It was a hot Saturday night, the kind where the heat clings to your skin no matter how many times you shower. I had just packed my hair into a messy bun and settled into bed in nothing but a short tee and cotton panties when Deji called.

His voice was low, rough. “Can I come over?”

I sat up immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“She ended it,” he said. “Just like that”.

My heart sank.

“Come,” I said, already getting up to unlock the door.

He arrived twenty minutes later, no smiles, no energy, just Deji in a faded black shirt and joggers, eyes swollen and jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. I hugged him. He held on longer than usual.

He followed me inside and sat on the couch like someone carrying a weight too heavy. I brought him a cold drink, but he barely touched it.

“She just said she was tired,” he finally muttered. “Tired of trying. Tired of me.”

I sat beside him, close. “You’re not the problem, Deji.”

“I gave her everything,” he said, eyes glistening. “I don’t know how to bounce back from this.”

I placed my hand on his. It was a small thing, but he looked at it… then at me. Something shifted.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I whispered.

He was still staring at me. Our faces were close, too close. I should’ve pulled away, but I didn’t. I leaned in and kissed him. It was soft at first, just a moment. But he didn’t stop me. He kissed me back like he needed it, like he was falling apart and holding onto me was the only thing keeping him sane.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me. Maybe I just wanted to make him feel better. Maybe it was something I had buried long ago without admitting it.

One kiss became two. Then three. Then he cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheek, his lips moving deeper against mine, needy and hot. His tongue teased mine, slow but hungry. My breath caught as his hand slipped down to my waist, pulling me onto his lap.

We didn’t say a word.

My thighs straddled him, the thin fabric of my tee riding up as his hands slid under, fingers trailing along my bare skin, lighting tiny fires with every touch. His lips moved from my mouth to my neck, slow, lingering kisses that made me tremble. I could feel him hard against me, his breath uneven, matching mine.

He peeled my shirt off gently, eyes on my body like he was taking his time to memorise every part. He kissed my collarbone, down to my breasts, sucking and teasing till my head fell back, a soft moan escaping me. My hands ran through his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more.

He lifted me and carried me to the bed without saying a word, laying me down like I was something precious. Then he took off his clothes, slowly, deliberately, and I took in the sight of him. All of him.

He came back to me, his hand sliding between my thighs, parting them. His fingers found my wetness, teasing gently, circling till I gasped. He watched me with dark, focused eyes, then lowered his head. His tongue replaced his fingers, licking and sucking with slow intensity until my legs trembled, and I moaned his name like a secret.

Then he entered me, slow at first, then deeper. His strokes were steady and firm as if he were holding back and letting go at the same time. I wrapped my legs around him, matching his rhythm, feeling every inch of him, every movement, every breath. The room felt charged. Our bodies moved like we had always known this moment would come.

We came undone together, moaning into each other’s mouths, bodies slick and tangled. When it was over, we lay there, skin to skin, breath slowing down.

He turned to me and said softly, “Did that just happen?”

I smiled, running my fingers along his chest. “Yeah. And I’m not sorry.”

Downtown
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