Their mouths moulded furiously as they hungrily explored the shape and feel of each other’s lips, Ejiro gasping when Obiora pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. Ejiro let out a truly embarrassing sound, his hips jolting.
Obiora licked away the sting, then the hand on his upper back moved up, cupping the back of Ejiro’s head and angling it slightly so Obiora could lick into Ejiro’s mouth, his tongue sliding in hot and wet. Ejiro just about died on the spot, electrocuted from head to toe by the illicit sensation. He pressed impossibly closer, instinctively sucking Obiora’s tongue deeper into his mouth and licking back, tangling their tongues, making Obiora shake and groan.
Obiora tasted like salt from their tears; he tasted like heat and passion and desire. His hands moved to grip Ejiro’s hips, anchoring him as he slid one of his powerful thighs between Ejiro’s legs. Ejiro made another embarrassing sobbing sound, instinctively rocking his hips, his nails clawing at Obiora’s back.
God, please. Fuck. Yes. More, please—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.
“Obiora? Are you down here?”
They jumped apart, panting.
Ameri’s heels clacked loudly as she made her way down the stone steps.
Ejiro quickly sat on one of the chairs and tried to control his breathing. Fuck, he was shaking. His mouth was still wet; swollen, tingling. He quickly wiped his eyes, where he could feel his tears drying rapidly on his cheeks. Obiora did the same, then scrubbed a hand roughly over his mouth. God, that fucking devastating mouth.
“Oh,” Ameri said when she noticed Obiora wasn’t alone. “You guys all right?”
“Fine,” Obiora clipped, his voice hoarse. He looked flushed, his mouth devastatingly pink, but it could be blamed on something else. Probably, hopefully.
“Good, good,” Ejiro echoed. He didn’t look directly at either of them. Couldn’t look directly at either of them, sure his desire for Obiora still burned, obvious in every tense inch of him.
“Obiora, can I talk to you for a moment? Ejiro, could you excuse us, please?”
Ejiro met Obiora’s gaze. Obiora nodded slightly.
At the confirmation, Ejiro stood. “Right, then.”
He turned and walked away, even though he wanted to touch Obiora’s arm, or his shoulder—anything to reassure him. But he was too afraid that Ameri might read into the touch, so he didn’t.
As he walked away, he felt an inexplicable pull to the man behind him, made even worse now that Ejiro had tasted the pure blazing passion that was his kiss.
TWENTY-ONE
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” AMERI asked after Ejiro left, her voice unusually tentative. “You seemed upset after your talk with Sophia. I thought I should check on you.”
No, I’m not all right.
“I’m fine,” he said.
He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, and knew the way he was clenching and unclenching his fists contradicted his words, but he didn’t want to talk to her about his feelings right now.
All he could think about was the burning heat in Ejiro’s eyes, the intimate press of their bodies together, the feel of Ejiro’s tongue shyly but passionately licking into his mouth, and the way the movement had set Obiora on fire. The vehement way Ejiro had defended Obiora’s right to mourn his lost love—his belief that Obiora didn’t—shouldn’t have to choose.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Obiora loved him. He fucking loved him.
“Look, I thought maybe I should apologise,” Ameri continued, straightening her shoulders. “Sasha might be a therapist, but she’s still a celebrity.” Ameri smiled wryly. “It’s highly likely she might’ve deliberately pushed you and Sophia in order to get a reaction.”
“Right. No, I get it.”
Sasha Pierce had nailed Obiora’s relationship with Sophia right on the head: “You two have amazing chemistry, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like both of you are—for some reason—unwilling to cross that final bridge—really cement things between you, you know?”
Yeah, because I’m not in love with Sophia.
But Obiora obviously wasn’t going to admit that on live TV, not if he wanted to remain in the competition—and he did, desperately. His motivation for staying now had completely changed; he wanted to spend as much time as he could with Ejiro before the real world came knocking.
After Sasha’s mild accusation, Sophia had admitted she put up walls with Obiora because she’d dated guys like him before—cocky, sexy, and self-assured—and men like that had always hurt her in the end.
Obiora had in turn used Ada as a shield, even as guilt had swamped him the second he had. He’d talked about Ada the way he usually did, briefly and flippantly, like he didn’t hurt anymore. But Sasha wasn’t famous in her field for nothing, and she’d cracked him open like an egg.
