Ejiro smiled a little flirtatiously—he’d started becoming bolder with his emotions the more they’d talked—and each time Obiora thought he couldn’t fall in love any harder, there Ejiro went, merely existing and proving him wrong.
“Are those for me?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.
“Yes,” Obiora said, deciding not to crack a joke instead like he wanted to.
“Oh,” Ejiro breathed, probably surprised at the seriousness, but obviously pleased.
Obiora handed over the flowers with a slight bow. “My love.”
Though no red showed up on his deep, lovely dark skin, Obiora could tell Ejiro was blushing furiously.
“Stop it,” he said, and then shyly, “Thank you.”
Obiora held a hand out, his heart skipping a beat when Ejiro didn’t hesitate to tangle their fingers. They left the station like that, hand in hand, and like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
They took one of the cabs waiting outside the station instead of an Uber. They had to detangle their hands to sit, but then immediately reached for each other after Obiora told the driver his address.
They sat there, Ejiro clutching his flowers in one hand, the other gripping Obiora’s tightly, while they tried to see into each other’s souls through their eyes.
“Journey okay?” Obiora asked, his voice still rough. His eyes dropped to Ejiro’s lips.
“Went by in a blink,” Ejiro replied, his voice just as rough. They’d texted almost throughout the one-hour train ride it had taken for Ejiro to get here, so Obiora agreed that the time really had gone by in a blink.
Ejiro’s own eyes also dropped to Obiora’s mouth. They were both tense, trembling.
Obiora’s lips parted, and Ejiro’s mouth seemed to echo the movement, a soft sigh escaping his sweet lips. God. Fuck. Obiora wanted to kiss him now, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop. With how hard Ejiro was gripping his hand, it seemed he felt the same.
They couldn’t get to Obiora’s fast enough. Obiora paid quickly, telling the driver to keep the change as he pulled Ejiro toward the high-rise where his flat was located. For a moment, he hated that he’d chosen not to live in a house, especially after Ada’s death—the space would have felt too big, too empty.
Right now, though, the walk to his front door felt like a million fucking miles.
The minute Obiora had the door open, they were crashing into each other’s arms and slamming their lips together.
Obiora pushed Ejiro against the closed door, devouring his mouth like a man starved. And from the low-pitched, desperate sounds Ejiro was making, he felt just as fevered.
Obiora trailed his hands all over Ejiro’s body, pressing harder against him, trying to imprint Ejiro’s heat and hardness into his skin. He wanted Ejiro’s heady scent imbued deep into his lungs. Ejiro’s hands were in his hair, one leg hooked up around his hip, arching against him—a livewire of raw lust.
“Christ,” Obiora groaned, trailing kisses down his jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth.
“Obiora,” Ejiro moaned, trembling with pleasure, his hands gripping Obiora’s hair tightly, as if to prevent Obiora from even thinking about pulling away.
“Your flowers are on the floor,” Obiora said hoarsely.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Ejiro quipped, and Obiora laughed, so in love it fucking hurt.
They kissed again, this time a bit slower, deeper, feeling out the shape of their lips, dipping their tongues in and out, tasting each other’s mouths. It did nothing to quench the fire blazing in Obiora’s veins—in fact, it seemed to make the flames of his desire burn even hotter.
He slipped his hands down to grab at the taut globes of Ejiro’s ass, squeezing gently. “Okay?”
“Yes.” Ejiro’s voice was a moan.
Obiora lifted him up until Ejiro took the hint and wrapped his legs around Obiora’s hips.
“Oh God,” Ejiro gasped, throwing his head back, rocking his hips forward. Obiora could feel Ejiro where he was hard, his dick a hot brand through his jeans. Obiora bit back a groan, snapping his own hips forward, grinding their hard lengths together. Jesus fucking Christ. “Obiora. Obiora.”
Christ, the way he said his name. Obiora sucked hickeys into his throat, each one making Ejiro gasp and tremble and grind, until they were both shaking with the effort it was taking not to just let go and come in their underwear like teenagers.
Sucking on his throat made a different desire rise in Obiora; suddenly, he wanted to get on his knees. He wanted Ejiro’s hot, hard length filling his mouth, fucking into the back of his throat. He wanted to know what kind of sounds Ejiro would make when he was losing control, if he’d grip Obiora’s hair the way he was grasping it now—if he’d still tremble and shake so fucking sweetly. Obiora’s stomach swooped at the thought, his legs threatening to buckle with the strength of his want.
