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.
As we made for the high-rise, my stomach—which already had me feeling peaky all day—tried to knot itself into a bow.
I didn’t know how I was going to react when I saw Ofure today.
Damn. This must be how she felt every time she had a presentation; it felt like my stomach was literally trying to eject itself from my body.
The feeling grew worse when we finally made it to the building, and Tamara buzzed us in; I swore I could feel the organ sitting somewhere in my throat.
What if last night was a fluke? What if we took one look at each other today and realised it was a mistake?
Ofure was my best friend, for fuck’s sake; ignoring that one time with the orange bikini, and the other times—which were few and far between, I felt the need to emphasise—I’d never been attracted to her like that.
And I knew she’d never felt that way about me, either, though I hadn’t failed to notice she’d skilfully evaded the question when I’d asked.
Last night had to be a fluke. It felt like I’d—like we’d both been taken over by something. A lust demon, most likely, Ofure would’ve said in that dry tone of hers, which made me smile to myself.
“Hey!” Tamara answered the door on Prince’s knock, and my pounding heart leapt up to join my stomach.
Mint-green cat-eye glasses sat perched on her nose, contrasting nicely with her warm brown skin and chin-length ginger curls, a small, plain gold ring peeking from her nasal septum.
She was a little shorter than Ofure, but just as wonderfully fat.
“Ah! Thank you guys so much for coming!”
“Like we’d have missed it,” Prince said, dutifully accepting her hug.
“Oh my God, did you guys bring drinks?” Tamara exclaimed after she’d hugged me and Dayo, her voice and expression filled with obvious relief.
Dayo looked pointedly at Prince, and the latter pointedly ignored him. I shook my head in amusement. Those two would not kill me.
“I was just about to beg Ezra to go down to the shops but maybe now we don’t have to,” Tamara was saying, inviting herself to look into the bags.
“Yup, we definitely don’t have to. Chai, you people have saved my life.
” We snorted. “Thank you so, so much! Biko, come inside. Everyone’s already here. Ofure’s almost done with the food.”
The sound of her name made my stomach—which had dipped down to my chest cavity as we said our hellos—abruptly rise right back up into my throat.
The entryway was a long hallway with three doors, two on the wall to my right, and one straight down the corridor. An opening in the middle of the left wall presumably led to the rest of the flat.
Tamara led us there, and we stepped into an open floor plan. The kitchenette was directly to my left, the dining deeper in, divided from the former by a countertop. The sitting room was to the inner right, and I spied a little balcony on the far edge.
Ofure was standing in front of the stove, pretending to check on the food.
How I could tell she was pretending, I didn’t fucking know.
Something about the way she was holding her shoulders, maybe, the way she was pointedly not looking in our direction despite how loudly Tamara was talking, telling us not to mind the mess—there were opened and unopened boxes and bags everywhere—while Dayo told her we didn’t give a shit about that, and Prince playfully asked, “What mess?” She didn’t once look back, despite knowing I must be standing right here.
I took the opportunity to peruse her form.
She was wearing one of her favourite dresses; it was a soft, baby blue and had a halter neck, with the two straps covering her breasts resembling falling petals.
The dress was cinched to her waist, with a wide skirt that flowed freely to stop just below her knees.
Her braids were pulled up tightly into a bun as they always were when she was cooking, leaving all that back bare, her dark brown skin glistening lightly with sweat.
I pictured her skin glistening for a reason other than her hovering over a hot stove, and felt desire hit me like a punch to the gut.
The memory of her soft mouth, her sweet noises, her thick ass in my hand, flashed rapidly and vividly through my mind like I was having a near-death experience, my heartbeat ratcheting up to match.
Okay. So, maybe last night wasn’t a fluke, then. Fuck.
And if Ofure was deliberately ignoring me right now, that meant she was probably having the exact same worries I’d had.
I was moving before I could think it through. In fact, I seemed to have completely lost control of myself because instead of coming up next to her to say hi, I found myself crowding her in from behind.
Her shoulders stiffened. She didn’t turn around, even though she must’ve known it was me. I couldn’t help it; I lifted my right hand, gently brushing the tips of my fingers against the glistening curls at the nape of her neck. She shivered all over. I felt that shiver like another punch to my gut.
“Hey, Fure.” My voice came out unintentionally low.
Finally, finally, she looked at me, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.
Our gazes met for the barest second—but even that was enough to send butterflies fluttering madly in my stomach—before she turned back to the pot of fried rice in front of her, ducking her head.
The back of her neck was so fucking pretty, her shoulders soft and round.
Goddamn, I was down bad; I couldn’t say I’d ever in my life noticed someone’s neck and shoulders before.
“Hi, Uzi.” Her voice was equally soft and low. She sounded a bit odd.
It took me a moment to realise she was blushing. She was blushing. I’d never made her blush before. At least, not like this—not for the reasons I hoped she was blushing for right now.
Heat burned in my lower belly. My right hand found the curve of her hip, squeezing slightly.
I heard her breath hitch. The sound made my gut clench again.
I resisted the urge to step closer, to eradicate the space between our bodies.
We were usually very tactile, so touching her like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but after last night, every single touch felt like it was laced with magic.
“That smells so good,” I murmured.
“Th-Thank you.”
I wanted to kiss her bare shoulder. The nape of her neck. The soft space between her shoulder blades. I wanted to press properly close, so she felt my warmth all along her back—wanted my left hand on her other hip so I was holding her properly.
I took a step to the side instead, letting my hand trail “accidentally” along the curve of her waist before reluctantly letting it fall to my side.
She looked at me again—another quick glance then her focus was back on the stove.
My new position against the corner of the counter between the stove and the sink afforded me a view of her face, and I saw the blush this time; it was in the way her eyelashes fluttered, the way her lips—shiny with pink gloss—curved shyly, helplessly at the corners.
Her head was ducked, soft shoulders rounded.
Oh Jesus. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to make her blush again. I wanted to be close to her, so fucking badly it felt like I’d never wanted anything else in my life before.
“Do you need any help?” I asked gruffly.
“No, thank you.” She gave me that quick, shy glance again.
If she kept looking at me like that—from underneath those lovely, long, curled lashes—I really was going to kiss her.
Right here. In front of all our friends, fuck what they might think.
“I’m just about done here. You should probably start setting the table.
” She glanced in the direction of the dining area like I didn’t know where it was.
“Should I?”
She let out a dramatic sigh. “Uzezi. You’re distracting me.”
“Am I?” I grinned, slow and feral. She blushed again. My hands curled into the counter behind me to keep myself from crowding into her space to see if it might make her blush harder.
“Go and set the table before you piss me off.”
I laughed, my body suffusing with familiar warmth when I saw her responding smile.
As I left my spot against the counter, I had to fight yet another urge to press a kiss to her glistening shoulder. But I couldn’t resist touching her hip again, though—this time her left—pressing close to her back as I leaned over her shoulder to ask, “Know where the dishes are?”
Subconsciously—or consciously—she swayed into the weight of my hand. She cleared her throat. Used her chin to point at the designated cupboard.
I squeezed her hip, and she made a tiny noise. Goddamn. I wanted to hear that noise again. But louder. And with more passion. Goddamn. What the fuck was even happening right now?
Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed Ofure last night, but not for the reasons I’d initially fretted over.
Had this well of wanting just been, what, hiding deep down inside me all this time, and was now finally unleashed?
It felt like by crossing that line, we’d opened Pandora’s box, and there was no closing it back.
Whether that was a good or a bad thing remained yet to be seen.