EPILOGUE #2
Once I was buried to the hilt, I braced my left hand on her right thigh, holding her open in the process, while the thumb of my right hand found her clit. Her hips jolted up, her pussy tightening deliciously.
“Fuck yeah,” I snarled, stroking the slick, swollen bud in firm circles as I began to thrust.
“Fuck, fuck, yes, yes, yes—” She cupped her tits, pinching her nipples, whimpering, left with no choice but to take each hard, punishing slam of my hips, unable to move underneath the firm hold of my left hand. “Oh God, oh my God, oh my God—”
I drove into her harder, faster, our bodies slapping lewdly. Her pussy was spasming, her body trying to contort in on itself, her soft, round belly clenching.
“I can’t—” She sobbed. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”
“You can,” I commanded roughly. “Yes, you fucking can.”
I angled my hips, managing to nail the exact spot that made her eyes roll back, my fingers stroking relentlessly over her clit.
I hit that spot over and over until she was practically drooling, her hands gone from her generous tits, now fisting the sheets for dear life.
I was biting my lip viciously, on the verge of fucking begging when she finally came.
Her pussy clenched so hard it forced my dick out of her, while she proceeded to squirt all over me and the bed, her mouth open on a silent scream.
“Fuck yes,” I hissed, gripping the base of my prick tight, giving her only a heartbeat before I was on her again, sliding to the hilt into her soaked, still clenching pussy.
“Goddamn. Holy fucking shit.” I barely lasted a few thrusts before I was coming with a shout, flooding the condom with my release. “Shit. Fucking hell.”
I leaned down to kiss her after I’d gotten a semblance of my breath back. She wrapped her arms and legs around me, kissing me softly, deeply, until our lips felt swollen and sensitive, and we had to pull apart to breathe properly.
“I love you,” I whispered, staring into her eyes.
Sometimes, like now, she grew shy when I said the words, especially when I said it in lieu of a “thank you.”
“I love you, too,” she said bashfully. I had to kiss her again.
Despite making up my mind that becoming an architect was something I genuinely wanted, the moment we’d gotten our results back—both first class, as expected—all my doubts and fears had made a rapid return when I’d begun applying for internships.
It had only sunk in then that even though my focus was now more intentional, my dream had changed.
The future I’d pictured, the one thing I’d always, genuinely wanted from the moment our fathers had planted it into our heads, had permanently altered.
On this new path, I wasn’t going to have Ofure with me. And a part of me, much as I’d tried to hide and deny it, had mourned the fact.
And Ofure—my best friend in the entire world, the love of my life, the blood running through my veins—had sussed out the truth without effort, had talked to me and loved me and told me we might not be sharing the same career path anymore, but that didn’t mean she was going any-fucking-where. Her words, not mine.
So, I knew all this—the balloons, the food, her sexy “welcome home” present—was her silent reminder and reassurance. Fuck, I loved her so fucking much.
My phone pinged. Somewhere in the flat, I heard Ofure’s phone ping as well. Must be the group chat.
“Wait here for me, Fure, baby.”
I got up to get rid of the condom, then used some wipes from the bedside table to get us clean.
My dick threatened to get hard again when I noticed the damp spots on my clothes, reminding me of her orgasm.
Goddamn. I quickly shucked my clothes off, then joined her in the bed, both of us letting out long, identical exaggerated sighs as our warm, naked bodies came in contact, then laughing immediately after because we were so fucking corny.
I brought my phone out and held it up so she could read the messages with me, both of us lying half on our backs on the pillows.
Ofure snorted.
Ofure snorted again.
Ofure and I snorted again. More messages flooded the group chat, with Bernice and Dayo agreeing with Fiona, while Prince and Ezra seemed to be firmly on Tamara’s side.
“It does sound like fun,” Ofure admitted.
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’re starting your master’s in two weeks.”
Ofure rolled over dramatically, flopping onto my chest. “I am going to shit myself.”
A startled laugh burst out of me. I tilted her face up, still grinning madly. She was grinning right back.
“Master of Arts,” I said, in the exact tone her father had started saying it since she’d gotten her admission letter—a mix of proud and boasting. And like I’d predicted, it made her laugh again, so hard tears filled her eyes.
It had been a gamble, applying for a master’s in a different field from her undergraduate degree, but it was one that had paid off, mostly thanks to Ofure’s extensive online portfolio.
I’d encouraged her to apply using the following she’d amassed online when she’d been posting her comics—which she’d started up again the moment we’d graduated—and that had been her winning ticket.
Her own hard, honest work had gotten her here, and I wasn’t about to let her forget it.
And, also like I’d predicted, her father had come around almost immediately, calling her the day after we’d officially gotten together, nearly seven months ago, now.
God, I couldn’t believe it’d been that long already.
“If you want to go, we’ll go,” I said, rolling us over again so I was half on top of her. “Now, onto more important matters. There’s a pot of fried rice in the kitchen calling my name.”
“The whole pot?” she teased, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
“Ofure, don’t play with me.”
She pulled me down into a kiss, my heart skipping a lovesick beat at the feel of her amusement in the shape of her curved mouth. I sank into her with easy surrender, and prayed that every single day for the rest of our lives went something like this.