Page 37 of Two’s Better

“Circles,” I pleaded, trying not to claw at his scalp.

He adjusted, rolling my clit underneath his thumb. “Like that?”

“Fuck. Yes.” Both his immediate acquiescence and his checking in made my lower belly clench, my pussy growing even wetter. “Oh God, Uzi. Just like that.” He groaned in response, like my words were an aphrodisiac.

I whined, forcefully stilling my hips so I could focus entirely on his touch. Resisting the urge to move amplified the pleasure his strokes wrought until my thighs were trembling.

“A-A little harder.”

He increased the pressure, circling firmly. “Like that?”

“Yes, yes, just like that. That feels so good. Don’t stop.” He made another hoarse noise. My eyes were beginning to tear up, every inch of me going tense in preparation. My hips were pushing into his hand despite myself, into his face—my right heel digging into his back, nails into his scalp. “Oh God. Oh fuck.”

“Yeah?” he encouraged, the word more breath than sound.

“It feels so fucking good, Uzi.” I was lifting onto the toes of my left foot, straining hard toward the precipice; it was so close I could taste it. “Uzi, I’m gonna come.”

“God.”

“No, no, don’t speed up, don’t speed up—”

He made a noise. Harsh. Frantic. Slowed down again. “Like that?”

“Just like that, just like that, oh my God, yes, yes, yes, yes, keep going, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—” I clenched my eyes shut, tears of pleasure spilling down my cheeks.

He made another harsh, frantic noise. “Goddamn. Fuck. Come on. I want it so fucking bad. Give it to me, Fure, baby.”

I came with a loud cry. He stroked over my clit relentlessly until I was almost hunching in on myself, sobbing with it, my hips jerking wildly.

“God.” He buried his face in my thigh, gasping open-mouthed and wet into my skin, like he was the one experiencing my pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, even though my thighs were beginning to shake uncontrollably. “Don’t stop, don’t stop—I’m—I’m—”

“Again?” he asked, his voice low and desperate, his thumb stroking almost harshly, diligently maintaining that same rhythm. My mouth fell slack, my entire body jerking violently as I came again, gushing hot and wet onto his hand. “Jesus fuck. God-fucking-damn.”

I pushed his hand away when I felt too sensitive, still shaking from the back-to-back orgasms. I’d had consecutive releases like these before, but they had never been this intense, so intense that even as sensitive as I was—the air itself felt like too much on my throbbing clit—I still felt like I could go again immediately.

He waited until my legs had stopped trembling, then kissed the inside of the thigh still resting on his shoulder, then my mound. Then, like he couldn’t help it, he began mouthing at my pussy, groaning as his tongue flicked out to steal a taste.

My hips bucked, and I keened at the lingering oversensitivity.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry.” He pulled back, breathing hard. He stared at my pussy, looking dazed, almost drunk. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ofure.” He swallowed, then those dark eyes flickered up to meet mine. The only word to describe the look in his eyes was ravenous. “Do you think you can come again? I really want to feel you come on my mouth.”

“Uzi,” I complained, even as my greedy clit throbbed.

He smirked. “That’s not a no.”

I laughed breathlessly, helplessly. “No, I guess it’s not.”

12

I honestly didn’t know how I hadn’t already come. My dick was pulsing insistently, pressed stiffly against my hip. Watching Ofure come—twice, consecutively—just from the strokes of my thumb, had been the hottest thing that had ever happened to me. Each orgasm had jolted through my throbbing dick like an electric shock; I was leaking so much pre-come it almost made me afraid I was already coming—in my underwear, completely untouched.

I’d known from the few makeout sessions I’d had in the past that witnessing—and, more importantly, being the cause of my partner’s pleasure was a great turn on for me, but I knew now that actually making them come—making Ofure come—couldn’t even begin to compare.

I glanced up at my best friend, not wanting her to feel too self-conscious about my staring. But goddamn, her fucking pussy. The smell of her pussy. All that soft, round belly. Her thick, dimpled thighs. Jesus Christ, I was practically drooling like a dog, my prick straining. I could still taste her from the brief moment I’d mouthed at her cunt, and I was dying to feast properly.

I kissed the thigh still resting on my shoulder, then parted my lips, mouthing at the soft, dimpled flesh, then sucking. She whimpered, her thighs trembling a little at the attention. So fucking responsive.