Page 52 of Two’s Better

I cleared the bed, bagged the packaging holding Ofure’s remaining sweets along with her leftover rice, and placed it and what was left of her drink on my reading desk.

She came back into the room not long later. She was smiling a little bit, though her eyes were red.

“She told me not to worry about it,” she said, her voice a little thick. I’d had a feeling the conversation would be emotional. Her parents really expected so much from her; she’d probably thought her mother had called to try and talk her into listening to her father. Hopefully, from the look of that wobbly, tentative smile, that hadn’t been the case. “It’s like you said; she said to just give him space to calm down and think it through, then he’ll call me again.”

Ah, thank God. “Wise woman, your mother.”

“Okay.” She rolled her eyes.

I laughed. She came back to the bed, crawling into the space she’d left. I joined her. I didn’t know what my face was doing, but Ofure gave me an appraising look.

“All right.” Her lips quirked. “Want to talk about it?”

I thought about brushing her off, but ...

“What if I’m doing the same thing?”

She twisted around to face me, giving me her full attention. “Go on.”

“You know I’ve always done what was expected of me. I’ve always gone with what just ... felt right. Or what made sense. And, for some part of me, having my entire life planned out by someone else—especially when it’s my parents—doesn’t feel like pressure. In fact, it feels like the opposite. But what if I’m just ... going with the flow because it’s easy? Would I be doing this if I’d had other options? Am I going to wake up one day, full of regret after realising I’ve spent my entire life following the wishes and dreams of other people? I don’t fucking know.”

“Aw,” Ofure cooed softly. “Come here.” She took both my hands in hers. “We’ve got months still before we graduate. And there’s time before we have to start thinking of applying for any internships. We can use this time to properly figure out how you feel. And, if you decide you do want to explore something else, I’d argue that your father is even more understanding than mine. No, don’t argue with me.” I huffed out a small laugh. She smiled. “You’re his one and only child—his first and only son—and he’s spoiled you rotten.”

“Well.”

She laughed. “If you do decide this isn’t what you want, I know he’ll understand. And if you need help figuring things out, I’m here. Always. After all, two heads ...?”

I laughed, but dutifully completed the mantra. “... are better than one.”

16

I stared at her, my heart swollen with love and gratitude. “Ofure ...”

“Never thank me again.”

When our laughter ended, our eyes meeting and locking, something in the air between us shifted. We began to move almost at the same time, and at the same speed: slow—excruciatingly, deliciously slow. So slow it made me feel like time itself was decelerating, holding its breath just for this moment.

For some reason, it felt different than all the others. With the others, there’d been that subconscious knowledge that it wasn’t real, even though every single thing we’d done had felt real. But, unlike the others, this moment didn’t feel like a buildup to anything; it didn’t feel like a precursor to having that “perfect first time”.

It felt like a moment we wanted ... just because.

Our eyelids gradually lowered, our heads tilting, and when our lips finally met, we both exhaled shakily. We pushed closer to each other, our lips parting, breaths mingling.

She moaned softly between the erotic sounds of our lips meeting and parting, and I groaned in response, my hand going up into the depths of her braids, which she’d tied up into a ponytail. I stroked my fingers through the tresses, loosening the band holding her hair up so it fell in its bouncy curls to her shoulders. Then I sank my hand in properly, cradling her skull, tilting her face even more to deepen the kiss.

The kisses were deep, drugging—as those romance books described, books Fiona had made us read once upon a time, back when we’d taken our book club more seriously. I only understood the description now. Each kiss made me feel slightly unmoored; my pulse felt like it was thudding too fast, my blood rushing too hot and too quick, and with the way Ofure was gasping into my mouth, she probably felt the same. Despite it, we didn’t stop exploring each other’s mouths until we were practically melting into the bed.

My hand left her hair so I could wrap my arm around her waist, effortlessly pulling her up against my chest, then using the bulk of my body to encourage her to lie properly on her back with me halfway on top of her. She made a low, sexy noise into my mouth at the manhandling.

I slid my thigh between hers, kissing her like I’d find the answers to all of life’s mysteries in the depths of her mouth. She kissed me back just as passionately, tangling her tongue with mine, sucking and biting on my lips the way I did hers.

Eventually, the need for air won, and I pulled back, chest heaving. But I didn’t want to stop kissing her, so I began trailing kisses down the left side of her jaw, slowly making my way to her throat. She tilted her head back and to the side with a soft sound, baring her neck for me. Her right hand found its way to my hair, her left gripping my shoulder, her press-ons adding an extra bite of sensation when they dug into my skin through the thin material of my shirt. I mouthed and sucked on a spot I found on her neck that made her whine and squirm, her nails digging even harder into my arm. My right hand slid up from her waist, my dick stiffening to full mast when I gently cupped her left tit in my palm. It filled my hand. Overfilled it.

“Uzi.” She groaned, which—impossibly, because I was already so hard—made me even harder.

“Yeah?” I whispered into her throat, giving her breast a gentle squeeze. Even through her clothes, her tit felt soft as fuck. “That all right? Feel good?”

“Yes. Please. Don’t stop.”