Instead of my desired reaction, I’m met with silence. Did I ruin the vibe?
“Ignore that. Too many drinks. I know you’re still on the job. Ignore me,” I blurt out and jump off the couch, turning my back to him. I am so stupid. How could I be so stupid? Jumping the gun when all I had to do was wait out the hour. He’s definitely going to leave, and it will be awkward, and I’ll never see him again. Great job, girl, you killed it (the mood, that is).
I hear him rise from the couch. Soon, his body heat mingles with mine.
“Moyo.” His voice is low, serious. “Ignoring you is not an option.”
“No, you don’t have to make me feel better.” My mouth is running like a broken tap. “I know we said three hours—and there’s still time left—but if tonight’s not the night, we can circle back later. It’s fine.” He pulls my hair to the side, his breath kissing my earlobe.
“You’re insufferable, do you know that?” he asks. “I said, ignoring you isnotan option.” His body pushes up against mine. He’s so firm and hard, all the air rushes out of my lungs.
I feel dizzy.
“I am…” he pauses, “your coach for another thirty minutes.” The strain in his voice is undeniable. “I shouldn’t want to do this, not before I—not this soon after we decided to wait.”
I tremble at the weight of his words, the tension in his voice, his fingers lightly caressing my neck. I attempt to face him, but his other hand holds my waist in place. I gasp at the contact. I didn’t know he was this strong.
“Moyo,” he moans, and my name sounds like a desperate prayer on his lips. “If you turn around, I will kiss you. If you don’t, I will leave here, and we can pretend this never happened. You can call me tomorrow if you’d still like my company. It’s entirely up to you.” His warm breath fans my ear, and I clench my thighs. Who cares about thirty extra minutes? It’s midnight somewhere.
I turn around, and his eyes are on mine. He keeps one hand at my waist and moves the other from my neck, lightly trailing down the space between my breasts. I can’t look away as his fingers tease me. I want to yell at him to move them lower already.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he breathes, moving a hand to my face. He holds me sternly—his thumb is in the center of my lower jaw, and his fingers relaxed on my cheek.
“And why not?” I flick my eyes up to hold his gaze, keeping still to savor his steady hold on me.
I pull my lower lip between my teeth. “You know you want to,” I tease. Niyi’s head tips back, a breathy exhale falling from his parted lips. He returns his heavy gaze to mine, and my mouth becomes increasingly wet.
Every second increases the cravings…my desire to be touched by him.
“Moyo.” He leans in and whispers directly in my ear, “Know what you are to me?”
I can barely register his words, the pool between my thighs is so distracting. He pulls me close and takes my helix between his front teeth, nipping my ear hard.
“Mhmm,” I whimper, completely forgetting the question.
He presses his head against my cheek. The friction from his facial hair rubs against my smooth skin, further lighting my body on fire. I can’t see him, but his groan reverberates against my throat. “You’re my favorite,” he breathes, then puts his lips to mine.
I thought the wine was good, but it’s nothing compared to this. How did I ever think I’d kissed anyone before this? Our lips move in unison to choreography my consciousness isn’t privy to, but somehow my mouth knows all the steps. Niyi’s like a never-ending wine glass overflowing with lust, and I’m drunk on him.
In the past, I’ve always led, and my partners followed. No one challenged or compared to my passion until Niyi. We are perfectly in sync—a finely tuned orchestra moving towards our crescendo. My head tilts left, and he follows suit. My tongue rises, and his falls. A whimper falls from my lips, and he answers with a moan. There’s no clashing of teeth or awkward panting. We are pure, unfiltered fervor. Bliss.
We fall into the comfort of the couch. Taking a second to breathe.
“Moyo,” he rasps, “come here.” He lifts me from my spot and pulls me onto him, so I straddle his lap. I’m a big girl, always have been, and my weight has never been a problem during sex, but it’s never been this easy. Where boys have hesitantly squeezed and prodded, Niyi—the epitome of a man—grabs confidently and firmly. There is no second-guessing or reluctance in his movements as he gently pushes me backwards. My back hits the soft cushions of my couch. He pulls my sweater off and unfastens the buttons of my white shirt from the bottom up, exposing me in increments, then tortuously leaves a trail of wet kisses from my navel to my sternum on his way. He chuckles at my shaky breaths and uncontrollable whines.
He unclasps my bra as his lips find mine again, slower and longer this time, like we have all the time in the world and he plans to savor each second.
Everything within me is moving at record speed. The pounding of my heartbeat, the rush of blood in my ears, the ever-growing puddle between my legs. We’re so deeply entangled, physically and emotionally, I can’t figure out where I stop and he begins; can’t distinguish his moans from mine. He pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, and his eyes flutter shut. His fingers lightly trace across my collarbones, then move to my breasts, pinching my nipples till they’re taut before taking them into his mouth. Niyi sucks and bites them till ecstasy flows through me like nectar.
Niyi gives me one sharp tug before letting go and focusing his attention on my lower half. Without any fanfare, he takes off my pants. I instinctively try to shut my legs, but his wide palms keep me open. He doesn’t say a word as his hands travel to my black lace-covered center.
“Niyi,” I moan. His eyebrows lift, and his glossy gaze lands on mine. “Fuck me.”
I’m ready, but not because I haven’t had sex in almost two months. I’m ready because I’ve never had sex like this before. Everything about Niyi pushes me toward the edge. The shifts between delicate exploration and commanding touches are setting me aflame. His muffled moans spur me on. His weighted looks will forever be burned into the fabric of my soul.
“You sure?” he asks innocently before giving me a smirk. I want to smack him so hard because I know that he knows I’m sure.
I push up against the armrest. “If you don’t get to it, I’ll handle things myself.”
