Tamara rose from the water like a mermaid, her string bikini clinging to every sinful curve. The tiny triangles of fabric left nothing to the imagination—just taut brown skin, glistening under the Lagos sun.
But Ginika? Ah, Ginika!
Her polka-dot bikini tried to be modest—keyword: tried. The wide, flimsy cups were no match for her heavy, luscious melons, swaying with every step she took toward us. The cantaloupe-colored fabric was stretched so thin, I could see everything—the perfect roundness of her breasts, the stiff peaks of her nipples standing at attention from the cold water. Sweet mother of mercy.
“Hey, guys!” Tamara called, waving us over with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
There was a thick tension in the air—no surprise after last night’s performance. Omotola, ever the diplomat, broke the ice first.
“Sorry, oh if we… over-shared,” she said, biting her lip. “We just thought—small fun won’t hurt anybody.”
Four seconds. That’s all it took for my shorts to tighten again, the fabric straining against my urgent situation. Damn these women and their witchcraft.
Tamara flicked water off her shoulder, shrugging. “No problem. We’re all adults here.”
Then Ginika let out a giggle that sent heat straight to my groin. “We just never expected that kind of show! But after all the stories Ikenna told us about your university adventures…” She trailed off, eyes twinkling. “…maybe we should have seen it coming.”
I shot Omotola a look—half warning, half promise, and she smirked back.
“How much of our bedroom business have you told these girls?” Omotola gasped, slapping the water dramatically—her outrage as fake as the innocence in her widened eyes.
“He tell us everything,” Ginika said, winking as she floated closer. “Unless… “—she dragged a fingertip down Tamara’s arm—”…some stories are still hidden?”
“Has he mentioned The Delay Game?”* Omotola said grinning.
My eyes shot to her—a silent warning—but it was too late. Ginika’s gaze sharpened. “Delay Game? What’s that?”
I cut in fast. “It’s just… sexy stories we exchange during video calls. Nothing serious.”
Liar.
Tamara’s slow smirk said she knew it. Ginika’s pout—full lips glistening with pool water—said she definitely knew it. But they let it slide, and for the next hour, we splashed under the burning sun, Omotola’s body gliding through the water like liquid temptation.
Then Tamara said. “We baked cake for your welcome yesterday. Let’s eat it now”
We all decided it was time to dry off and head over to their apartment for some afternoon dessert.
The moment we stepped into their apartment, Ginika spun to face us, biting her lower lip as she shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other. The way her polka-dot bikini clung to her curves made it hard to focus—almost as hard as the question she dropped next.
“So… this public sex thing you two used to do—”
“Used to?” Omotola cut in, her smirk sharp enough to slice through the tension.
Ginika ignored the tease, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But… you never get scared? Like, what if someone catches you?”
I laced my fingers through Omotola’s, feeling her pulse jump under my touch. “Fear is part of the fun,” I murmured. “It’s like your first kiss—your heart races, your palms sweat… and when it finally happens? Chei. Everything just explodes.”
Tamara’s eyes darkened. “So it makes the sex… better?”
Omotola threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and wicked. “Oh God, yes. The risk? The adrenaline? Nothing compares.”
I cleared my throat, desperate to redirect before my current situation became too obvious. “Now, about that cake—”
Ginika and Tamara exchanged a look—a silent conversation—before Tamara blurted, “It’s in the kitchen! But first… I need to wash off real quick.”
“Yeah, real quick,” Ginika echoed, giggling as she grabbed Tamara’s wrist and dragged her toward the bathroom. The door clicked shut. The lock turned. A second later, the shower hissed to life.
Omotola and I stared at each other, then burst out laughing.
“Well, at least they’re enjoying themselves,” Omotola grinned, her fingers tracing idle circles on my thigh—too high, too teasing—as the sound of the shower filled the apartment.
I let out a rough laugh. “I won’t lie… I’m a bit disappointed. With the way Ginika was eye-fucking us earlier, I thought for sure they were gonna—”
Click.
The bathroom door unlocked.
Omotola and I froze.
Did we just—?
The knob turned. Slowly. The door creaked open—just a crack—but it was enough. Enough to see the steam curl out. Enough to hear the hitch in Ginika’s breath. Enough to make my blood roar in my ears.
Oh. My. God.
Omotola’s grip on my hand tightened as we stood, our bare feet silent against the cool tiles. The air was thick with the scent of coconut body wash and something darker, wilder. My pulse hammered so hard I could feel it in my teeth.
Were they really…?
Were we really about to…?
Omotola didn’t wait for permission. She pushed the door open the rest of the way—and I nearly came on the spot.
The glass shower door fogged with heat, but not enough to hide the sinful spectacle unfolding behind it. Ginika and Tamara were devouring each other—hands roaming, thighs gliding together with slick friction, mouths fused in a kiss so deep it made my toes curl. Water cascaded over their glistening bodies, soap suds clinging to every curve like they didn’t want to let go either.
At first, they were too lost in their own world to notice us staring. But then—ah!—Ginika’s gaze flicked to mine, and she saw the hunger burning in my eyes.
A wicked grin curled her lips before she crashed back into Tamara, kissing her like she wanted to steal her soul. “Oh God, Tamara,” she moaned, voice dripping with want, “they’re watching us…”
Hell yes, we were.
Their breasts—full, heavy, perfect—pressed together, soap making them slide in a hypnotic rhythm. Tamara gasped when Ginika’s mouth abandoned hers, trailing down to latch onto a stiff, pink nipple. Sucking. Teasing. Owning.
Then—oh fuck—Ginika’s hand slipped between Tamara’s thighs, fingers working with practised ease.
“Mmm… fuck,” Tamara gasped, her back arching, fingers fisting in Ginika’s hair.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Tamara’s body was a masterpiece—long, toned legs, hips that begged to be gripped, skin glowing under the water’s sheen.
“Jesus Christ,” I hissed against Omotola’s ear, my voice rough with want. “Tamara’s completely bare down there—smooth like freshly-pounded yams.”
Omotola’s breath hitched, her nails digging into my arm. “Eight weeks of dreaming about them, and we got all the details wrong!”
A sharp, shuddering moan from Tamara snapped our attention back to the shower. She was close—so close—but the woman fought pleasure like a warrior. With a sudden growl, she wrenched Ginika’s mouth from her nipple and slammed her against the tiled wall. Water cascaded over them as Tamara snatched the detachable shower nozzle, dragging it slowly—so damn slowly—down Ginika’s glistening body. Over the heavy swell of her breasts, the sinful dip of her waist, the lush curve of her hips—
Then right where Ginika needed it most.
“Fuck—!” Ginika’s back arched as Tamara pressed the pulsing spray against her clit, their mouths crashing together in a wet, open kiss. Ginika’s fingers found Tamara’s slick heat, working her in tight circles while the showerhead did its devil’s work. Steam thickened the air, wrapping around their tangled bodies like a fever dream.
The sounds—God, the sounds—moans pitched higher, breaths coming in ragged gasps, skin slapping against wet skin. Then, in perfect unison, their eyes locked onto ours. Watching us watch them.
And just like that—
They shattered.
Ginika’s scream tangled with Tamara’s cry, their bodies trembling against each other as pleasure ripped through them. Omotola and I stood there, spellbound, until the last aftershock faded.
“Bra-fucking-vo,” Omotola breathed, clapping slowly. “That was… art.”
The girls stumbled from the shower, still clinging to each other, their skin flushed and glowing.
“Best. Shower. Ever,” Ginika panted, grinning like a satisfied cat.
Tamara’s gaze turned dangerous as she flicked water at us. “Your turn. That chlorine won’t wash off itself.”
Ginika’s gaze burned into Omotola as she spoke, her eyes tracing every sinful curve of my girlfriend’s barely-there g-string bikini. The hunger in her stare was palpable—like a lioness eyeing her prey.
“Of course we do,” Omotola said, releasing my hand with a smirk. She sauntered over to Tamara, her hips swaying with each step, and turned her back to the trembling girl. “But first… help me out of this, won’t you?”
Tamara glanced at Ginika—a silent plea for permission—and when Ginika gave a slow, approving nod, Tamara’s fingers moved to the clasp of Omotola’s strapless bikini top. The catch gave way with a soft snap, and the flimsy fabric tumbled to the floor.
Omotola’s full, perfect breasts sprang free, so close to Tamara’s face that her warm breath ghosted over the peaked nipples. For a heartbeat, it looked like Tamara might taste them—her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her body swaying forward—
But she hesitated. Instead, she stepped behind Omotola, her hands sliding down the smooth curve of my girlfriend’s back before hooking into the strings of her g-string. Slowly—agonizingly—she peeled the damp fabric down Omotola’s thighs, pausing to knead the soft flesh of her ass with a greedy squeeze.
“Now you,” Ginika murmured, turning to me with a wicked gleam in her eye.
My swim trunks were painfully tight, the fabric straining against my arousal. Ginika stood so close I could feel the heat radiating off her naked body, her full breasts just inches from my chest. Fuck. Weeks ago, I’d been this close to claiming her, to burying myself in her warmth. I’d done the right thing, stayed faithful… but that didn’t stop the fantasies. Didn’t stop the ache.
I stood frozen, my jaw clenched, as Ginika closed the distance between us.
“Do you still think about that night?” she whispered, her fingers trailing up my abs. “About what almost happened?”
“You have absolutely no idea,” I growled, my voice thick with desire as Omotola’s laughter melted into a breathy moan beside me.
“Neither do you,” Ginika whispered, her dark eyes burning with a hunger that sent lightning down my spine. Had she been dreaming of this moment too? Fantasizing about my hands on her curves, my mouth on her skin, just as desperately as I’d imagined hers on me?
Before I could process the thought, Ginika closed the distance between us in one fluid motion. The moment her thick nipples brushed against my chest—hard as pebbles, scorching hot—my brain short-circuited. She dragged them slowly, agonizingly down my torso, each inch of contact sparking fire under my skin. When her full, heavy breasts slid over my throbbing erection, the friction nearly made me explode right then.
“Fuck—!” I choked out, my hands flying to her shoulders to steady myself.
But Ginika wasn’t done. Dropping to her knees with the grace of a goddess, she leaned in and—with a devilish smirk—caught the waistband of my trunks between her teeth. The slow, deliberate tug as she peeled them down made my cock twitch violently, precum glistening at the tip. For one heart-stopping moment, her lips hovered millimetres from me, her warm breath teasing the sensitive head.
“Later,” she purred, rising with a sway of her hips that left me dizzy.
Before I could protest, Omotola yanked me into the shower, her nails digging into my wrist.
“You’re going to fuck me right now,” she demanded, her voice a primal growl as her hands claimed my cock.
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