“Jesus,” Obiora whispered roughly. “Really?”
Ejiro shook his head, even though Obiora couldn’t see him. “Really.”
There was another slight pause. “Are your lights off, baby?”
Ejiro was suddenly overwhelmed with an intense rush of love for this man, at how Obiora had read and understood what he wanted so quickly, so easily.
“Yes,” he whispered huskily. Oh God.
“Have you got your lube nearby?”
“Yeah.” Oh Jesus. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Was he doing this?
“Mm. Are you hard for me, baby?”
“Oh,” Ejiro gasped, his dick suddenly straining in his pyjamas. “Yes. Obiora. Please, please—”
“Fucking hell. Get your sheets off, baby. Touch yourself for me.”
Ejiro obeyed, kicking the sheets off his legs and reaching for his dick, squeezing. He bit his lip.
Like he could see him, Obiora commanded, “No, baby, don’t do that. Let me hear you.”
“Oh fuck,” Ejiro groaned, his profanity filter shot to hell. “How do I—how do you—?”
“Fuck, baby. You want me to tell you how to touch yourself?”
Ejiro’s dick throbbed in his grip. “Yes.”
“Christ. Okay. Jesus. Can you take your clothes off for me? And get your lube out as well.”
“Okay.” Ejiro did as he was asked, his hands shaking.
For a moment he felt self-conscious, ridiculous, but when he brought the phone back to his ear, Obiora’s first words were, “Fuck, I’m so hard for you right now. You have no idea how much this is turning me on—how much you turn me on.”
“Obiora,” Ejiro whispered, pleading.
“Go on, baby. Get some lube on your hand. Warm it up a little. Then stroke your dick for me; slowly.”
Ejiro groaned at how filthy the word sounded coming from Obiora’s lips, like sin itself. He had to drop his phone for a bit to get the lube in his hand, but soon he had the device back to his ear and was wrapping a hand around himself and stroking. He hissed through his teeth at the cold.
Obiora laughed a little, the sound like pure sex. “I told you to warm it up, baby.”
Ejiro swallowed, still stroking. “I couldn’t wait. I want you.”
“Fucking hell, Ejiro. I want you, too. So fucking much. Can you hear me, baby? Hear how I’m touching myself, too?”
“Oh,” Ejiro gasped. Now that he’d mentioned it, Ejiro could hear slick sounds echoing from the other side of the line. The sound of it, matching with Ejiro’s own rhythm, was so fucking hot Ejiro felt like he would spontaneously combust. He moaned, stroking himself faster, harder, thrusting his hips, fucking up into his fist.
“Christ,” Obiora groaned, automatically speeding up, too, his breaths coming out sharp and quick through the phone. “Those nights in Venice,” Obiora began.
“Yes?” Ejiro encouraged, heat spreading through him as he remembered. Looking back, he had no idea how the fuck they’d been able to keep their hands off each other.
“Almost every night,” Obiora confessed, “I thought about just—getting into your bed. I thought about waking you up with a kiss, about how you’d probably melt into it, how you’d spread your legs for me.”
“Oh God,” Ejiro groaned, imagining it and wanting it so badly he could feel the desire in his teeth.
“I never locked the door when I showered,” Obiora continued in that deep, sexy as sin voice. Ejiro bit back his “I know”, wanting to hear the rest. “I stroked myself while you were on the other side of the room. I imagined you saying fuck it and walking in there, climbing into the shower with me, slamming me against the wall and kissing me so hard I wouldn’t taste anything but you for days afterward.”
