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Maleh wouldn’t also support that I let Sarima go just like that. E sure me say that if I told her about this, she would advise that I drag everybody involved by the last strand of hair until I got satisfying justice. That was my mother’s policy: take the entire head off if an eye was taken from you, raze down a village if your barn was burnt. I doubt if she ever forgave my father for not allowing her to deal with Eserovwe’s mama and papa, even though she beat Eserovwe’s mama black and blue some days later and set her husband’s bike on fire the night before we were to move to a new neighborhood.

Maleh wasn’t as forgiving as Paleh. And she hated it that Paleh didn’t possess half her strength and guts. None of us did. At times, she would refer to my father as an Aye—a woman. But she never said it to his face. Regardless of her gra-gra, she still respected him.

Growing up, I feared I was more like my father than I was like my mother. I was slow to take offense, shied away from confrontations and arguments, and left my belongings for those struggling for them. I’d rather not be in school than engage in a planned fight. But then, there was a part of my mother’s trait inherent in me: her sharp, witty retorts to most comments and how badly I felt the wound of hurt when the offence cut too deep. The last part had always bothered me, the fact that even though I hardly took offense, I also felt the burden of hurt the most. But the relieving thing was that, unlike my mother, I wasn’t hard-hearted.

Or so I thought. Because, at this moment, as I stood up to go about my night routine, I felt that trait screaming louder, growing bigger and bigger, like a nasty, stinking underground hole that got wider as flood passed through it.

As time crawled past, I began to fear this feeling. It was like a shadow of estrangement, wearing a black hoodie as a disguise and inhabiting the darkest corners of my heart and the furthest caverns of my mind. It was there while I bathed, lay down, and got up. It followed me out for a walk and returned with me like an unwelcome stalker that never really left one alone. As I lay back down, it became visible on the walls, by the door, up the ceiling—everywhere I turned, there was an ugly presence of anger, despair, and grief. And I was in the middle, spiraling lower and lower.

I got up again and walked to the sitting room to get the Bible I usually left on the television stand. I gave up after reading three scriptures because nothing changed. I still had anger and bitterness that only satisfying justice would solve.

I wanted that justice, no matter what anybody said. But I also needed peace and uninterrupted rest tonight. However, right now, I was feeling restless, like I just passed myself in a mirror, and my heart leapt—'Ah! There I am!' But it happened too fast that I feared I would spend the rest of this night looking for myself again.

I blamed these church members’ visit for this restlessness. Maybe I could distract myself with something. Praying? I’d done that the day I returned from the police station and wanted to spend some solemn time alone. It hadn’t ended the way I planned, but it ended much better regardless.

I had prayed for Ife, and she returned to me. That was something.

At the thought of Ife, something shifted in my heart. The hardened, cemented surface melted just enough to allow a smile to spread across my face. That seemed to be the distraction I needed tonight, the peace that would eventually send me to sleep. I let my thoughts dwell on the phone conversation we had this morning about her surprise visit to the workshop the previous day and how my guys wouldn’t stop talking about her.

“Fresh babe,” they had called her.

I too couldn’t stop reminiscing about that visit and how my heart had swelled with pride when they called her
‘mine.’

‘Oghene’s fine babe.’

She was truly beautiful in her knee-length body-skimming dress, her hair lying loose and wild around her shoulders. This morning, while we spoke, I had told her how I couldn’t stop looking at her while we ate and talked and laughed.

She said she noticed and didn’t mind at all.

I didn’t tell her how I had again wanted her with a ferocity that took my breath away, and before Shukudi lowered his head to whisper, “O’boy no dey look woman like say you wan chop am,” my heart had already left me to strut towards her. Or how I trembled when she placed her hand on my thigh, in a way that made me feel like I might fall apart any second because I loved the warmth of her touch and wished she never took her hands away.

With those thoughts and the smile that accompanied them, I walked back into the room, picked up my phone, and called her.

She answered as if she had been waiting.

“Hey, you,” she said in a sweet, sleepy voice.

Hey, you. That was the first thing she said to me that day she visited the workshop. It sounded so... American. The kind of thing actors would say in American romance movies. I liked it, especially the way she said it. “Hey, you,” with that look on her face. Was that a new form of greeting she learned? Because she used it again this morning, and now.

“Hey, you too,” I replied.

The sound of her soft laughter hit me, went through me, stripped me bare, and formed a knot in my stomach like it always did. And I chuckled. How could just speaking to a woman on the phone do this to me? She wasn’t just any kind of woman. She was so much more.

She asked me about my day, and I told her; the fight that broke out between Agu and a customer, the extra money I made from home service, the call I got from Pabod breweries based on a referral. Then I asked about her day, and she told me about the girls in her office and the men too, who wouldn’t stop talking about how beautiful she looked after her leave. She said she’d contacted the car dealer that sold the car Preye gifted her.

We had spoken about it before she left my house, and we agreed she would check the documents of the car for any contact address or number so we could find out if the guy knew something about what happened to her. Akanelu would be glad to help.

I later told her about the church members’ visit to my house since I couldn’t honor their summons the previous evening. I told her about their inconsiderate pleas to forgive and let go, the disappointment on the faces of the members when I couldn’t assure them of my forgiveness. Once I started speaking about it, I couldn’t stop myself from pouring every emotion out like I had been waiting for this moment.

She listened.

When I stopped and it became obvious that I wanted to hear her thoughts, she inhaled deeply and asked,

“What do you want?”

“Ife, I’m pained. Nobody is seeing it. They didn’t even talk about how they all doubted my innocence.”

As expected, she didn’t plead that I let go. Not literally.

“Your actions will always be what the world sees, but people who choose to see beyond their sentiments will always have the compassion to understand why you are feeling this way,” she said. She agreed that unforgiveness had a bad reputation, though. However, the next thing she said struck me like a beam of light in a dark space.

“I read somewhere that the deeper the depths of the heart, the deeper goes the wound, the harder it is to forgive,” she said. “A heartless person can forgive you overnight; there is no real pain there. But you have a heart, Oghene. It is expected that you hurt so deeply because you are so fragile and pure. You are a baby. But I don’t want you to allow the offenses of people to occupy your amazing heart, or you’ll lose yourself. I’d love for you to get the justice you desire. But I’d love more for you to be happy and fulfilled, to be your own self, to free your mind.”

I didn’t know where she got those words from. I didn’t even care that they might not make sense by some standard. But they resurrected me into brightness. Instantly, I knew what I wanted and how to get it.

Ife

I heard it in his voice—his pain. Not because he wanted me to feel it; I wasn’t sure he even wanted me to feel it. He just needed to talk to me, a comfort we had fallen into every evening and every morning. But as he spoke, it felt like someone was tearing my heart out, crumbling it like a flimsy piece of loose-leaf paper, and shoving it back into my chest. I didn’t know how it kept beating, how I kept listening, as I wondered where the warm man I knew had gone. The man I saw at the workshop yesterday who looked at me as if he would destroy the world to keep me safe. My heart cracked all over again, remembering how much I had missed him.

When he finished talking, we both breathed in at the same time. I couldn’t tell if we were breathing each other in or just trying not to cry.

I was angry on his behalf. I wanted those who hurt him to be punished. But more than that, I feared he was losing himself to sadness and pain. I didn’t want that for him.

“What do you want?” I asked, running my fingers along the thick fabric wallpaper of my sitting room to steady myself. The frustration in Oghene’s voice made him seem so fragile like he was falling apart.

“Ife, I’m pained. Nobody is seeing it. They didn’t even talk about how they all doubted my innocence.”

I inhaled deeply and held it. I seemed to do that a lot since he started telling me about this case. Each time, I felt like I needed to see how long I could hold it, to see if I could share a little of Oghene’s pain. But nothing could lift even a fragment of his burden, his fear. I could only feel it, not share it.

All I could do was be there for him, ready and willing to listen and speak when I felt he needed it.

It worked like it always did. In a short time, we were laughing again, teasing each other, and dreaming out loud. He wanted to know if I’d ever desire to be in a serious relationship again after what happened to me.

“With a good man, yes,” I replied.

Then he asked what my definition of a good man was, and I described him; as a man with an incomparable charm, a beautiful heart that overflowed with love, a magical sensitivity. A man who made me laugh when we were together, and made me miss him like the sky missed its moon when we were apart. A man who sent my heart into a cha-cha dance each time we spoke on the phone, like now.

“A man like you, Oghene,” I said, my heart lodged in my throat.

That was a green light, wasn’t it? I wished he would get the message and ask me again to be his girl. I wanted to be more to him, but I’d settle for that first, and we would go from there.

He laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Silly girl. You no well,” he murmured in that low, rumbling tone that reverberated through my core.
“Abeg go warm Eba chop.”

“It’s late, I can’t eat Eba by this time of the night.”

“Then go sleep.”

Thank you very much for the update aunty Rosy. You too much.

let me go and warm eba

Thanks for the update ma’am

What a story!!!This is a masterpiece!!!Make i go warm eba chop.Thanks a lot for this update aunty Rosy

Thanks for the update, madam. more grace

Thanks for the update and please don't rush to conclude this story. There are so many areas to explore.

hotswagg12:
Thanks for the update and please don't rush to conclude this story. There are so many areas to explore.

See set up

This story is already 76k words o. But I understand you sha. Let's see how it goes.

Dirdamed:
What a story!!!This is a masterpiece!!!Make i go warm eba chop.Thanks a lot for this update aunty Rosy

Na Oghene dey do shakara now. He I think he deserves it abeg, dont you think so?

He loves her to pieces, but he want to be sure she will not leave him again 😂😂😂

Ann2012:
Thanks for the update ma’am

Ann!!!

Long time, sis. How have you been?

You have been with me since day one, when I was still trying to find my feet in the writing community. You and a lot of people here. Thank you for always being around.

Xavier5:
I'm guessing Ife works at one of those banks at Mothercat...

Omoh, as a PH nïgga that schools at the University of Uyo (just finished my final year exams), seeing relatable areas in my city, especially the Trans Amadi axis, being mentioned is nostalgic. One of the things I love about the story is the deviation from the conventional story setting of Lagos.

Ife and Oghene, make una do stop this una erotic mind games abeg, make una do the "I love you", "You love me", and the muah muah, make person body rest jare... cos which kind play be this 😶😠😂

Rosemary, I love the way you blend eroticness with clean romance. No vulgar words, no sexual content, but every fibre of the story reeks of sensuality. How can a story be so clean but yet arousing? The words, the narrations, the thoughts of the character, the sensual tension between the lead characters, all contribute to the steamy essence of the literary piece. The objective testament to literary dexterity 🙃



#Xavier

Oshe! Thank you so much my brother. You have also been amazing

I dont even know you all names, but I am grateful that you all are here, and have been here. Thank you all.

Rosemary33:
I dont even know you all names, but I am grateful that you all are here, and have been here. Thank you all.

hey ma'am i didnt even knw you were the author of "his neighbours wife" bout Akwaugo and Morgan until i checked your profile. I swear i kept saying in my mind while reading that the writing style was almost same. The way u take ur time to desrcibe and make ur readers feel every fibre of feeling ur characters go through,added with that subtle touch of clean erotica(if there's any thing like that). I love it and i love u for being such a good writer, ur type is rare madame. If nt that u were married, i would have wanted to have someone like u as my gf or wife...me that loves stories like this.. You would just read to me everytime without me having to open a book ever again.

Ps: anytime i see ur name it reminds me of the flower and its scent.

Switinthemiddle:
hey ma'am i didnt even knw you were the author of "his neighbours wife" bout Akwaugo and Morgan until i checked your profile. I swear i kept saying in my mind while reading that the writing style was almost same. The way u take ur time to desrcibe and make ur readers feel every fibre of feeling ur characters go through,added with that subtle touch of clean erotica(if there's any thing like that). I love it and i love u for being such a good writer, ur type is rare madame. If nt that u were married, i would have wanted to have someone like u as my gf or wife...me that loves stories like this.. You would just read to me everytime without me having to open a book ever again.

Ps: anytime i see ur name it reminds me of the flower and its scent.

Now come on. You guys should stop making me blush

Yes, I wrote "His Neighbor's Wife," which has now been rewritten, edited and published under a new Title, Akwaugo. The physical copies are being sold on Nigerian bookstores and Amàzon print.

But I am glad that you guys saw and read it first. You read it in it's raw form, before editors put knives on it for marketing purposes

It haf finish again, and it feels like it wasn't enough... Just dey do your thing dey go jare!

Rosemary33:
Now come on. You guys should stop making me blush

Yes, I wrote "His Neighbor's Wife," which has now been rewritten, edited and published under a new Title, Akwaugo. The physical copies are being sold on Nigerian bookstores and Amàzon print.

But I am glad that you guys saw and read it first. You read it in it's raw form, before editors put knives on it for marketing purposes

but still a masterpiece all the same.
Maybe u can organize a book fair or something like that where u can read your book to ur listeners, im sure it would be beautiful. Besides i've never experienced something like that, ion knw if u have.

Rosemary33:
Ann!!!

Long time, sis. How have you been?

You have been with me since day one, when I was still trying to find my feet in the waiting community. You and a lot of people here. Thank you for always being around.

I’m great ma’am

What about you? I dey with you 💯

[quote author=Rosemary33 post=131136370]Na Oghene dey do shakara now. He I think he deserves it abeg, dont you think so?

He loves her to pieces, but he want to be sure she will not leave him again

Enjoyable updates 🙃


#Xavier

Twenty-six
Oghene

During the seemingly never-ending move-in process, my sister had sworn by 'Ogun' more times than I could count. She was busy in the new flat with Juoshi and Ife, fixing window blinds, arranging and rearranging sofas, connecting the gas cylinder to the cooker, unpacking utensils, and organizing the kitchen. They also moved mattresses into the rooms, positioning them just right.

Thankfully, there was no need for washing and cleaning since I had hired professional cleaners two days ago. They did an excellent job, though the smell of fresh paint and new wood from my first visit still lingered, now mixed with the stench of bleach and soap. A few strategically placed air fresheners would solve that in a day or two. Yesterday, my friends and I handled the electrical fittings and testing. Today was all about moving in my belongings and taking care of the remaining minor tasks.

“Ogun dey kill their mama,” my sister hissed. “Them think say them go use me play. I no dey gree for anybody o,” she said again, collapsing on the sofa.

I looked at her. "Esosa, you go dey take am easy. Everything is not fight. Shuu?” She was recounting a story of a fight she had with a friend she fell out with. It was on a Sunday, and the ex-friend had insulted her on her way back from church. Not wanting to lose the blessings from the day’s service, she swallowed the insult, ignored the girl, and continued her walk home. She'd rushed her prayers when she reached home—a ritual to claim the blessing of the day’s service—and then returned to her ex-friend to pick a fight. “I don’t even know when you change like this. You were calm before o. And if you talk that ‘Ogun kill your papa kill your mama’ one more time, I go pursue you comot for here so you can go look for that Ogun.”

Ife burst into laughter.

Juoshi chose that moment to walk in, and hearing my last remark, she burst out laughing like a raving lunatic. I looked at her and started laughing too.
“What happened? Why are you looking like this?” I asked. She looked ridiculous, her wig drenched and hanging down like a mop.

“Brother no ask me abeg. Just know you owe me a new wig.” she hissed, pulling off the wet wig. “Ese, abeg what happened after? Did you beat the girl? That’s the part I want to hear.” she asked Esosa, who lifted a brow and chuckled.

“Aproko,” Esosa said to Juoshi. “So you were listening?”

“Ehen? Before I went to the backyard where your running overhead tank baptized me unannounced.” Juoshi hissed. “Let's go back to the backyard nau. I was going to hang the laundry line. Come and help me.”

“With all pleasure,” Ese said, getting up. “These adults dey dull abeg.”

The two girls left in a hurry as if they were waiting for the opportunity to escape and left me with Ife and the tension passing between us.

I looked at Ife and noticed she was grinning—directly at me. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I saw her. She knew I saw her too, the part of her she’d been holding back since joining us in the truck. The tension between us had grown with each passing moment, our bodies brushing against each other as we acknowledged each other’s work and shared jokes. I saw her wish that I’d bring up the last conversation we had some nights ago when I asked what kind of man she’d love to date if she ever considered dating again.
We hadn't revisited that talk since then, but I knew she wanted to, even though she was deliberately avoiding being the one to raise it. Now, with the other girls gone, leaving us alone, I felt the opportunity to address the subtle indications she had been giving.

She looked away, adjusting the hand towel in her pocket. “Your sister is the direct opposite of you,” she said, tying the ends of her button placket.

I fought back the sudden urge to walk towards her and confess that I loved her, that I wanted forever with her. The idea of getting a bigger place became urgent after she’d spent those weeks with me when I realized how much nothing else mattered but having her in a space meant for just the two of us. This place, with its spacious rooms and ample kitchen, was perfect. I wanted her here, with all her disorganization and carefree spirit. But I wasn’t sure how long she would want to go with me.

I wanted forever. Was that what she wanted too?

“Don’t mind Esosa,” I replied, taking a deep breath. Smiling, I turned back to nailing a board to the wall for my books. It was something I hadn’t thought of yesterday when I was here with the guys.

“She’s sweet,” Ife said, still standing there, not moving a foot. “I like her.”

“She likes you too.” Esosa had never liked any girl around me before. They either tried too hard to impress, which she saw as a red flag, or they didn’t try enough, showing, in her judgment, that they didn’t love me enough. But with Ife, it was different. Esosa had taken a liking to Ife almost immediately, possibly because Ife bonded with her right away. With Juoshi already accepting Ife as family, it was easy for Esosa to fall head over heels for her.

“She’s a handful, I must warn you,” I said to Ife.

“A handful? Then she’s my kind of girl. She no send anybody mama.” Ife laughed. “Ogun go kill anybody that messes with her...”

I paused, hammer in hand, and turned to her with my hand on my waist, head cocked to the side, and a raised brow. “Why do I feel I’ll be hearing a lot of these Ogun curses from you now?”

Laughing harder, she splayed her arms. “Is it my fault? Your sister taught me. Ogun kill your...”

“Ife!”

She continued laughing.

“One more ‘Ogun...’ from your lips, and I’ll not be responsible for what I’ll do to you,” I warned, trying to maintain a straight face, but she saw through me and intensified her laughter.

“I’d like to see you do something to me,” she said. Her eyes lit up with anticipation, sending an unholy message to my brain and groin. Her words—‘I’d like to see you do something to me’—set off a burning longing to be set free.

“Really?” I challenged. “You really want to see me do something to you?”

“Yes,” her laughter had reduced to childish giggles.

“Oya, talk am again. Try am and see...”

“Ogun kill...”

Dropping the hammer, I picked up a throw pillow from the sofa and threw it at her. It hit her hip and fell to the floor. She screamed, picked the pillow up, and threw it back at me, missing. Unsatisfied, she picked up another one and missed again. The third one hit my chest, and I let out a fake groan, clenching the spot as if it hurt. She jumped in triumph, throwing a fist in the air. Not ready to let her win, I picked up the pillow at my feet and threw it at her, then ran after her before she could retaliate. She escaped my grasp by a hair's breadth, and soon, we were running around the flat like kids, throwing things at each other, laughing, catching, and releasing each other.

Finally, back in the sitting room, I grabbed her by the waist, spun her to face me, and crushed her against my chest, cuffing her arms behind her back with one hand and smiling victoriously. She struggled to break free, but I wouldn’t let her. It was fun having her there, against my body, so vulnerable, fighting to loosen my grip while laughing.

“Let me go,” she commanded with a giggle.

“No.”

“Let me go now, or...”

“Or what?” I asked, loving the threat in her voice and what it was doing to me.

“Or I’m going to bite you on the lips.” The words slipped out before her brain could catch up to the implication of what she had just said.

My face grew hot. The burning need to talk her into making good on her threat scorched my tongue. “Would you, really?” I asked quietly.

The mood shifted, the light, playful air between us dissolving.

A sigh escaped her throat, low and throaty, as I released her hands and began to run mine up and down her arm. She sagged against me, a dead giveaway that she liked what I was doing. She liked that I had gotten bolder with her. She whimpered when I pulled away, but her face soon brightened with an enthusiastic smile as I scooped her up and spun her around the room, laughing. When I felt she was getting dizzy, I sobered and set her down. She lost balance, staggered, and grabbed my jeans to steady herself, her fingers brushing the skin of my waist. I held her tightly and touched my forehead to hers. She reached out to touch my face, stroking my cheeks and lips with her fingertips.

“You are a handsome man, Oghene,” she said.

“Stop. Don’t say that.” I couldn’t remember the last time anyone called me handsome, but I liked that it was her saying it after such a long while.

“I mean it.”

“No, you don’t.” I leaned into her touch, chuckling softly while she ran her hands up into my disheveled hair, brushing it back with her fingers.

“I guess you’ll not believe me if I also told you that I’m deeply in love with you.”

...

My breath caught in my throat immediately as she let out those words. She was in love with me. Deeply in love. I knew she was, although I wasn’t sure how deep. But hearing her say it finally...those words echoed inside my skull, and I began to feel strange. Tingly. Oddly warm. My hands tightened around her as my heart picked up pace and my skin burned like a soft fire. A tiny voice in the back of my head craved to hear her say again that she loved me.

I leaned forward, leaving no space between us. We stood there for a while, so close that all it would take was for her to tilt her chin up for our lips to touch. I prayed she wouldn’t do that because I didn’t trust my resistance at this moment.

"How deep?" I asked in a very low tone. For once, since we started this playful banter, I thought of Juoshi and Esosa. I prayed they wouldn’t choose this moment to walk in. I wouldn’t want them to spoil things for me...for us. “Tell me, sunshine. How deep?”

"Too deep," she mumbled, mesmerizing me with the warmth coming off her body.

“Too deep,” I repeated, feeling overwhelmed. I didn’t expect her first love confession to be so…life-altering. In a few brief moments, the rule book of my universe had been rewritten. Suddenly I was a brand-new person, with so much to hold on to, so much to live for. This love she had for me, this love I had for her that had turned both of us into fragile beings, that would get deeper the more we allowed the relationship to progress, had renewed me.

"You know what your problem is?" she asked without looking at me.

"What?" I rasped.

"You're too soft and too scared."

"I am not scared,” I denied, though I felt she was right somehow. To prove to her that I wasn’t scared of my feelings for her, I lifted her face. “What's wrong with being soft?" My lips whispered against hers. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but something close to it. I was sure she felt my breath against her cheeks as I spoke, the tips of our noses bumping lightly against each other.

“Kiss me,” she breathed, her eyes slightly closed. “I dare you. If you are not scared.”

“No.” God, I wouldn’t be just kissing her. I would make love to her. Didn’t she understand that? Or was that what she wanted?

“You see? You are scared of me.”

I laughed, feeling better and lighter than I had in ages. “I am only being careful."

Kissing Ife would be the best thing in the world right now, and refusing to do so made me seem weak and overdramatic. But I feared losing my composure. Everything about Ife excited and aroused me to no end. Ife seemed to know this, and right now, she was deliberately rocking her hips against me, sending pleasure flooding through my body.

“Stop,” I said, halfheartedly.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Just a kiss and I’ll stop.”

“Not when I’m feeling like this,” I groaned. I desperately wanted her out of her clothes, and that was a very wrong thing. But I briefly touched my lips to her nose and pressed soft kisses along her hairline and neck. Then, I gathered her into my arms. After several moments, I sighed, kissed her cheek, and pushed her away.

“We have work to do.”

Her face fell into a frown. “You are such a... such a... what is wrong with you sef?” she shot at me and walked away to start picking up the clutter on the floor.

I stood at the spot she left me, fighting the urge to go to her, spin her around, and crush her lips with mine so she’d know that the only thing wrong with me was her. But again, I felt this wasn’t the right time or place. I would kiss Ife. God knew I would. And when I finally did, I would make sure she never forgot the taste of my mouth and the feel of my hands.

“I love you too,” I said, strolling across the sitting room to pick up the hammer I had dropped earlier. I glanced over my shoulder, and she was watching me. “Deeply.”

“How deep?” she asked.

“So deep.”

A grin spread across her face. “Get out abeg,” she murmured, trying to hide her excitement. “You are such a big head.”

“I was a handsome man a while ago.”

“Who told you? Come on, get away.”

“Cry harder,” I teased her, sticking out my tongue.

I turned back to resume my work. Just as I swung the hammer, it glanced off the nail that was halfway driven into the wall and struck my thumb instead. A sharp, stinging pain shot through my hand, and I let out a loud grunt.

“What?” Ife panicked and rushed to my side. Her eyes widened with concern as she looked at me. "You..." she began, lowering her gaze to my throbbing thumb, which I was now stroking and wincing at. "I... sorry."

Without hesitation, she took my hand and began to massage my thumb gently, her fingers working with tenderness. Her genuine concern and the gentle pressure of her fingers against my skin brought back that pleasant sensation I couldn’t ignore.

“There, just..."

She looked up, the rest of my sentence fading into nothing. She licked her lips, watching me with intense intrigue as she applied pressure while massaging my thumb. It wasn’t hurting much, but I allowed a wince.

“Sorry,” she said, drawing me in again with her voice like a helpless fool.

I wanted her again. I just might break my own rules, just for her.

“You shouldn’t...” she whispered.

"What?" I interrupted, just as softly.

"What, um..." She swallowed, breathless. "Sorry," she mumbled again, now looking at my face.

“It’s not your fault,” I replied. “But you can keep stroking it. I love it.”

“You no well,” she hissed, dropping my hand, but she didn’t move.

“I tell you say I well? I am sick. And you are responsible.”

She scoffed but she was quite shaken; I could see it in her expression, in the way she nervously toyed with the buttons on her shirt.

****
Ife

A man mustn't court a woman, take her on dates, use phone calls and WhatsApp messages to wound her, disorganize her with sexual tension, only to start acting like a tough guy when he had completely turned her into a meowing kitten.

Oghene, may Ogun chop your eye.

"I love you, Ifenkili," he softly muttered, as if he read my thoughts and needed to assure me of his feelings. "Oya, go back to what you were doing before I change my mind and rip off your clothes so I can show you just how much I want you right now.”

It was supposed to be a joke, what he said, but it wasn’t. He knew as much as I did that it wasn’t. That was why he paused, letting the tension mount. His gaze was fixed on my face.

"How long are you going to make me wait?" I whispered.

He considered my question. Then, "I don't know," he said, still staring at me. In his eyes, I saw the wheels turning, weighing the options and eventualities. Finally, he breathed out through his nose, as if expelling bad energy. "Well, I guess until it is safe and right.”

I nodded and moved away to get myself busy. I stood in the middle of the sitting room, trying to recall what I was supposed to be doing. On impulse, I turned and found him inches away. The way he was looking at me...like he had something in his chest he wanted to let out, but didn’t know how, and the weight of it was slowing time, stirring arousal afresh. I squinted at him, and he grinned shyly. Even though he didn’t move closer, I felt him wrap around me, shifting into me, embracing me without actually touching me.

Once again, untried sensations swelled inside me. I wasn’t sure I’d felt anything like it. No man had ever stirred me like Oghene did. His solidness and strength stroked me physically. His softness and fragility excited me.

“What?” I asked.

“Wetin be ‘what?’”

“What do you mean ‘wetin is what?’ You are the one staring.” I snapped, a little irritated. Briefly, I thought of that moment he spun me around, and I became dizzy and held on to him to steady myself. My fingers had scraped down his side and sank inside his jeans. The force of my grip had drawn down the waistband of his jeans by several inches. I had touched the muscular curve of his hip, and his body heat had stroked between my fingers, crept over my hand, and skittered up my arm. My breasts had tingled. When I shamelessly asked him to kiss me, and he, for the second time, refused me, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me.

“You dey vex? Wetin make you dey vex now?” he asked, his voice a deep-husky sound. "What did I do?”

Everything. From filling the air with his enticingly male scent of musk and hard work, to allowing himself to become a weapon fashioned against me...an engulfing, modest heart-stopper. In just a pair of jeans and a body-hugging vest, he looked so alpha and carnal. Yet, in his face, there was this sweetness and softness that melted my heart all the time.

The sound of footsteps and laughter cut into the moment, drawing my attention to the girls who had just re-entered the sitting room with black nylon bags.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Juochi said, bursting into fresh bouts of laughter.

“Shuu?” Esosa exclaimed, looking from her to Oghene and back to me. “Una still dey here?”

“I told you that leaving the two of them alone was a bad idea. See, they’ve not done a single thing since we left.” Juochi said. “Abeg, when are you guys getting married?” she asked, accepting the plate Esosa offered.
The strong smell of bole and peppered sauce filled the air immediately she emptied the contents of one of the bags into the plate.

I looked at Oghene with confusion. He, too, was looking at me.

“Who is getting married?” he asked.

“The two of you, of course,” Juochi replied, handing the filled plate to me and accepting a second plate from Esosa to repeat the same process with the second nylon bag. She settled on the floor, pulling Esosa down with her, and they started eating without sparing us a glance.

Without asking, we understood that the plate handed to me was meant to be shared by myself and Oghene. So, I turned to him. He must be hungry, too, because he took the plate from me, grabbed my arm, and we walked to the kitchen.

Soon we settled on the floor like the girls and started eating. As we ate, we talked about the car dealer and how far I’d gone with him. The man wanted his car back as Preye didn’t buy it outright, but Oghene’s friend said the car must remain with the police he contacted to look into the case until the investigation was over. We also spoke about Sarima. She had been granted bail, but Oghene was still suing her in court. He wanted her to go through that stress at least once before he would consider settling. He asked if I thought he was a bad guy for choosing to push the matter to court despite all the pleas.

“I have forgiven her,” he said. “But I think I mustn’t let it slide just like that. Someone else might try it on someone else, knowing that she would easily be let off the hook.”

“I don’t judge you,” I replied, waiting for him to choose from the two pieces of fish remaining on the plate so I could pick the other. “What matters is that you have forgiven her. Whatever decision you take concerning this issue...I stand by you.”

He picked the last bole on the plate, ate it, and got up. “Thank you,” he said, walking towards the sink to wash his hands.

“You are done? What of the fish...you no wan chop fish?”

“Eat,” he replied, dabbing his wet palms on his jeans.

“It’s two here.”

“I know. Eat both of them.” He walked back to where I was and grabbed and shook my head. “That’s my payment for making you vexed today,” he said and walked away.

As I watched him disappear through the door that would lead him back to the sitting room, my body began to get damp with my longing for him while I kept a smile on my face, I thought: ‘Sexual tension is like a ruthless pigeon. Feed it once and it will follow you around forever. It never tires or goes on vacation. It just lingers.’

But what I have for Oghene wasn’t only some hardcore, animalistic, lick his body all over, sexual tension. I loved him. I also know now that he didn’t just love me. We might have a future together.
As for the kiss? It would happen eventually. And wwhen it did, it would be worth it, that, I was sure.

Rosemary33:
Twenty-six
Oghene


“I guess you’ll not believe me if I also told you that I’m deeply in love with you.”

...

Awwwwn. This love they do person for body like typhoid and malaria. The love make sense joor.

Thank you aunty Rosy for this wonderful update

Yippee maam ROSE, my crush has posted. been stalking your page all day.
You've just given me the equivalent of a goodnight cuddle from a lover with this post.
Thanks maam and GOD Bless you.

thanks

Thank you for the update Rosemary33.

Waoh!!!just waoh!!!this update on a cool morning without anybody by my side is hellish o,but i go manage.Abeg when will these two kiss and do some other things(if you know you know),make them do kiss abeg make we know the next thing on the agenda,lol.Anyways,super brilliant update(as always).Thanks a lot and more ink to your pen

This update sweet me die

Thanks ma’am

Thanks for the update and each chapter gives a clear visualization of the event taking place. Thanks once again and can't wait for the next update.

Wait o. Did I hear abi read I love you deeply💃💃💃...pls who has Davido's number😀 we must throw a party...awww Rosemary ❤️ thanks so much for this update.....where is that preye abi what's his name sef....ife's ex....

This update sweet me die,but pls aunty Rose let Oghene nd Ife kiss naw,I believe Ife is dieing 4 the kiss too