by J. D. Mason
Was that his invitation?
She reached for his hand, and pulled him inside. “C’mon.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The last time Lola had been naked in front of a man, Destiny’s Child was still together. Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been that long, but long enough for her to have gained a few pounds. Omar didn’t seem to mind, though. He gave her chills. Omar pressed her back to the wall, braced his self by placing his hands against it on both sides of her, and lowered his lips to hers. Lola had worn that wrap dress, just in case, and he had no problem getting her out of it. He let that dress fall to the floor, then took a step back, stared at her whole body starting at the top of her head, then ending at her feet, licking his lips when he got to the bottom.
Lola reached over to him and began unbuttoning his lightly starched and perfectly pressed shirt. Of course there was an undershirt. She’d have been more surprised if there hadn’t been. He slipped his shirt off, then peeled his T-shirt off over his head, took her by the hands, and pulled her over to the bed. Omar sat down on the side of it, and positioned Lola in front of him between his legs, pulled her close, pressed his face against the full mounds of cleavage spilling over the top of her bra, and moaned. She appreciated being appreciated. Omar slipped his hands behind her, and expertly unhooked her bra, then slipped the straps off her shoulders and let it fall.
In one, smooth move, he pulled her down onto the bed on her back, and hovered over her, planted kisses on her bare breasts, gathered each of them in his hands, and wrapped his warm lips around one nipple, and then the other, until they swelled to small peaks. Omar made love to her like that, torturing and teasing Lola until she could hardly stand it, for what felt like forever. When she was sufficiently breathless, he stood up, loosened his belt, unzipped his pants, and stepped out of them, and then his underwear. Of course she had to look. Mercy! Why’d she look? Omar had to have been eight, nine inches long, at least. Size wasn’t everything, but if he wasn’t good with that thing, she was going to be sorely disappointed. He reached underneath her hips, slipped his fingers between the lace of her panties and her skin and slipped them off of her. Then crawled onto the bed and hovered over her, lowered his lips to hers, and swept his delicious tongue between her lips.
“It’s been awhile for me, too,” he murmured, staring into her eyes. “So I don’t want to rush this.”
Lola nodded helplessly. He smiled confidently, like he knew that he knew what he was doing, and like he knew that he was about to blow her mind.
He looked down at her like she was food. “Turn over, Lola.”
Lola raised a brow. “What?”
“Trust me,” he said coolly.
Reluctantly, cautiously, Lola did as he asked, lay flat on her stomach, and waited. No anal! No anal! No anal!
She mentally chanted those words, preparing to fight him if he got any ideas. Omar’s warm lips pressed against one shoulder, and then trailed erotically down the center of her back to the base of her spine. Without realizing it, she raised her hips off the bed in response, and Omar slipped his fingers easily between the lips of her pussy and slowly pushed them in and out of her. They were just fingers but whatever he was doing made them feel like more than fingers. Lola rolled her hips against his hand. Her body warmed to his touch, her muscles pulsed as he pressed his fingers against the walls of her vagina in a way no one had ever touched her before. She moaned. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “You’re so wet, Lola.”
Lola was getting dizzy and it was just fingers.
He pulled his hand away, and then gently coaxed her over on her back, kissed her again on her lips and then blazed another trail down to her breasts, this time paying special attention to her nipples that stiffened so hard they hurt. It wasn’t what he was doing or how he was doing it that was driving her crazy, it was the pace at which he was doing it. Omar moved agonizingly slow, and every second of what he was doing was excruciatingly lovely. When he said that he wanted to take his time, he meant that. Half an hour later, Lola was squirming like a worm in his hands. She ached to feel that monstrous cock inside her, writhed underneath him with her thighs splayed open, and soon, she was mortified at the sound of her own voice, wafting through the air.
“Please,” she said, breathless, between kisses and caresses. “Omar? Please?”
That vicious grin of his taunted her. “Please—what?” he asked, hovering over her.
Lola had her hands on his waist, tugging at him, the tip of his cock grazing the folds of her sex. “C’mon,” she begged. “Please, put it in.” Her voice trailed off into a shameful whisper. “Please.”
The expression on his face changed. He looked almost as if he’d changed his mind about all of this. “Omar?” she said desperately. “Please.”
He lowered his lips once more, and then, gradually, lowered his body down on top of hers, and with that, he eased every delectable inch of himself inside her. Lola held her breath until there was no open space between them. The sensation of him inside her was overwhelming. Omar pushed up on his knees, spread Lola’s thighs even wider, pinned her hands over her head and held them down by her wrists, then drove that luxurious monster in and out of her with such conviction, such purpose that she lost herself to him, gave herself to him, handed herself over to him, giving him soul-level permission to do whatever he wanted to do to her for as long as he wanted to do it.
“You feel so damn good,” he muttered, staring into her eyes. “So good.”
Lola wanted to tell him that he felt good, too, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t tell him that she’d never had a better lover or that he was the only man she’d ever wanted to make love to for the rest of her life. She wanted to tell him these things, but the words caught in the back of her throat.
“Come for me, Lola,” he commanded. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”
Even his words held power over her. All he had to do was say it. That’s it. That’s all. “Yes! That’s it! Yes!”
Lola’s whole body recoiled as it built to that climax, that ultimate climax that she would hold as the standard for coming from this point on. “Omar,” she said, breathless. “Oh—Oh! Oh!”
For a second everything went dark, and then—stars! Lola saw stars!
She hadn’t fully recovered yet when Omar grunted and growled, his face buried in the mattress next to her head. He pushed into her with such force that it hurt, but it was good hurt, a welcomed hurt, the perfect hurt, and then he collapsed. She had no idea how long the two of them stayed like that before Omar finally stirred. He rose up on his elbows, gazed into her eyes, kissed her, and smiled.
“How you doing?” he asked.
Lola stared dreamily at him. “I haven’t been this good in a long time.”
“I’m spending the night,” he told her, as if he had to.
“You sure are.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tito Hardiman and his sister, Ciara, were paying an awful lot of attention to a vacant building next door to the roller rink that had just been bought and was about to be turned into a restaurant. Omar was doing a site survey with one of the contractors when he saw them pull up across the street with the owner of the place and go inside. That building rented for three times what they’d been paying at Green Groves. For people who claimed to be broke he found it odd that they were being so ambitious.
His curiosity got the best of him. “I’ll be right back,” he told the contractor.
Omar walked in on the enthusiasm of Ciara, planning out the space inside.
“We could put the counter here, Tito,” she said, stretching her arms wide. “Coffee, tea, maybe even get our liquor license and serve wine and beer.”
“If we get a refrigerated counter, we could do sandwiches and salads,” he suggested.
“Could we put one of those in?” Ciara asked the owner.
“You two decided to move business uptown, I see,” Omar said, approaching the group.
Where the hell d
id Ciara and Tito get money for liquor licenses and refrigerated counters? Tito immediately averted his eyes from Omar’s gaze, but Ciara locked on good and tight.
“It’s perfect. We could do real good in a place like this.”
Omar nodded in agreement. “You could. It’s a whole lot bigger than the space you had out by the highway.” Omar turned to the owner. “What’s a place like this go for a month?”
“I’m asking twelve hundred.”
Omar looked stunned. “That’s a lot of money,” he said, looking back and forth between Ciara and Tito.
“It is, but we can make more money here, too,” Ciara explained. “I don’t think we’ll have any problem making rent.”
“You throwing renovations?” Omar looked at the owner again. The man scratched his head. He turned back to Ciara. “Refrigerated counters don’t come cheap.”
“Well, fortunately for you, that’s not your concern,” she said smugly.
Omar raised his hands in surrender. “You are absolutely right. Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries.”
Ciara’s look challenged him to overstep them again. Tito hovered around the perimeter, trying not to be noticed.
Something here just didn’t set right with Omar. These two go from not having a pot to piss in to all of a sudden looking into renting one of the most expensive spaces in town. Meanwhile, someone had burned down that strip mall, and the police were no closer to finding out who did it than they’d been a month ago. Omar was no detective, but he had a stake in all of this. Lola Knight had his nose open and his brain determined to see her get some kind of justice.
“You’ll have to run any renovation plans through the city planner’s office, of course,” he told them. “Which is me.”
Ciara’s expression darkened. “If we decide to move in here and make any changes, we’ll do that.”
He smiled. “I wish you both nothing but the best. And maybe,” he said as he was leaving, “I’ll stop by one night and recite another poem.”
Ciara looked like she’d rather eat shit before she had to lay eyes on Omar again.
* * *
Lola would’ve been lying to herself if she didn’t admit to being a little jealous—okay, a lot jealous—over the fact that Ciara and Tito had found a way to move on and maybe even reopen their business, but what Omar was suggesting was pure foolishness. She’d been like a drug addict after his ass since the two of them had made love, but she hadn’t lost her mind completely.
“If you told me that the moon was made of cheese, I’d believe it,” Lola said earnestly. “Just because you said it. If you told me that Santa Claus was real and was about to knock on my door right now, Omar, I’d believe that, too, just because you said it.”
He sat in the chair across from Lola sitting on the sofa.
“But you don’t want to hear this,” he immediately concluded.
“Do you know how long I’ve known those two? Tito used to come by my store before he graduated high school, telling me about his plans to open his own business and asking me if I’d save a space for him. Of course I don’t want to hear this, because it’s not true.”
“Then how do you explain how the two of them all of a sudden have money to afford a place like that? And not just the place. They were talking liquor licenses and renovating.”
Lola was dumbfounded. How could such a brilliant man not see the obvious? “Bank loan?” She shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“You really believe that those two could secure a business loan?” he asked doubtfully.
“Stranger things have happened,” she responded, trying real hard not to get defensive on behalf of her friends.
“Tito won’t even look me in the eye when I talk to him.”
“Tito’s young. And maybe you intimidate him.”
“Ciara’s not intimidated.”
“She’s a woman.”
He looked confused by that statement. Lola would just have to let him stay that way.
Omar raked his hand across his head. “I’m telling you, Lola. Something’s not right. Your place burns down. The insurance company and fire department say it’s arson, and all of a sudden these two have more money than they’ve probably had in their whole lives.”
Lola could not just sit here and let him bad-mouth those two like that. She had no idea where or even if they actually had any money. Just because they were looking at the space didn’t mean that they’d actually get it. Tito and Ciara were visionaries. And she saw nothing wrong with that. Lola had used up all of her resources trying to keep Green Groves, but if they had something that they could fall back on, then good for them.
“Someone burned down my building, Omar, but it wasn’t them. Ciara and Tito stuck it out with me until the very end, and if they can move forward after all of this, I can’t and I won’t fault them, and I won’t let you condemn them.”
He stared at her as though she were defending Hitler. But Lola was loyal if she wasn’t anything else.
“You think what you want, Omar, but don’t bring that mess to me.”
“And what if I’m right?”
“You’re not.”
“But what if I am?”
He wasn’t right, but if he continued to pursue this then maybe their relationship needed to end before it really got going.
“I’m going to ask that you leave it alone.”
“I can’t, Lola. I won’t. Not until I know for sure.”
“You’re accusing my friends of terrible crimes. People I’ve known for years. People who’ve been there for me in ways you’ll never understand. If what you’re suggesting is true then basically you’re saying that Tito and Ciara almost killed me, and I’m not—no.” She adamantly shook her head. “No. Just no.”
“My gut tells me that they had something to do with this,” he continued.
“Yeah, well, my gut tells me that I don’t like what you’re implying about people I care about and if you don’t stop it, Omar—”
“You need to take the blinders off, Lola. Ciara and Tito might not be the good friends you think they are. Somebody set that fire. I’d be willing to bet that somebody from that corporation paid them to do it. Knowing that you were going out of business, it’s not so far-fetched to believe that they could’ve been swayed to do something like that for money.”
“Don’t do this, Omar,” she warned. “Don’t back me into this corner.”
“I’m asking you to have an open mind.”
“To what end?” she challenged. “Blaming my friends for something like this is crazy. They didn’t do it.”
“I think they did.”
“You think what the hell you want! I know they didn’t do it. They wouldn’t, Omar. They just wouldn’t.” Lola was not going to continue with this conversation. “The building is gone. My business is gone. Blaming them or anybody else isn’t going to bring it back. Okay? I messed up. I should’ve taken the offer when it was on the table, but I didn’t. And I lost everything. They lost everything, Omar, because of me. So, whatever happened, whoever did this, if they got something out of it, then—” She shrugged.
In her heart she didn’t believe that Ciara and Tito would do something like this, but even if they had, if they’d gotten something out of it, then God bless them. Ciara, Tito, and Mr. Brown had all sacrificed more than enough for her. They all deserved to start over.
She didn’t have to ask him to leave. Omar was obviously as committed to his position as she was and there was nothing else to talk about.
“I’ll call you,” he said, leaving.
“No need,” she said coolly.
He paused and when she didn’t say anything else, he left.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Omar hadn’t spoken to Lola in days. He’d called and left a message, but she hadn’t returned it. She thought he’d crossed the line, accusing her friends of starting that fire. He thought he hadn’t crossed it far enough, but so far, he had no proof that Ciara and Tito were responsible for b
urning down Green Groves and without proof, she would never believe it. Hell, even with proof, he doubted that she’d even care.
It was late and he was just coming out of the city and county building and getting into his car when another car sped down the street across from him and shots were fired. Omar ducked beside his vehicle as glass shattered above him. Three, maybe four shots sounded. Tires screeched as the car sped away and took the first left turn. Without hesitating, Omar climbed into his car, started the engine, and gave chase to the other vehicle, leaning over to the glove box to pull out his own weapon. He followed the speeding vehicle through town down several side streets before finally chasing it onto the highway. The bastard opened that Chevy up to a hundred miles an hour, but Omar had no problem keeping up with him. He could’ve even passed him, but this was about catching the mother fucker, not getting away from his ass.
The Chevy veered right and onto a frontage road leading into the next county, but on impulse, Omar rammed the back of the other vehicle hard enough to run it off the road and into a ditch, bumper first. He slammed on his brakes, jumped out of his car, and rushed over to the driver’s side of the other car, jerked the door open, and pulled some kid, no more than twenty-five, maybe, out by his collar.
“You took a shot at me?” he yelled in the kid’s face, jerking him around and slamming him into the side of the car. “Why the fuck you take a shot at me?”
The kid took a swing at him and landed it on the side of his head, which only pissed him off more than he already was. He dragged the kid by the collar and practically lifted him off his feet before throwing him on the ground. He landed hard on his back, and struggled to get to his feet. Omar walked over to him and pressed his size-thirteen foot into that dude’s chest.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Man! Get off me man!”
“Why’d you shoot at me?”
The kid grimaced. “He paid me to do it!”
“Who?”
The harder he pushed against Omar’s leg, the deeper he drove his foot into that bastard’s chest. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that he was pretty much out of fight.