Page 41 of Two’s Better

I kept tightly stroking until I’d milked out every last drop. Ofure moaned when I finally stopped, leaning forward and taking the head into her mouth, sucking at the come clinging to the tip. I keened, shaking and overwhelmed, my balls giving one more desperate pulse. I gently pushed her head away when I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fucking hell.” My voice was almost unintelligible. “Goddamn, Ofure.”

I eased her to her feet, then kissed her filthily, licking my come off her lips. Then I made my way all over her face. She laughed breathlessly as I shamelessly licked and kissed away the evidence of my orgasm until her skin was bare once more.

“Fuck, Uzi.” She squirmed, seemingly in indecision, then abruptly tugged my right leg. I dutifully pushed it forward, eyebrows flying up to my hairline when she promptly straddled it.

Her dress was parted around her thighs, I had her panties in my pocket, and my trousers and briefs were still down at my ankles, which meant she had her naked pussy pressed right up against the equally bare skin of my thigh. She buried her face in my throat and began to rock her hips, shamelessly humping me, taking her pleasure. My sensitive, softening dick gave an almost painful jolt, trying futilely to get hard again.

“Holy fuck, you’re so sexy.” I groaned. I gripped her rocking hips, pressing my thigh harder against where she needed it. Her pussy was so warm—soft and swollen and dripping wet. “God. That’s it. Let me feel you take exactly what you need.”

It didn’t take long before she was sobbing into my neck, thighs clamping hard around my leg as her entire body shuddered. My dick gave another eager jolt; it had refused to go fully soft. A few seconds more and I’d probably be ready to go again. Ofure went boneless, melting into my arms with a soft sigh.

“Fuck,” I whispered. How could it possibly get any better—any hotter—than this? I had the stray, painful reminder of this thing between me and Ofure ending—had the abrupt realisation that no one else was ever going to compare.

Well, that was a bit devastating. And something I definitely didn’t want to think about right now. Or ever, maybe.

For a few moments, our panting breaths were the only sounds in the room.

I eventually broke the silence. “I could really go for some chicken chow mein right about now.”

Ofure snorted a laugh into my neck. She pulled back, her eyes dancing with mirth. At the sight of her flushed face, her curved mouth—and the memories of what we’d just done—my heart did something funny behind my ribcage.

“Should we stroll down to Wok and Go?” It was the Chinese takeaway just about two minutes from our houses.

“Sounds like a plan.”

13

I didn’t want to go back to mine. Uzezi and I had ended up watching a movie while we’d eaten our takeaway, and now, I was lying half on top of him, struggling to keep my eyes open. The gentle rhythm of his chest rising and falling and the sound of his heartbeat underneath my ear was like the world’s most perfect lullaby.

How many times had we laid like this in the past? Warm and heavy in each other’s arms, neither of us attempting to fill the silence because our silences had long since grown into a friend. But right now, this silence felt different; it felt strung tight with something that made my chest feel too tight.

I forced myself to sit up. To breathe normally. “I should probably go.”

Uzezi sat up with me. One glance at his face told me he was just as sleepy as I was, his eyelids heavy. He fished around the sheets for his phone, unlocking the screen.

“What time is it?”

“Just past two,” he said, dropping the phone back on the mattress. He scrubbed a hand over his face and beard.

Knowing our friends, they probably wouldn’t be back from Felicia’s until sunrise; the way most Nigerian house parties worked, they went practically until morning, where everyone then trooped down to the closest fast food joint for breakfast before finally dispersing. We wouldn’t be seeing our housemates until at least ten AM tomorrow. Thank God my shift with Fiona and Bernice didn’t start until twelve.

As I climbed out of Uzezi’s bed, a tiny part of me wanted him to ask me to stay, even though that wasn’t something we did anymore. Not since our Foundation year, the year before we’d started university proper. It had been around the time we’d seriously joined the dating scene, when we’d thought spending the night with your bestie, even if it was strictly platonic, might be misconstrued by outside parties, and we couldn’t be arsed to deal with any possible misunderstandings.

Despite trying to be “respectful” to our potential partners, the few relationships we’d had that had made it far enough for them to notice my friendship with Uzezi had still been affected, even as, at the same time, those few people hadn’t seemed to give a shit about our same-gender friendships. Fuckass heteronormativity.

It had been a great source of irritation for us, how a gal apparently couldn’t have a guy best friend without people jumping through hoops to find something sexual or romantic about it.

And it had been entirely true then, back before that first kiss. Now, here I was, wishing—in the least platonic way possible—that I could spend the night in my best friend’s arms.

“Right,” Uzezi said, also leaving the bed. “I’ll walk you to yours.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Ofure. Don’t argue with me.”

I huffed out an amused noise, too tired to pretend to fight. He lifted a questioning eyebrow when he’d tugged his jacket on, and I was waiting expectantly by the door after I’d grabbed my purse.