Page 16 of Two’s Better

I nodded, blinking rapidly.

“I’ll see myself out, yeah?”

I was feeling a little more like myself, and yet not. “All right.”

His eyes tracked mine in the darkness, dropping briefly to my lips. My lower belly cramped up hard, my thighs clenching tighter.

“Goodnight, Fure,” he said huskily. “Love you.”

“Goodnight, Uzi,” I replied, swallowing. “Love you, too.”

I waited until he left my room. Then I waited some more, listening to the sounds of the guys, and Tamara and Ezra, saying their goodnights below. I waited until the front door had closed, Bernice and Fiona had turned in for the night, and still waited for a few minutes after.

Then I got my bullet vibrator out from the bottom drawer of the dresser at the foot of my bed. Christ, I was soaking wet. I didn’t even bother taking my clothes or my panties off, rolling into my stomach and thinking of his drugging kisses, the brief feel of his hard length pressed against my hip as he’d rocked against me for that one electrifying moment. That too-brief caress of his hand across my breast.

Fuck, even his scent was all over my sheets. How could something I usually found so comforting suddenly turn this fucking arousing? I inhaled like a hoover, shoved my hand down my underwear, and ground my hips desperately into my vibrating palm until I came with a muffled cry.

I melted into the mattress, almost gasping, staring at the wall ahead of me with hazy eyes.

I hadn’t counted on this. All I’d naively foreseen had been two options; that it would either be weird and we’d stop, or it would be perfectly ... fine. Good enough for us to do it without it being strange, but still entirely platonic.

I was so fucking fucked.

5

I walked home with a brick in my pants the size of Lagos, my head full of Ofure. The moment I was alone in my room, I practically fell onto my bed, yanking at my belt and buckle, thinking of her soft lips and fuck—the sounds she’d made as we’d kissed like we’d die if we stopped. They way she’d squirmed beneath me, obvious and needy, how I’d deliberately denied her even though I’d known what she’d wanted, all because it had been so fucking hot seeing her like that.

I thought of the noise she’d made as I’d grabbed a handful of her soft, fat ass in my palm, replaying that sexy little grunt on loop as I spat into my hand, then bit my lip to muffle my groans as I pulled frantically on my weeping dick until I came, so hard I arched off the mattress, only managing to yank my shirt up to my chin so most of my release landed on my stomach and chest.

I jerked off again the moment I woke up the next morning; fading erotic dreams of my best friend played behind my eyelids as I panted into my pillows like a horny teenager, picturing what might’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped last night. If I’d slid my hand between her soft thighs like I’d desperately wanted to. God, would she have been wet? Soaking her panties for me? Would she have let me slide my fingers inside her, my thumb against her clit? Would she have come, tight and fluttering? The thought of it, of her coming—of me, making her come—had me hunching over with a strangled moan as I painted my fist with white, my hips jolting.

I’d laid there for a moment afterward, rolling onto my back and staring up at the ceiling, thinking, what the actual fuck???

I couldn’t help thinking this was Ofure I was fantasising about. Ofure, my best friend. I couldn’t stop thinking about the shocking fire of those kisses. Couldn’t stop thinking, where the fuck had all that desire even come from?

Matter of fact, where had that version of me come from? Getting on top of her like that? Asking her to say my name? As I’d done it, I’d known I was taking a mad gamble; the darkness and her closed eyes were supposed to get her out of her head, but I’d gotten the sudden irrational fear that she might start picturing someone else while I was kissing her. So, on impulse, I’d made it so she wouldn’t forget for even one second who exactly was in her bed.

It could’ve all gone south if either of us had laughed or tensed up or begged off. Instead, something inside me—and her, it seemed—had simply ... shifted. Like a wall neither of us had known had even been there had finally broken apart. Or a locked door flying off its hinges, revealing things we’d never let ourselves even think about.

After I’d kissed my best friend, it felt like the earth should have stopped spinning. But there it went, going about its business like I hadn’t had the foundations of my world completely shattered. In the aftermath, I still wasn’t sure if I was falling or flying.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have gotten something?” Dayo said, not for the first time.

Prince sighed heavily and abruptly changed direction from the main road to a side one. I snorted. Dayo only needed to complain enough, and Prince would indulge him in anything. I glanced at Dayo, who looked openly smug, and snorted again. It seemed Dayo was well aware of that fact.

That must’ve been the millionth time since last night that Dayo had pointed out that us going empty-handed to Tamara’s and Ezra’s new place would be a disgusting faux pas—his words, not mine. The couple had previously shared a house with Edwin, a white, French guy who’d never meshed with our friend group, but were now living in their own two-bedroom flat. They’d called us all over the moment they’d moved in to celebrate.

Ofure was already there with Fiona and Bernice. Christ, even thinking of her name made my heart skip a beat and my stomach lurch like I’d eaten something funny.

Being the best cook out of all of us, she’d insisted on making a meal to commemorate the day. As for the rest of us, we’d agreed we’d buy some gifts based on a list Tamara and Ezra would eventually provide in the group chat, then co-ordinate in another secret group chat so we didn’t accidentally end up buying double of anything. But Dayo still hadn’t wanted us to go over empty-handed, even though we all understood the gift-buying would come later considering the short notice.

There was a corner shop branching off our street before the main road, and I assumed that was where Prince was headed.

We didn’t speak as Prince selected two bottles of Vodka. Dayo grabbed a bottle of champagne—some Nigerians just didn’t consider it a proper celebration without popping at least one bottle—and I decided to go for a mix of soft drinks, from juice to soda.

“Happy?” Prince asked as we left the store, like getting the drinks had been a chore.

“Immensely,” Dayo deadpanned, and I laughed.