Arabs Above All

Belonging to Omar (Teaser)

Afternoon light filtered through the curtains, painting the sheets with golden stripes, like a tiger. Omar and I were tangled up together, naked and sweaty, in the aftermath of a lunchtime romp.

Omar looked impossibly sexy. His olive skin glowed, and every plane of muscle was sharply defined—from the broad sweep of his shoulders down to the tight line of his abdomen. His dark hair had gotten mussed into playful disarray. And his jaw—strong, angular, sharp enough to cut glass—carried the kind of half-day stubble that made me want to scrape my cheeks on it.

Omar shifted and propped himself up on one elbow. His eyes—deep brown, nearly black—locked onto mine with the same commanding intensity that had swayed me at the party where we met six months ago. That had been the tipping point, one that took me from a stable and predictable existence into something thrilling but much more dangerous.

His lips curved into a half-smile. He reached down and delicately brushed my chest with his fingertips. I felt the familiar thrill, a wild mix of desire and trepidation. Omar’s passion had a way of unsettling me.

“Come with me to Dubai. Maybe we take a side trip to Egypt,” he said. His voice was low and husky. “Two weeks. Just you and me.” He smoothed his palm over my ribs as if confirming that my bones have properly caged up my heart for him.

Reluctantly, I sat up and let his fingers fall away. “You know I can’t,” I said softly. “I have Tom at home. Responsibilities. I can’t just disappear for two weeks.”

Omar frowned. He rolled onto his back and pulled me back down, putting my head to rest on his shoulder. He snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me tight to him and squeezing. “I’m tired of sharing you,” he murmured. His thumb stroked my hip. “I need you all to myself. You focus on him too much.”

“He would say I haven’t been focusing on him at all.” I lay my hand on the hard muscle of Omar’s chest, watching everything rise and fall with his breathing. “I’ve been committed to you—from the start,” I protested. “As much as I can. But I can’t just ignore my life at home.”

He sat himself up abruptly, and I fell out of his warm embrace, onto the cool sheets. His face darkened. “Am I not your life too? You’re disrespecting me,” he said. His tone was clipped; the Egyptian accent of his upbringing slipped out with his frustration. “I give you days and nights like this, bring you gifts, I share every part of me. And you still try to choose him over us.”

My pulse pounded. I rose up and wrapped myself in the sheet as if it could protect me from the harshness in his voice. He was close, and his body radiated heat. The taut muscles on his neck and arms flared.

He left me in bed and stood up. My eyes took in the full sweep of him: the ludicrous V-shape of his torso, the solid strength of his thick thighs, the confident bearing of his posture. He walked to the armoire and took out a new, crisp shirt.

“I don’t need to compete with your marriage,” he said, dressing. He buttoned the shirt slowly and deliberately, each movement perfectly controlled. “You admit that you belong with me when you’re here. But then you keep choosing to belong elsewhere.”

I got out of bed and reached for him, touching him gently on the cheek. His expression softened for a moment. “I love you,” I said. “In this room it’s all so easy. And I feel it. Stronger than anything.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand. “Then prove it,” he whispered. “Stay. Don’t go back to work. Or home tonight. Or ever again. Come to Dubai with me.”

My heart twisted. His demands and the tension between us—desire, possessiveness, competing loyalties—it was all combustible. He was being exactly what drew me to him in the first place: powerful, unyielding, and utterly certain of what he wants. And right now, he wanted me to choose him alone. I swallowed hard. I was torn between two worlds.

Omar finished dressing. He fastened the last button and turned to me. His eyes burned with intensity and he moved forward, backing me against the wall.

“What do you decide, baby?” He put a hand around my throat and held it—squeezing firmly—while he kissed me again. This was the same shit that drew me to him in the first place: his unabashed confidence and a presumed ownership over me. His invitation to travel with him, a not-so-subtle demand, hung in the air.

I knew I couldn’t say yes. But I also knew that leaving him—walking away from this—would destroy everything I had come to need. Something I might never get back.

So I said yes. Not to skipping work this afternoon, and not to leaving my husband—but yes to Dubai at least. Maybe that would be enough to keep things going. For now.

***

Omar and I met at a party six months ago. Tom and I were friends of the host, but we didn’t know the rest of the crowd. They were finance bros, Wall Street types. Tom and I were nonprofit people: he managed HR at a human rights organization and I worked on policy for a UN agency. But Tom’s college roommate Freddy was an investment banker, and a few times a year we rubbed shoulders with these big boys of the global financial system.

They were all of a type: gregarious, posturing, money obsessed. We didn’t have much in common with them, but Tom was close with Freddy and I was happy to have the free flowing booze and some world class canapes. It beat the hell out of crackers and salami back at our place.

Tom and Freddy were trying to catch up over the loud music that made it difficult for me to join in. No matter. I happily downed glasses of champagne that were well beyond my budget. Then I saw Omar.

He definitely stood out in the crowd. Tall, athletic, handsome. Omar’s white teeth flashed against his olive complexion as he laughed, smiled, and regaled his crew with a boisterous story. There were loud guffaws, lots of backslapping.

Omar caught me looking. He looked right back at me and chuckled delightedly; I had been made. I lowered my eyes to my drink and took a sip. When I allowed them to come back up, he was still looking. Right at me. Almost through me. I shivered.

He smiled and winked. I took another nervous sip, hoping the glass would hide my flushing cheeks. My skin felt hot.

Omar cut a path through the crowd. Within seconds he stood in front of me. He was only a few inches taller, with approximately the same narrow waist as mine, but his broad shoulders and chest packed on enough muscle that I felt like a small child by comparison. I swallowed hard.

“Hi, I’m Omar,” he rumbled. He extended his hand and folded my slender fingers into it.

“Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. Which bank?”

“What? Oh. No. I’m not in Finance. We’re friends with Freddy.” I jerked a finger at Freddy and Tom, still caught up in conversation.

“You have a beautiful smile, Alex. Even if you’re too shy to show it.”

His compliment prompted more blushing, but it also reflexively prompted a grin.

“See? There it is. Beautiful. So what do you do, if not finance?”

I babbled the details. His forward confidence still had me shaken. That and his open flirting in plain sight of my husband.

Omar listened and nodded as I talked. He was engaged in a way few of Freddy’s crowd ever had been when I talked about myself.

“Are you familiar with the UN system, then? You’re interested in our work?”

His eyes sparkled and he laughed. “No, no. I have no idea about it. I’m just interested in what you have to say.”

I shifted my weight onto the other foot. Tom was right next to us.

“Well, the UN does a lot of great things.”

“I wouldn’t know. My country can barely get a voice there. I don’t pay too much attention.”

“Your country?”

“Egypt. I grew up there. My family is still back there. I came to New York for graduate school. Then stayed to make some money.”

“Money is good, I suppose.”

“Money Is good?” Omar back his head and laughed. “It’s everything!” Then he leaned in. He kept his voice low. “Maybe not everything, Alex. There is money and there is sex. And most of all, love.” He winked “Now you have everything.”

My collar felt tight.

“You’re cute when you blush,” he continued. “Can I get you another?” He took the empty glass from my hand. I had drained it without noticing.

“Thank you,” I murmured as he strode over to the bar.

“Who’s your friend?” Tom asked.

“Omar.”

“Omar’s a great guy,” Freddy added. “We worked on a deal together last month. He was on the another side. The guy’s a fierce negotiator. Fucked us over good. But I admire him for it.”

Omar reappeared with a full glass of bubbles and handed it to me. Tom looked down at his empty glass.

“Omar!” Freddy cried. “Looks like you’ve met Alex. And this is Tom.” The two shook hands vigorously. But Omar kept his eyes on me.

We all made small talk. It was awkward for me and Tom but easy for Omar and Freddy. They slapped backs and traded war stories of their latest skirmishes on the corproate battlefield.

Five minutes into it, Omar grabbed my hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He pulled me away from the group before I could voice an objection.

“Back here,” he said, leading me down the hallway. He tried the first doorknob but it was locked. The second one he tried opened up, and he pulled me in and shut the door. We were in Freddy’s study. There was a computer on the desk and bookcases lining the wall. Some few acrylic awards and photographs with famous people lined his ego shelf.

“What did you want—“

Omar took my face in his hands. His lips went to mine. The kiss was long and warm and deep. He tasted of scotch. I kissed back, unable to resist. The stubble on his cheeks scratched the sides of my face.

“There,” he said, releasing me. “That’s what I wanted.”

I knew I should have left the room. Explained that I had a husband, that I couldn’t do this. But I was carried along on the buzz of too much champagne and too little food. That, and the heat coming off his skin and the rising sensation in my pants.

So I didn’t do what I should have done.

I let him kiss me again. And I kissed him back. I pressed my body into his, aching with a need that was in no way rational. It was pure chemistry, animal desires. Maybe fate.

The kissing got more intense, harder. Omar’s lips played with mine. He bit them.

Then he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me to my knees. I fumbled with his zipper, pulled him free of his briefs. I took him in my mouth.

Omar let out a low moan that rippled through my body. Eagerly, and with a hunger that surprised me, my mouth made love to his cock.

I sucked him enthusiastically, vigorously, voraciously—forgetting our location and the inappropriateness of my husband and the host being in the other room. I sucked Omar while he held my head in his hands and fed me the most divine meal. I grabbed the back of his thick thighs for support. He rammed himself in.

Within minutes Omar was blasting down my throat. I drank everything down, greedily savoring the taste. I knew this was a one-time slip up, and I was determined to make the most of it.

When I pulled myself off to catch my breath, Omar yanked me to my feet.

“One more kiss, baby. Before they come looking for us.”

He kissed me and I let my hands trace the muscular cords of his back.

“Thank you, Alex,” he whispered. “Will that hold you for now?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He pulled a card from his blazer and tucked it into my back pants pocket. His hand rested there, cupping my buttocks. He squeezed.

“Be a good boy. Call me.”

“I will,” I promised.

I don’t know why I said it. I couldn’t call him. I was happily married.

“Let’s go back.” He gave my butt a little slap. “You go first,” he said, zipping himself back up. I want to watch that little behind walk down the hall.” I left first, aware of his eyes glued to my ass. I felt a reflexive twitch down there that stayed with me the rest of the night.

***

The story continues on my Patreon: