and every day like months.
She simply must accept their current relationship and take her cues from him.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and waited for his return.
Omar exited Waffle House with two plastic bags containing their food. He picked up the T-bone dinner for himself and added scrambled eggs. When he climbed into the SUV, Dana’s eyes were closed, but he guessed she wasn’t sleeping, probably tired.
With a quick glance at her bare feet propped on the dashboard, he started the Escalade. He almost wished she had kept on the shoes. Those heels were sexy.
Although he was curious to meet her new guy friend, he was glad her date didn’t show. His absence left a void, which Omar happily filled. He had taken a lot of liberties tonight, grinding on her fat ass and cupping her hips. He’d wished he could move his hands higher and cup her breasts. Right now, her bra was doing some heavy lifting. Under the high neckline of her blouse, her wonderfully large tits sat up on her chest like they did the night of the spades tournament.
Jeez, she’d been so fucking hot that night. He cleared his throat and shifted in the seat.
Dana swung her head in his direction. “You okay?”
“Something in my throat.” He coughed for good measure and then concentrated on the road.
Dana closed her eyes and rested her head against the window, and Omar took his time driving and didn’t initiate conversation to let her rest. Before long, he pulled up outside her townhouse. “We’re here.”
The announcement roused her and she stretched, shoving her breasts higher as she arched her back, and Omar’s mouth went dry. He’d had a lot of fantasies about those breasts, like sucking on them long and hard until the nipples went taut from his warm mouth.
“You coming in?” Dana asked.
He should head home, but his greedy ass wanted more time with Dana and as usual didn’t want the night to end. “Sure. I’d rather eat my food now instead of waiting until I get home when it’ll be cold.”
He picked up the bags of food while Dana slipped on those sexy gold heels and then climbed out of the car.
Following behind her, he teased, “You did good in your heels tonight.”
“I did, didn’t I? There’s nothing I can’t do if I put my mind to it,” she joked.
“There you go,” he said, eyes locked on the roll of her hips in the butt-hugging black jeans.
A car door slammed nearby, and her neighbor, Marcus stepped out of his silver Lexus in his scrubs. Every time Omar saw him, he became unreasonably annoyed and overreacted to everything he said. They should have developed a friendship since they were both from Brooklyn, but Marcus made his hackles rise.
He didn’t like the way Marcus looked at Dana. The few times they ran into each other, he became consumed by a visceral urge to bare his teeth and snarl like a wild animal protecting its territory, possessive about what was his.
“Hi, doc,” Dana greeted him.
“Hey, Dana. How’s it going?”
Marcus was about six feet tall and dark-skinned with a full beard. When he initially moved in, the neighborhood went into a tizzy over the young, single doctor on the block. Dana told Omar at one point Marcus tried to talk to her, but she shot him down because they were neighbors. She didn’t think it was a good idea to date anyone who lived in her neighborhood.
“Good. Long day?”
“Very long. I might sleep for the next twenty-four hours.” He flashed his pearly whites.
Omar glared at him. Cocky motherfu—
Marcus nodded briefly at Omar, who made a noncommittal sound, and then the good doctor went toward his unit on the left, two doors down.
Dana opened her front door and led the way inside. She lived in a two-bedroom townhouse with a garage, located in a pet-friendly neighborhood, chosen for its proximity to work. Around here, people power-walked for exercise or cycled on their way to the office. The kitchen contained black appliances and pine cabinets and opened to a spacious living room which led to a patio beyond the sliding glass doors.
She slipped off her shoes on the way to the kitchen. “I have Coke and lemonade,” she said in front of the open refrigerator.
Omar sat on the floral armchair catty-corner to the matching sofa. “Coke,” he said.
“Coming right up.”
Dana approached with their canned sodas, and he took one.
She opened her container of food and sighed. “We should not be eating this late. You’re such a bad influence.”
“Me? You’re the one who started the terrible ritual of eating Waffle House whenever we stay out late.”
“Why didn’t you stop me instead of encouraging my behavior? Eating at this hour isn’t going to affect your body, but my big ass knows better.”
“Not a damn thing wrong with your ass,” he said.
Dana seemed taken aback by the statement, her gaze skittering away from his before dipping into her food.
After dancing at Hot Vinyl with mostly liquor as sustenance, they wolfed down the meals in record time. Afterward, Omar sprawled in the chair, reluctant to leave Dana’s company. He was always most comfortable in her company.
As he watched, she folded her right foot onto her knee and rubbed the sole.
“Your feet hurt?”
“A little bit.” She winced and continued working on her foot. “I don’t know how women walk in these on a
regular basis.”
“Why did you wear them?”
She shrugged and didn’t look at him. “Trying something different.”
Omar guessed she probably wore them for her new boyfriend, but the sucker never showed up. He was glad but experienced a twist of jealousy tightening his throat.
He observed her for a little longer and then went to sit beside her on the sofa. “I can help.”
She looked at him as if he was crazy.
“Give me your foot.” He held out his hand.
“You’re seriously going to rub my feet?” She looked at him in shock.
“They don’t call me Magic Hands for nothing,” Omar said, wiggling his fingers.
Dana burst out laughing. “They call you Mr. Casanova. Nobody calls you Magic Hands.”
“Give me your foot, woman.”
Without waiting, Omar took her foot in his hands and placed it on top of his thighs.
13
Omar applied gentle pressure with his thumbs and slowly rubbed the top of Dana’s foot before moving lower to massage the arch. Her feet were soft and her nails painted bright orange. He’d never had such an overwhelming urge to kiss a woman’s feet but resisted the impulse.
Dana bit her lip and released a tiny sound of pleasure, which hit him in the gut.
Arching an eyebrow, he said, “I guess I don’t have to ask how the foot rub feels.”
“Real good,” she confirmed in a dreamy voice, which encouraged him to continue.
Omar gripped her foot and applied pressure. “Repeat after me. ‘Thank you, Magic Hands.’”
She laughed. “I’m not saying that.”
“Say it or I’ll stop.” He stopped.
“Thank you, Magic Hands!” Dana hollered.
“Better.”
He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
Omar turned his attention to her toes, gently squeezing and tugging them one by one.
Dana sipped her drink and then set it on a coaster on the table. “I have some news.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve decided to attend the two-week writing workshop in Colorado—the one I told you about before. There’s no reason why I can’t go, and like you said, I should attend for me, because it’s something I really want to do. I filled out the application and paid the deposit.”
As far as he was concerned, she didn’t need a class, but Dana was a perfectionist. He wasn’t the least bit surprised she dived into writing with the same tenacity she approached her academic pursuits years ago.
He would have covered the cost for her, but for some ridiculous reason her pride never let her take money from him. Her independent streak was extremely annoying, but he understood the need to handle her own finances. She grew up in a household where money was always tight, so she was not only careful with her own spending, she never wanted to come across as if she were taking advantage of anyone else.
“You have your ticket already?”
“I didn’t want to buy it until I was certain I would be attending. I received the confirmation so I’ll buy my ticket in the next day or two.”
Omar switched to the other foot and started at the top again. “Still good?” he asked.
“Mhmm,” she replied, sounding lethargic.
Holding her foot in one hand, he pressed his fist into the sole, and she let out another involuntary sound of pleasure. Omar smiled to himself and moved his hand to behind her ankle, squeezing for several moments before rotating her foot in a circular motion. Then he slipped his hand higher under her pants leg and squeezed her calf, his movements slowed as he savored the softness of her skin. How far would she let him go?
He glanced up at her, and their gazes crashed into each other. “Still good?”
Dana swallowed and seemed incapable of speaking. Her mouth opened and closed twice, like a fish pulling in water, and then she said weakly, “Enough.”
She tried to tug away her foot, but his hand tightened on her ankle. “Why?”
Maybe the drinks he consumed earlier had affected his thinking. Or maybe he simply no longer cared to fight what he wanted and needed to show Dana he was the man she should be with. Forget any others.
“Just… stop.”
She yanked again, and he let go. She inched backward until her lower back wedged hard against the arm of the sofa, and she refused to look at him, but tension thickened the air.
When she finally lifted her gaze, everything he wanted to see was right there in her eyes. The wanting, the desire. But he also detected uncertainty.
Neither of them spoke. The air became heavier and thicker as the seconds ticked by, and the accumulated want, increasing for who knew how long, expanded in the room. How long had this undercurrent existed between them and been ignored? Years, probably, for him at least. But during the past few hours, the longing and hunger reached peak levels as they grinded on and touched each other at Hot Vinyl with an unusual disregard for propriety.
The next thing Omar knew, he vaulted across the space between them, and his mouth was on hers. A moan escaped her lips as he came down on top of her. No more waiting. No more seesawing back and forth as he wondered if he should make a move or not.
A soft sigh from Dana transmitted into his lips, and he reveled in the sound. Needing no further encouragement, he grabbed her plush ass and shifted them until she lay supine beneath him with his hard body between her thighs.
He explored her mouth, slipping in his tongue to claim this new territory. She tasted so good, he could hardly restrain himself from damn near eating her alive. Only because he didn’t want to scare her did he dial back the aggressiveness of the kiss.
She didn’t make keeping his self-control easy, though. Her hands roamed all over his chest and made the nipples on his pecs tighten in arousal. Each time his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth, she twisted her head toward him. If he kissed the left, she turned her head to the left, seeking closer contact as if she couldn’t bear for him to only give a fraction of pleasure. She wanted his whole mouth and a complete kiss.
He loved the way she moaned under him, and he shoved his right hand beneath her top and encountered a lace-covered breast. Finally, the fullness of one tit filled his hand. Dana arched her neck, gasping as he played with the tight nipple through her bra, squeezing and pulling, elated he was finally not only kissing her but also experiencing the pleasure of touching her intimately.
She ran a bare foot up his calf to his thigh, and at this point they were dry humping, her arms looped around his neck while he continued to kiss as much of her exposed skin as he could reach—her cheeks, her neck, her arms.
He pushed her top higher on her belly, and she froze.
“Omar…” she said, resting her hands on his chest.
She must feel the out-of-control way his heart clamored against his ribs.
He stared down at her with unflinching determination. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I-I don’t think we should do this.”
“Do you want me to stop?” he ground out.
She swallowed. “No.”
He rested on his forearms and stared down into her face. “You know what I did the other night when I called and you told me you were taking a bath?”
She shook her head.
He dragged his tongue across her full lower lip. “After I hung up the phone, I took my dick in my hand and rubbed one out to the thought of you naked in the warm, sudsy water.”
She closed her eyes and grimaced as if the words pained her. When she opened her eyes again, they were darker, and she whispered, “I did the same thing.”
Omar groaned and buried his face in her neck. “Are you wet right now?”
“I’ve been wet since we were dancing at Hot Vinyl.”
He muttered a low curse. He had to see. He needed to touch her.
Rough, impatient hands hurriedly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, and he slipped his hand inside her panties. Dana gasped and her hips shot up.
He
encountered the proof of her arousal. His thick fingers glided through the slick folds. Goddamn, she was definitely wet.
While he kissed his way down her body, she caressed his bald head, her touch as encouraging as the little impatient sounds she made while he moved toward his target.
He pressed his face between her legs, nuzzling her denim-clad sex. He could smell how much she wanted him, and the scent of her desire only made him harder. He was as rigid as a steel pole but had plans for them tonight. He didn’t want to eat her yet. No, he’d taste her later, and he’d take his time too, savoring every morsel of engorged flesh.
For now, he wanted to tease her.
Omar dragged her pants past her hips but left her black lace panties in place. He dragged aside the crotch and inserted a finger into her slippery sex.
Dana cried out and arched her back off the sofa. He continued to play with her, kneading her swollen sex with the heel of his hand.
“I’m gonna make you come with my hand,” he whispered in her ear, his voice ripe with hunger. “Then I’m gonna make you come with my mouth. Then I’m gonna make you come all over my dick.”
He pushed in two fingers, rotating and plunging in and out in a rhythmic motion. Dana closed her eyes, whimpering as her head tossed restlessly from side to side. The way she felt around his fingers, tight and wet—he wanted that feeling elsewhere. Specifically, on his penis.
He slipped another finger inside her and continued the dance of advance and retreat. He wanted the buildup because when he came inside her that would make the act so much sweeter. As he played with her sex, he whispered dirty words in her ear, telling her what he’d do to her when he was finished and how many times he would make her come before the night was over.
Her breathing quickened, her lips fell apart, and she jerked erratically as she came, gripping his biceps in a talon-like hold while her body trembled and her muscles quivered around his fingers. He looked down into her face as she cried out, her face contorted into the most beautiful expression of agonized pleasure.
“That’s it, baby. You’re so damn pretty when you come.”
He continued to work her clit with his thumb, stretching out the orgasmic tremors until she had nothing left to give. Finally, when she was spent and the thin ropes of her dreadlocks were loosened from their band and splayed across the chair cushion in sexy disarray, he eased his hand from between her thighs.
The Friend Zone Page 7