₦airaland Forum

“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.

The above in bold really got me

I thought of this and feel like letting you all know. I'll be at Enugu from the 1st to the 3rd, for a bookfest.

And you know what is more amazing? My books would be sampled and sold at discounted prices.

So, if you are in Enugu, or will be in Enugu in any of those days, let's meet.

Romance fiction lovers, let's do this.

Why do I have this feeling that Preye might resurface? 🤔

Kudos, auntie Rosemary. More inspiration.

Rosemary33:
I thought of this and feel like letting you all know. I'll be at Enugu from the 1st to the 3rd, for a bookfest.

And you know what is more amazing? My books would be sampled and sold at discounted prices.

So, if you are in Enugu, or will be in Enugu in any of those days, let's meet.

Romance fiction lovers, let's do this.

Is this current book going to be on sale too? If yes, please how can I get the ebook?? I don't mind paying to get it 🙏

Rosemary33:
I thought of this and feel like letting you all know. I'll be at Enugu from the 1st to the 3rd, for a bookfest.

And you know what is more amazing? My books would be sampled and sold at discounted prices.

So, if you are in Enugu, or will be in Enugu in any of those days, let's meet.

Romance fiction lovers, let's do this.

Welldone Aunty Rosy, I would have loved to be there but I stay very far. Massive sales.

Rosemary33:
I thought of this and feel like letting you all know. I'll be at Enugu from the 1st to the 3rd, for a bookfest.

And you know what is more amazing? My books would be sampled and sold at discounted prices.

So, if you are in Enugu, or will be in Enugu in any of those days, let's meet.
i will attend
Romance fiction lovers, let's do this.

i will attend

I wish you the best of sales as you begin your book fest today. Some of us may not be present due to distance but always know that your online family loves you. Cheers!

Nwiboko26:
I wish you the best of sales as you begin your book fest today. Some of us may not be present due to distance but always know that your online family loves you. Cheers!

Seconded...

Beautiful update. Love the smutty and equally chaste (which is paradoxical) sexual tension in this update.

I'm beginning to take a liking for the Esosa character. It would be nice if there's a spin-off that focused on her character. She has a lot of mystery and allure to be unpacked and explored. It would be nice seeing a hot-headed, I no go gree lady meowing as a kitten when in love 😂.

With the way you're teasing us with the kiss... setting us up for some spectacular kissing moment, that kiss better be spectacular 😂... nothing short of theatrical 😏, otherwise blood go flow... literarily 😶

I wish you success on your ongoing book fest. Would have love a meet and greet but unfortunately Uyo too far from Enugu, and transport fare heavy as BBW 😏😂.


#Xavier

Hey man.

It's really been a long time.

Hope you're good

Xavier5:
Beautiful update. Love the smutty and equally chaste (which is paradoxical) sexual tension in this update.

I'm beginning to take a liking for the Esosa character. It would be nice if there's a spin-off that focused on her character. She has a lot of mystery and allure to be unpacked and explored. It would be nice seeing a hot-headed, I no go gree lady meowing as a kitten when in love 😂.

With the way you're teasing us with the kiss... setting us up for some spectacular kissing moment, that kiss better be spectacular 😂... nothing short of theatrical 😏, otherwise blood go flow... literarily 😶

I wish you success on your ongoing book fest. Would have love a meet and greet but unfortunately Uyo too far from Enugu, and transport fare heavy as BBW 😏😂.


#Xavier

Semako36:
Hey man.

It's really been a long time.

Hope you're good

As you can see, I'm hale, haleleir, haleliest 😎. Will be making my story comeback soon though with a rewrite of everything 😏


#Xavier

I'll be there

Xavier5:
As you can see, I'm hale, haleleir, haleliest 😎. Will be making my story comeback soon though with a rewrite of everything 😏


#Xavier

What a story.
One of the best i have ever read on this forum.
Thank you so much ma'am.
God bless you.
💐💐💐

Aunty Rosy how was the book Fest

Twenty-seven
Ife

Relationship Rule 101: Never make the love of your life your photographer even if he was a world class professional photographer. The snapshots on my phone were a testament to this rule.

Of all the things I loved about my man, Oghene, taking my pictures wasn’t one of them. Because browsing through my phone, looking at the pictures I took of him versus the ones he took of me...why was I looking like a not fully downloaded AI generated human in some of the pictures he took of me and an inflatable air dancer balloon man on the others, while all the ones I took of him were clean, cute and social media worthy?

What made it even more frustrating was the fact that Oghene was a professional cameraman. I'd seen the stunning videos and photos he'd taken at church programs and members' functions, which only heightened my dissatisfaction. I wanted to make excuses for him, thinking maybe the pictures were taken while we were both drunk with laughter, goofing around. But even then, my photos were leagues better. While the ones he took were all dancing in italics, mine captured his vintage soul, brilliant mind, and that incomparable face with a glorious smile.

I kept scrolling through the pictures until I stopped at the very first one I took of him when he was unaware. I was in the second bedroom with the girls when it hit me—I couldn't keep this beautiful feeling to myself. I'd soon want to talk about him to my friends and colleagues, and they would want to see what he looked like. But I didn't have a single picture of him. So, I left the girls, walked into the master bedroom where he was checking the functionality of the new AC, and called his name. The moment he turned to me—click, click—I captured him.

"What... what did you do that for?" he asked, momentarily confused.

"Bragging rights," I replied, checking the photos and grinning with satisfaction.

He laughed, muttering, "Women sef." Then he pulled out his own phone and started snapping pictures of me from awkward angles without even asking me to pose. He had the audacity to send them to me with the caption 'cute,' followed by laughing emojis.

He knew those photos were terrible and expected my reaction. When I called him a few minutes after receiving them, he started laughing the moment he picked up.

"So, babe, you're saying this guy is a 10?" Ale asked, shifting closer with a plate of noodles.

I had gone over to her salon to wash my hair and get my nails done, and she had followed me home because, according to her, there was some juicy gossip to be shared, and she had been seeing too little of me these days.

"If there's anything more than a 10, I'd give it to him," I replied, my eyes locked on the first photo I took of Oghene. He was looking back at me as if he could see my soul, and as if he liked what he saw. "He's so... so... everything," I whispered, utterly lost in the memory. No, not lost in a bad way, but in a way that felt like being found.

A snap of fingers in front of my face brought me back to the present. I looked up to see Ale, her mouth full, a strand of noodle hanging from her lips, gazing at me in awe.

"Wait..." she gestured, sucking in the noodle, chewing quickly, and swallowing. "My friend!" She giggled, standing up dramatically with her arms crossed over her chest, making me burst into laughter.

"What is it?" I asked, glancing at her plate. "Jesus! How many packs of noodles did you cook for just yourself?"

"Three," she replied with a shrug.

"Three? Like, three super packs?" As friends, Ale and I needed to have a conversation about food portions. Why was she always eating like her ancestors died of starvation? It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford whatever she wanted—her kitchen storeroom was packed. She just loved eating large portions. It wouldn’t have mattered if she didn’t always complain about her habit of overfilling her plate. It was so bad that even when food was meant for a group, she'd heap her plate until there was barely anything left for the rest.

Imagine having to shout, "Other people haven't eaten yet!" every time your friend entered the kitchen.
"Ale, three is too much. Will you even be able to finish it?" I asked with concern.

"Yes, I’m so hungry, abeg."

"But this is too much. Three super packs? Babe, how do you even eat this much? On which stomach?"
She dismissed me with a wave and returned to her food, twirling a forkful of noodles and shoving it into her mouth. "Leave me alone, abeg," she said with her mouth full. "I don't eat like you, picking at food like a bird." She took another forkful. "I don’t even eat that much. Wait until you meet my village people. I'm always confused when I see them eat in the village. They even wonder how I survive on so little food..."

"Little food? You?"

"Yes, nau. Oh, you think I eat too much?" She hissed, dropped her fork, and walked back to stand in front of me. "Abeg, let’s continue our gist."

"Which gist?"

"The one about your new lover."

"Which lover?"

"Idiot. Don't vex me now. Tell me about your new guy," she said, reaching for her plate and resuming her meal.

"Which new guy?" I asked.

She gave me a playful stink-eye. "Abeg, talk.

"Ehm..." I started, savoring the suspense as Ale fidgeted impatiently, her foot tapping the floor. Asiligbakaute. Aproko republic—I’d picked that up too from Ese, Oghene’s sister. "Ehm..."

"O, babes, stop! I want to hear everything about this guy. You said he's a 10, yeah?"

"He’s more." I gave her a knowing glance, and she shrieked, wiggling with excitement.

"I never knew I could find everything in one man. Ale, that guy... that guy..."

"Awww." She moved my legs and sat beside me with her plate. "I am so happy for you, girlfriend." She quickly shoveled a few forkfuls of noodles into her mouth. "The guy's a bit fine, sha."

"Coming from someone who’s always dated men that look like second-hand projects the angels on internship made? Girl, don’t give me mouth now."

"You dey craze, idiot. Abeg, gist me. Okay, the guy is fine."

"You say? Oghene is handsome. Morning vitamin pills for girls. Sugarcane umu nwa." Something was wrong with me. No, not me. With this thing called love. Now I understood why it was called a bug, a parasite that eats the brain and makes you notice all the little things. Months ago, I never imagined calling Oghene ‘handsome,’ but now, here I was. Not only was I drooling at the thought of him, but I was also lost in my desire. Oghene could do anything to me, and I’d be glad. I was at his mercy.

"But he doesn’t have money," Ale said, rolling her eyes.

"Who money help? Abeg, abeg." I’d dated supposedly wealthy men who lavished gifts and cash on me but treated me like an afterthought, like a woman who must be grateful for being chosen. Oghene respected and honored me, made me laugh, and comforted me when I cried. He treated me like a queen, his queen, as if I was his moon, his stars. Because, to him, I was. He didn’t owe me anything after how we started, yet he gave me everything.

And he wasn’t broke. A man who could comfortably provide for himself, his family, and his woman—me—wasn’t broke. I even heard he bought land somewhere, overheard it from his sister and Juochi. Even if he was broke, I wouldn’t mind sharing my earnings with him. He was a good man.

"But doesn’t it bother you that with this man, you won’t be quitting your job anytime soon?"

"And why would I want to quit my job?"

"Wasn’t that the dream? To get a man who’ll take care of you. A heavy provider who’ll give you the soft life. You won't have to lift a finger to work. Just chopping life."

“Ale I am not forbidden to make my own money. No woman is.” Landing a kind of man who would provide everything for me used to be the dream. In fact, I used to admit that was my greatest love language, having a man provide all the frivolities I’d ever dreamed of...crusing on a yacht, flying a private jet, eating in Sevenstar hotels, driving the latest cars...all sponsored by my man. We’d talked about it a lot of times, prayed about it. But now all those had changed. Oghene was enough. His love, his act of service, his care, how he always made life easier and worth living for me.
“Besides Oghene takes care of me perfectly,” I added. He recharged my phone and my Netflix subscription every now and then. Some days ago, I carelessly mentioned to him that my haircare products were finished and he’d wanted to give me money to get fresh ones. I had refused vehemently. We fought over it and ended up splitting the bill.

Ale looked me over with her lips downturned, then she let off a chuckling and shrugged. “Nawa o. Ife, na you be this? You...high budget babe—”

“High budget babe in the mud.” I laughed. “Old things are passed away Biko.”

“What do you mean? Jesus. What happened to you? What did this man give you chop?”

Love. Love happened to me. It was the kind of love that sat me down, gave me a cup of water, talked sense into me. Then it set me ablaze, cut me loose, cast me to the wind where I ignited the night. It was Oghene’s kind of love, and it was making me question every choice, every action. It made me hesitate for fear that he would not approve of some decisions. It was bringing the best out of me, and my weakness too.

We talked about Oghene for a while then we moved to other gist; My brother was here yesterday with a girl who he told me he wanted to get married to. I felt pity for the naive innocent girl, eziokwum, because my brother didn’t have the means to take care of himself not to talk of somebody's daughter.

“Ehen, did I tell you about Gloria?” Ale asked, shifting closer and pushing her hands between her thighs.

“Your own Gloria?” I asked.

“Yes o. My worker.”

“Ehen, what about her?”

“She is pregnant!”

“Ehn!”

“The stupid girl didn’t even know she was pregnant until I put it to her.” Ale had forced the poor girl into having a pregnancy test and it came out positive. “It wouldn’t have bothered me o. I would have just asked her to stop work as I’m not ready to accommodate a pregnant girl in my salon. But the way she was crying ehn. She was begging me. She said she has nobody. And she is the one taking care of her three younger ones.”

“Eiyaaa. But, did she know who she did it with?”

“My sister...it was her landlord o.”

“Jesus!”

“Her rent was due since last year, and she hadn’t been able to pay. The idiot threatened to throw her and her siblings out, unless she sleeps with him.”

Our gist moved to my next-door neighbor who sent his wife packing because he found out she had been sleeping with their pastor. Her pastor...a supposed man of God, general overseer of a church! Truely, if Apostle Paul was to write to this day’s church, especially Nigerian church, it would read like this; ‘dear Nigerian church, I hope this message gets to you before I do, and you better catch what I’m trying to say to you here or you’ll be catching my slaps...’

“Women!” Ale shouted, leaned to gather the remaining noodled in her plate with her fork and ate. “Nawa o. All those special prayer meetings, vigils...madam dey go receive some anointing from the man of God’s gbola.”

“Ale, you be fool o. what is gbola again?”

“If you know you know. If not, forgerabourrit.”

We talked about friends who was getting married and to who, family dramas and wahalas, and soon we were back to the men we’d dated, those foolish he-goats we wished it was possible to be taken back to the day we met them so we could ghost them.

“Any news about Preye?” Ale asked

“Nothing o. The car dealer said he didn’t know anything about Preye. He only leased him the car which he was supposed to returned in two weeks' time. We’d gone to his house. The place he took me to. It was locked. There was no single soul there.”

“That guy done run o.”

“Just like that?”

“That’s how they do. This kind of people. They would relocate to another state now and continue their atrocious business.”

“Ah, God. You know I still have trauma from that experience. I keep thinking about the many female cloths and wigs and accessories I saw there. They must have kidnapped a lot of girls and... and...” I had never stopped thinking about what happened to me, where Preye might be at the moment, if he would ever come back for me. Even though the nightmares had reduced and the shuddering each time I thought of that experience had almost disappeared. And thanks to Oghene, I had returned to normalcy. But that wasn’t healing. Rather, it was me surviving. People never became whole again after traumatized experiences, they only survived.

“What if he returns?” I asked Ale.

“He won’t. He knows you would talk and the police would be after him. He is gone for good, Ife.”

I really hope he had. And I prayed he wasn’t hurting someone else.

****
Oghene

It was better to shut up and be assumed ignorant than to open your mouth and prove that even cold rocks were smarter than you. Seriously, what kind of talk was this? How could any sensible man plan to host a nonsense party where he would pop bottles of ‘costly wine’ and empty them on twerking bum-bum, all over betting money? Who raised these men, abeg?

“Agu, is your head even on your neck?” How could someone win seven million naira from betting, and the first thing that came to his mind was to organize a party, invite ladies, and order bottles of wine for dorime, when he didn’t even have a house, not even a parcel of land in his village? Wasn’t he the same person who said he had to sell the only land his father left for them to send his younger brother to Ukraine? And he’d been hustling since then, taking care of his mother and other siblings, while hoping that his brother, whom they hadn’t heard from in years, would miraculously return home with plenty of money. It was this same desperation to hit it big so he could pull his family out of penury that drove him to naira-betting. A bad habit that added to his pennilessness. But two days ago, he got lucky, won some money, bought drinks and pepper soup for us at the workshop, and now he was thinking of organizing a party. Oghene eh. Some people dey get sense until money enter their hand, I swear.

“Oghene, leave me, make I celebrate. When was the last time I touched that kind of money? Don’t give me that ‘spend wisely’ advice.”

“Oya, no wahala. Don’t spend wisely. Enjoy to the fullest. Another one will come, Ogbori.” We were in a taxi heading to the police station. I didn’t want any of the guys to tag along because of the nature of this visit.

But Agu insisted. It was the early hours of the morning, the mechanic workshop was in a state of calm and quiet. A few cars that were still under servicing, and some that their owners had given up on were the only ones parked in the area. Tools hung in front of stores, while a couple of mechanics lounged around eating hot breakfast and chatting. Phones rang occasionally, but for the most part, the atmosphere was relaxed and unhurried. And Agu complained that he was getting bored and sleepy. Why wouldn’t he when he now had an extra 7 million added to his account—that was if the money still reached that amount. The kpo-kpo head had been spending like a crude oil thief since he won that money.

He didn’t know about the call I made, first to Shukudi, then to Akanelu last night, telling them that I wanted this case closed, the argument that ensued between Akanelu and me over the matter, and how I insisted that I wasn’t letting Sarima go because I was weak, but because I felt I had had my hands around her throat for so long that I was beginning to feel the heaviness in my arms. And since the bitterness in my heart against her and everyone who added to my pain in this case had eased, thanks to the beautiful thing I had going on with Ife, there was a need to let go.

It didn’t mean I would totally forget what was done to me. I was human, with a heart as Ife said. This decision to release Sarima also didn’t come with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night. That night, after my reverend and his members visited and Ife spoke to me later.

Akanelu asked, for the umpteenth time, why I wanted Sarima to go free when I had already gotten a lawyer who had filed the case to court, and I replied that I had to. Three weeks in police detention might not be enough punishment, but I was ready to move on. As for my pastor and his council members, I would also forgive all of them. I might not be able to relate with them like before, might not be able to look at any of them the same way, would definitely not be sending any of them goodwill messages on special occasions, but I had to forgive them, to overlook. Because if I didn’t, I would be tying rocks to my feet, too much for my body to carry.

“But, Oghene o, if na you win this money, what will you do with it?” Agu asked.

I hesitated. We were almost at the State CID, and I wondered if this was really what I wanted. Would letting Sarima go bring me peace? The answer came in the form of images and sweet memories. Ife. She was my comfort and the peace I sought, the calm eye of the storm, the whisper in my ears during those maddening moments. I thought of our conversation this morning before I left for work, the last thing she said that made me call her ‘crazy,’ and I chuckled mentally. Ife was sweet madness personified—a rare mix of a dirty mind, exquisite beauty, curves that made my hands ache, a deep heart, and mischief that I wanted for myself. She was peace in the shape of a woman.

“Ol’boy, answer me nau,” Agu said, pulling me back to the moment.

“I don’t gamble.”

“I know. But assuming it’s you. What will you do?”

I paused again, tilted my head to the side, and stared at him intently. “Why don’t you come and take a space at my new site? Use part of that money to build a shade where you can sell motor parts while you woo your old customers to get their cars fixed. I’ll do the same, and Shukudi too—”

As I spoke, his lips widened in a grin, his eyes shining with realization. Before I could finish, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a bear hug.

“I talk am say na sense full this your head.”

“Na ororo...groundnut oil full your own,” I hissed, pulling away. “The space is not for free o.”

“Eh?”

“Before? You think say na free? Oji. You go pay rent nau.”

“Ony’oshi. Thief. What will happen to the structure I put up?”

“The cost of the structure can cover three-to four-years’ rent. After that, you’ll start paying me.”

“Just tell me you are looking for people that will build shops for you,” he hissed. “Besides, how are you sure customers will like to come there?”

“You can never tell unless you try.”

We didn’t discuss it again until we came out of the police station, after my lawyer, who was already waiting for me, closed the case—to Agu’s displeasure—and I spoke with Sarima, whose weeks in detention had left her weary, her hair in disarray, dark circles shadowing her eyes, her clothes hanging loosely from the weight she had lost.

“I like your idea sha. I’ll think about it,” Agu said.

“Be fast before others rush the offer, and the next thing you’ll hear when you finally make up your mind is that every space has been taken.”

“Come on get out dia. Na because I just wan help your life and you are forming big man for me. I will decide not to consider your offer o.”

“Oya, leave am nau. Ogbori.”

When we got back to the workshop by lunchtime, the morning scene of laxity had shifted; phones rang more frequently, and the sound of engines revving and tools clinking became a constant background noise. Agu brought up what happened at the police station, bewildered that Shukudi already knew about my decision before I set off.

“But, o’boy, I don’t understand you. True,” Agu said. “So, you are allowing her to go like that? It can never be me. So, like this now, you have forgotten about what she did to you.”

I replied that forgiveness had nothing to do with forgetting what an offender did to you. Rather, it was about relieving oneself of the burden of remaining a victim. By choosing to let go, I not only released myself from the pain of what Sarima did but also the torment from Eserovwe’s mama’s accusation. I dialed Ife’s number during a short break, but she didn’t pick up. After finishing my mid-lunch of fried yam and a bottle of malt drink, I called her again. She still didn’t answer, but shortly, her WhatsApp message came through:
‘Hey daddy...’

If I still had the malt drink in my mouth, I was sure it would have burst out with the laughter that erupted from my throat. Earlier today, I was her ‘Sugar,’ and now I was d-daddy? Shuu? Ifenkili dey ment.

‘I’m busy right now. The workload on my table is crazy. I’ll call you later. Love you,’ her message read.

I quickly typed a reply, sent it, and was about to put my phone away and get back to work when another message popped up. It was from my sister. E get the kain billing way your sister go bill you like this ehn, you go first burst laugh. This non-rent paying, non-bills settling lady was asking for a new phone. An iPhone, precisely. There was nothing wrong with the Redmi 13C I bought for her not long ago; she simply wanted an upgrade because two of her friends, whose big brothers were staying in Lagos, got them iPhones, so she wanted one too. I shook my head and pocketed the phone.

The workshop had become very busy. I had four customers waiting for me while I worked on Oga Ema’s Sienna, and my phone kept ringing. By the time the sun began to set and the rush gradually subsided, I was wrapping up my final task for the day. Soon, I was heading home.

I had just walked out of the toilet when I heard my phone ringing. By the time I got to it, it had rung out. Ife. She’d given me two missed calls. In an internal excitement, I picked up the phone and hurriedly redialed. It rang for a while before she picked up, and her voice came on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Oh,” I replied. “Hello?”

“Hey, you,” she said. I could almost hear the curve of her lips and the light in her eyes. She was smiling.

“Crazy girl,” I muttered.

“What did I do?”

“Why you go call me daddy?”

“Swear you don’t like it.”

Three seconds into the phone call, she had already taken hold. She had this thing she did with her voice...this thing that weakened my knees, destroyed my focus, ruined my resolve. I felt it was deliberate. She wasn’t doing it when we were getting to know each other, or maybe I didn’t notice. Then we became this close, and I started hearing it...this subtle seduction in her voice when she spoke to me. Whenever she did that, I could think of nothing but wanting to see her again, for her to be in my presence, to drink her in, to have her melt in my arms.

“What’re you up to?” she continued. I could hear something, like the sound of a blender, in the background.

“Nothing. Just got out of the toilet,” I said. “To poo-poo.”

“Ewww, why will you tell me that? Now I can’t get the nastiness out of my head,” she said with a chuckle, halfway joking.

I laughed, rolling over in my bed. “No be you ask?” I replied. “You, what are you doing?”

“Cooking.”

“What?”

“Soup. Okro. You want some?”

“If I say yes, how will you get it to me?”

“You’ll see me at your doorstep with a food flask in a little bit,” she said.

I loved it when she showed this eagerness to care for me. It made my heart skip a beat, made me feel flushed, excited, and thrilled. After many years of taking care of myself in every possible way, she was making me realize that being the guy who did practically everything for and by himself was no longer something I wanted to be.

“Will you really come?” I asked.

“I’ll be at your place in less than ten minutes if you want me to.”

I allowed a moment of silence while I thought; ‘Yes, baby. I want you. Not just the food but you. You, baby. I’ll be here waiting for you. Because you’ve ruined me so much that I’m obsessed with you.’

“So, what is it going to be? You want the soup?” she asked.

“Eh, I want it. But the only problem now is that I want you more.”

“Oghene...”

The way she said my name, accusingly, made me let out a soft chuckle. “Okay. Okay. I guess that was too forward. Sorry. But I am serious. I want you in ways that I know you would find shocking. Even God must be ashamed of me for wanting you this way.” That was why I was afraid to kiss her all this while. I might not be satisfied with just that. I wanted everything. “And I don’t think you coming here this evening is a good idea. I may keep you longer than I should.”

“But...”

“No. Keep my portion of the soup in the fridge, and I’ll either come to have it or have you bring it to me when I think it’s safe and we have the time. But tonight is not that time, sunshine. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for what would happen.”

She understood and quickly changed the discussion to how my visit to the police station went. Then we spoke about the church. I hadn’t been there in a long while, since my issue with the Sarima incident. She’d told me before that a lot of people were talking about me. She was in church last Sunday, and the reverend had made a public announcement declaring me innocent. That had aroused an uproar—angry and disapproving voices blaming the church for being too quick to judge when they should have done better by me.

“I think you should come back to church,” she said.

“Ife...” I had started attending another church now. It was quite small, but I was good with it. “I can’t. At least, not now.”

“Please...Sugar...”

“Sugar, Ifenkili?”

“Daddy...”

“What is wrong with you?”

“You, daddy.”

“Ife, will you just stop?”

“No, daddy. Come back to our church, and I’ll consider giving you another name. One you’ll like.”

“Call me Oghene. That’s all.”

“You are such a local man.”

"I know."

"Sugar, please nau. Come back. I missed you last Sunday. I told you before."

“I am not returning to your church.”

“Oghene please nau.”

“Ifenkili, no.”

I tried writing while I was at Enugu but I was always fagged out each time I return from the fest to my hotel. I came back last Sunday, had to clear my work table Monday and Tuesday. How is everyone doing? Glad to be back here again.

Rosemary33:
I tried writing while I was at Enugu but I was always fagged out each time I return from the fest to my hotel. I came back last Sunday, had to clear my work table Monday and Tuesday. How is everyone doing? Glad to be back here again.

Welcome back ma'am.
I hope everything turned out great for you at the book fest.
Thank you for the update,i appreciate.
Good morning and have a wonderful day.

Rosemary33
I tried writing while I was at Enugu but I was always fagged out each time I return from the fest to my hotel. I came back last Sunday, had to clear my work table Monday and Tuesday. How is everyone doing? Glad to be back here again.


Glad to have you back Rosemary33, i have missed you. I know you had fun in my city(042).

Please the Oliver twist in me wants an update ASAP 🙏🙏

Rosemary33:
I tried writing while I was at Enugu but I was always fagged out each time I return from the fest to my hotel. I came back last Sunday, had to clear my work table Monday and Tuesday. How is everyone doing? Glad to be back here again.

. Please make it up to with back to back update please

Thank you for the update, it was awesome

Rosemary33:
I tried writing while I was at Enugu but I was always fagged out each time I return from the fest to my hotel. I came back last Sunday, had to clear my work table Monday and Tuesday. How is everyone doing? Glad to be back here again.

i'm nt used to reading clean romance like this... It's like ur blood pressure going frightenly up and still stabilizing itself at the same time. Bless u ma'am

Thanks for the update ma'am. Bro oghene did well by letting go of sarima case.

Twenty-Eight

Ife

I was comfortably at that age where I wanted to buy a tambourine and take it to church every Sunday. Funny how I used to laugh at my mother each time I traveled home and followed her to church, watching her shake her tambourine over her head and move her body from side to side during praise.

Fast forward to today, and there I was, doing the same thing. I didn’t know what spirit had propelled me to order the musical instrument from Jumia. Maybe it was because it was the first week of June—a pretty romantic month. Cold, cloudy, cuddly. Even the name Juneeeee had an effortless display of romance. Or perhaps it was because last week, I was so bloated that I feared I was finally getting the big tummy that ran in my family. But this week, I started eating a lot of fiber foods, as Oghene suggested, and having amazing bowel movements. My stomach had gone back to being as flat as a board, and my waist was super snatched. Oh, this feeling of giving thanks to the Lord with a tambourine could have come from a deeper place of gratefulness for deliverance from Preye, the kidnapper. Life and death had stood face to face, and darkness had wanted to take my life away, but mercy said no. Even though Preye was still on the run, I remained grateful to the Lord, praying that he would be caught or meet a terrible end.

I was also grateful for the love I was receiving—the love God gave me in the form of a man, Oghene. It had taught me how to feel safe because it radiated certainty and belonging, making everything feel okay for us. In the short time I had given myself to it, it had made each moment our own in small ways, like loving the same music, choosing particular colors, enjoying similar scents, and having almost identical favorite Bible scriptures. It had taught me how to talk about my life in a way that left no space for questioning.

“Is this seat occupied?” I asked the lone lady on the pew in the second row at the third church's nave.

“No,” she replied, moving her bag from the empty space at the pew’s end.

I sat down. “Thank you,” I said, placing my bag and water bottle in the holder attached to the pew in front. I loved sitting at the end of the pew because of the armrest and how easy it was to quickly exit the church if needed. Settling in, I leaned back and let my ears enjoy the soft worship music coming from the band’s stand. Today was a non-liturgical service, meaning there would be more praise and worship from the gospel band and fewer choir renditions. Even the procession would be accompanied by the band’s choruses. I was almost lost in the worship when my phone vibrated, pulling me back to reality.

It was a message from an elderly client who had been making my life miserable since Friday. Why was it so difficult for these clients to be patient? I’d told this man I was working on his form and that he would get his pension soon, but he had kept buzzing my line. Last night alone, I had eight missed calls from him. Eight! I almost pulled my hair out.

Now he was calling. I stared at the phone for a while, glanced around, and then picked up the call, lowering my head so I could whisper a dismissive word to the old man. I had barely spoken a word when a hand snatched the phone from me, shoving my head back so that my back landed on the pew with a thud. I was about to snap at this person for acting so foolishly when I whipped my head back, but the retort dried up immediately upon seeing the tall, masculine figure in black chinos and a plain blue shirt walking down the nave.

I recognized that walk... a slight bounce in each step, and hands subtly hanging, not entirely resting at his sides.

“Oghene,” I murmured. My pulse jumped, as if it had a mind of its own.

He stopped by a pew several rows away from mine to greet some elderly ladies who got up to hug him. He shook hands with their husbands, turning around to respond to a tap on his back—another woman wanted his attention. There was another one waiting for her turn. There was yet another. The number of people wanting a piece of him seemed endless, and I began to wonder when he’d be left alone so he could notice me.

The third alert bell had gone off, and soon the choir and pastoral team would begin to process in. He was about to continue walking down when he caught the gesture of a much older woman. He took a few steps back, leaned forward into the woman’s hug. That was when he turned his head towards me, caught me staring, and winked. Words burst like stardust in my heart:

"I love you," I murmured. "I love you so much, I’m stupid about it."

My eyes stayed on him as he gently pulled away from the woman, waved at a few others, and resumed walking down the aisle. When he was almost at the last pew, he turned again, as if he knew I would keep staring at him until he disappeared. He waved my phone at me, knowing I wouldn’t come after him to get it back since the procession had started, and that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else happening in church today because I would be thinking of him, my eyes seeking him among the many worshippers. He stuck his tongue out at me and grinned when I put on a fake frown, then walked out.

After the second reading, during the Nicene Creed, I saw him again. He walked by me to climb up to the gallery directly adjacent to where I sat. He leaned on the handrail, his face forward, his gaze fixed on the chancel for a while, then he looked down—at me, with a half-grin on his face. I didn’t look away, even though I wanted to, because I felt like we would be giving our emotions away, making people notice what was going on between us. There was also another reason why I didn’t look away, and that was because, in those few seconds, gazing into his eyes reminded me again what it felt like to be the center of someone’s world. He broke the gaze to run his tongue over his lips and glanced at the chancel, giving me time to lower my head and breathe. By the time I looked up again, his attention had returned to me. This time it felt like I was being touched without him actually being close. He was mapping every part of me in his mind, and from the periodic changes in his expression, I knew he was having a series of thoughts about this moment.

The Nicene Creed was over, and Sister Nwamaka was preparing the atmosphere for the praise and worship section while the band’s instrumentalists set the tone. I willed myself to pull my attention away and concentrate when the worship section began, but by the time Sister Nwamaka raised the second song, I had gone back to throwing glances up, hoping he was still looking at me. I sang a little too loud, moving my body and shaking my tambourine over my head so dramatically that if I were out of my body watching myself, I would lower my face in embarrassment.

He was singing along too, doing the gentle men's dance to the rhythm of the music. Once in a while, he would look down and our gazes would lock. He would grin. I would grin. He would look away, and I would look away.

It was a game we were playing—a game of who would stay for a longer period without glancing at the other. And when we caught each other, we would laugh at our silliness.

Even during the sermon, we were stealing glances. I noticed when two of the boys he used to work with in the communications department came to whisper something to him and left, and when he brought out my phone to check it. A call must have come through, or a message. He got up, walked to the rail, and looked down with the phone in his hand

“Your phone,” he mouthed, shaking it for me to understand. “Should I bring it to you?”

I shook my head.

“You have a call,” he mouthed again.

And again, I shook my head. “Keep it,” I mouthed back, lowering my head to my Bible. I’d check the caller later and probably return the call if I must. For now, the device was with whom I was comfortable leaving it with.

It was during the thanksgiving section that we got the chance to be close to each other again, though briefly. He had come down to cast his offering, and I was lost in the intense music, dancing with the upper part of my body lowered. I smelled him before his hand rested on my back. When I straightened up, he leaned so close that his breath grazed my cheek as he whispered in my ear,

“You just dey show yourself since today.”

I giggled, gripping and holding his hand in place on my back as I didn’t want to miss that feeling yet.

“You look beautiful in that dress, by the way,” he added, shifting closer to allow someone to dance past.

I blushed. “This old dress?” I asked awkwardly. “It’s been a long time since I wore it.”

“It’s beautiful. I like it.”

“I even want to give it out.”

“Don’t, please. I like it.” Then he gently withdrew his hand, slipped it inside his pocket, and came out with my phone. He took my hand and placed it in my palm. “Take it before you cry. I heard women don’t joke with their phones.”

Not this woman. And not when it’s you holding it. Boy, you can as well take my life.

I met him among some people after the church service and waited for him to look in my direction. He did, and I signaled for him to come.

“Are you ready to go now?” I was breathing fast. What I had in mind was crazy and reeked of a lack of home training. God, the sisterhood would not be proud if they knew the idea I was about to act out.

“You want to drive me home?” he said with humor.

“O o o o, talk now.”

“Not yet. The rector asked me to wait. He wants to see me.”

Nodding, I lowered my head a bit, summoning all the courage in me for the next thing I wanted to say.

“I—do you... can I...”

“Ife, be calming down,” he said, and we both burst out laughing. “Watin you want?”

“Your house key.”

The words came out in a rush. God, why was it difficult to put myself and my thoughts together here? I’d gone past being nervous before him now. Besides, he’d been the nervous one in this relationship not me. When did we switch roles? “I-I think I left something... my... one of my things behind that day we... I helped you move into your new place.”

“You forgot something? Why didn’t you come for it earlier?” he asked in a very low, suggestive tone, staring at me in that strange, hungry way that unraveled me. He stroked his bottom lip with a finger. For a flash of a second, I thought... there was a... Just my imagination in overdrive. I was probably projecting missing him—everything about the last time we were together—onto him.

“I only remembered it last night, silly.”

He glanced over his shoulder, probably at the people he was chatting with before I beckoned him. “Hmm. Is it a woman’s thing—an underwear? That’s why you’re embarrassed to come for it all this while.” He smiled a crooked grin and lifted a brow at me.

Laughter spilled from me, rusty and hoarse, not because of what he said and how innocently he said it, but because his grin made me feel good. He brought the keys out from his pocket and jiggled them in front of my face.

“I would like to meet you when I come back. Wait for me. But if you can’t, lock up and keep the keys under the doormat for me.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I said and took the keys.

Hope bro oghene is ready for what is coming his way. He should prepare oo because sis Ife is ready to drag him vam vam vam 😂😂😂😂😂. Wetin him dey expect when him give her key.

hmmm....whats Ife up to this time o?You are welcome back ma.How was the book fest?

Thanks for the update ma'am

A movie!

Talk about making love to your partner without touching them 😉. But na for God house this people dey play rough love game so?... 😂.

Ale... Ale... Ale, now that's one character I can relate with... as regards food. Me, I'm a heavy eater like her. I hardly eat, but when I eat, you will know someone has EATEN 😂.

Honestly, I'm loving the character development, and the comedy, especially this line;

me...why was I looking like a not fully downloaded AI generated human in some of the pictures he took of me and an inflatable air dancer balloon man on the others...

Well, only God know wetin wan occur later. I hope say Ife know say na Sunday, and she gast keep am holy 😏😋.

Beautiful piece Mrs Rosemary 😎👏


#Xavier

Twenty-Nine
Oghene

I came home to the sweet aroma of food and the sight of a woman in a man's shirt—my shirt. The fabric just skimmed the tops of her smooth, soft, full dark thighs. Her body swayed gently, in rhythm with the soft tune she was humming. I had been standing there for a while, leaning against the doorframe, watching her. She didn't notice; she didn’t even hear my entrance because of the earpieces nestled in both ears. Not that I wanted her to, as this—this moment, as absurd as it seemed... Me finding immense satisfaction in observing her move around my kitchen, my gaze lingering on every part of her, the beautiful curve of her hips in my shirt that rode up whenever she lifted her arms or rested them on her equally beautiful waist, perfect for my arm to slide across and settle on, was pleasurable.

I had half-expected to find her still in my house upon my return. Half-expected, because I never truly believed she had forgotten anything here. She was not a good liar, and no matter how much she tried, I could always see through her. When she demanded the key to my house, my first thought was that she had something planned for me—a gift, perhaps. But that didn’t quite add up, especially since she didn’t know I would be at church today. Yet, I sensed she was up to something and had spent the day trying to decipher her intentions.

While I met with the rector and his wife, listening to them express their gratitude for my decision to forgive and return to church, urging me to rejoin my department because "our service is unto God and not unto man," and while I made a quick stop at the supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine I would share with her if she was still around at my place, waiting for me to return; and also while I rode home, my mind had raced with a thousand and one reasons why she would want to be in my house while I was away.

But nothing prepared me for this... this sight of her looking like an innocent dark heaven; saintly, simple, beautiful, right, sinful, wrong, ensnaring, and then some. It was as if she had come here, bathed herself in a pool of allure, and oiled her skin with sweet-smelling sexiness, the kind that made my belly tie in knots just having my eyes rake over her, igniting a fire within and spreading out with just one movement of her hips as she strolled from the sink to the cooker.

I lowered my gaze and scratched my head. I was doomed, fated to be utterly undone by this woman. It started in church, the holiest of places where one mustn't harbor any immoral thoughts. I walked in and saw her almost immediately, standing in a daze as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back in meditation. She was breathtaking. Even when she opened her eyes and began fumbling in her purse, her hair cascading over her shoulder, I couldn't look away.
Something wild took over when she pulled out her phone and lowered herself to speak into it. That part of me that wanted to claim her, to show everyone she was mine, flared up. I grabbed her phone just to make her see me, and when she did, it was the best feeling in the world. Her eyes met mine, and her smile left me weak.

Now, here she was, turning off the cookers while humming louder. She opened one of the pots, dipped a spoon inside, tapped it on her palm, and then licked it. She tilted her head, savoring the taste, and sighed with satisfaction, nodding repeatedly. She began to move her body to the rhythm of a song that was definitely not gospel. Her movements were fluid and sensual, her legs widening as she tilted to the side. Oh Jesus... Lord.

Was this what ladies did when they thought no one was watching?

The way she moved her waist and hips, the way she... She changed her posture, bending her knees slightly, arching her back as she leaned forward. Her hands rested lightly on her thighs, and she began to move again. Her hips swayed rhythmically, each movement precise, making the provocative dance seem effortless. This wasn't the woman I saw in church earlier today. With each bounce, her lower body popped and rolled with a grace that left me spellbound.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t want to watch a woman do this—it was defiling and dirty, capable of luring a simple man into immorality. But this was Ifenkili, my woman. It felt
right watching her, felt right letting her drive me wild. The most maddening thing about this moment was that she didn’t know I was there. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

Or did she know? Was she putting on a show to test my limits?

My hand drifted down to stroke my throbbing groin, and for a brief moment, I wondered what it would feel like to have that perfect backside of hers pressing against me as she danced.

Yes, that was it. It was time to do the right thing before the 'son of man' fell into temptation. I needed to either walk away and return when it felt safer or announce my presence so she would stop this seduction. But I loved it here. I loved what I was seeing—the sweet panic it was arousing alongside the lust, the excitement, everything. Even though I was becoming someone else in this moment, someone driven by desire, I was entranced by what I might do to her... to us. Most of all, I was terrified of walking out of this room and never feeling the way I did when I was with her.

I wasn't sure what made her stop dancing, unplug her earpiece, and turn around. When she did, she froze, her lips slightly parted, eyes widening in surprise. The blush that rose to her cheeks made my heart race.

“I-I—”

“Just kill me so you can rest in Jesus’ name,” I breathed, instantly regretting my comment as guilt and embarrassment flickered in her eyes. “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to change the subject for the good of both of us because I wasn’t sure I would be able to innocently dwell on the topic of that dance without losing control of my already awoken boner.
What I had just witnessed... even the embarrassed look on her face was affecting me in ways I didn't want to analyze. And Jesus Christ, one more gaze at her slightly parted lips and I would kiss her. I needed to kiss her—today, here, now—or I would die of longing.

She didn’t answer my question, and I didn’t expect her to. Moving deeper into the kitchen, I carefully avoided brushing against her as I opened the pots she’d set down.

“You cooked for me,” I said, turning with a grin.

She nodded. “I thought... since you loved that combo rice I brought to the workshop the other day, it would be good if I made it for you again.”

Why was she talking so fast, as if she wasn’t sure her effort was impressive enough? She was never this unsure. I knew I had food in the fridge—I always did. But this was different. Having her here, so comfortable in my shirt and cooking for me, was an amazing gift.
She was an amazing gift.

“Doh oh. Thank you,” I said, itching to grab her and pull her into a hug.

Maybe I should do that.

Maybe I shouldn’t.

She smiled shyly, and ah... Oghene eh! Ifenkili, what is this thing you are doing to me?

Before I could stop myself, I reached for her arm and pulled her in so she rested her body against mine.

“Thank you.” I was sure the words came out rusty and strangled. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you in church today,” I added, trying to block the image of her provocative backside bouncing up and down and side to side a while ago from my head. Shuu? E be like say I go need to use bleach wash my eyes and brain before that image go comot. Even now, it was so difficult to concentrate on anything except her giggling bum-bum. What song was she dancing to anyway? “Your dress. It was beautiful. Where is it?”

"Ehn?"

"Your dress."

"Oh, I pulled it off so I could change into something more comfortable. It’s in the bedroom..."

‘Pulled off... bedroom.’ Was it me, or did one spirit like that just crank up the temperature of the world as soon as my ears picked up those words? And why did they suddenly sound so suggestive? Bedroom... pulled off... 'Breathe,' I mentally commanded myself. ‘O’boy, relax.’ My throat dipped, and I let out a sigh. I was definitely going crazy. That was the perfect explanation for what was going on with me. How could my brain suddenly become so messed up that it had started interpreting innocent words as something sexual?

"And you picked my new shirt to cook in. I just got it a week ago and had only worn it once," I murmured, stroking her back.

"Hmm," she cooed, snuggling into me like a baby. "Do you want me to go pull it off?"

I let out another breath, adjusting my stance and clearing my throat to ease the tension. Holy hell, why was she doing and saying all the wrong things since I walked in here? Or rather, why had my brain chosen this moment to become a vagabond, putting me under immense pressure that was making me hot and tight beneath my trousers? Squeezing me hard? Jesus Christ!

She lifted her face to look at me, our lips almost touching.

"Sugar?”

"Hm?" Before now, I would have argued about her calling me this. But at this moment, I didn’t mind if she called me sugar, salt, bitters... anything at all.

"Is it just my dress you found beautiful today when you saw me in church?" she asked in a very disarming voice.

"No. You. All of you." I stepped back to lean against the kitchen cabinet and reached for her, pulling her into my arms. "Lord, I've been wanting to hold you all day," I whispered close to her face. I should kiss her. Now. Now! But I was scared of what would come next. I wanted her like a man who just returned from a spirit-filled church service shouldn’t.

She touched my face. She’d gotten used to doing that, and I loved it. "Me, too. You don’t know how much I wanted to be alone with you so I can lean into you like this.”

“That’s why you came up with this plot? Cooking for me?”

She smiled.

“You really didn’t forget anything here. It was just an excuse to come here and wait for me.”

“And cook for you,” she corrected. “I really wanted an opportunity to do something for you, Oghene. And when you told me you are not going home immediately, I saw my chance. I only had to go to the market fast, come here, and get the food ready before you returned. I just wanted to make you happy in any little way I can.”

“You have always made me happy, sunshine.” There was something about strong women in the arms of the men they love. Something that made them look vulnerable, stripped of all toughness. I’d seen it in Ezioma whenever she was around Shukudi, and in my maleh when paleh was still alive. Now, I was seeing it in Ife. With me, she seemed to voluntarily shed herself of any form of gra-gra. With me, she was a baby.

“But why... why is it hard for you to just kiss me?” She lifted her face again and asked, pouting her lips. “My lips. Are they not attractive enough to make you... crave for them?”

No girl, you wouldn’t want to get us into a situation we both knew would be the end of us. “Ife? Shuu? Why would you ever think that?” Didn’t she know? Hadn’t she noticed how close I’d come to kissing her on several occasions? How I desired, even now, to explore her beautiful, supple lips. Learn them and memorize them. That way, I'd know what to miss when she was gone. Oghene eh! Her lips were heartbreakingly, hauntingly sexy. They made my heart ache.

“But, I’ve been begging you. Not like I’m asking you to have sex with me. Oghene, people in love do kiss.”

"Sunshine, God know say I want you bad. I dey feel you wela. I crave for your body in such a way that makes me sick, but we really shouldn't. It's not fair to you."

She hissed, pulled herself away from me, and folded her hands across her chest. "I'll tell you what's not fair. It's that damn touch-and-run routine! It is not fair to get me so... so... worked up and needy!"

She was angry and embarrassed and hated it that she had to ask me this again. Instantly, I felt like an idiot. What was wrong with what she was asking?

Everything. Every damn thing!

But I still had control over whatever might come out of it. She'd only asked for a kiss, right? Just an act of touching her lips with mine, and that would be all.

“I should... go and set the table and—” She was avoiding my eyes. Jesus, what have I done? “You may want to go... ehm... change into something else.”

I caught her hand before she could slip away. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. God, how I wished I could tell her how much I loved her and how much I hated to see a frown on her beautiful face. I settled for folding her in my arms and showing her instead.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. Really, Oghene. I understand. I think I’m being stupid...”

“You are not stupid, baby.” I kissed her head. Oh God, was it wrong that all I wanted to do was to lick every part of her? I smiled, she flushed. Oh God. So cute. I knew then, I’d give this girl anything she asked me for. I’d probably beg her to take it. “I am the stupid one, Ife.” I kissed her forehead, this time with a bit more urgency. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmured. “Maybe I am scared like you said the other time.”

“Of me?”

“No, baby.” My lips found her cheek, her chin, her neck, and with every nibble I was reminded of how I had no right to touch her more than this, crave her like life. But I wasn’t eager to pull away because the way she was fitted so perfectly in my arms, the taste of her skin...like she’d been made just for me, and the way she was losing her balance and breath, was disintegrating me completely. I was sure her legs would have given way if I didn’t have a firm grip on her. “Ife my love...” This wasn’t going the way I thought. I wasn’t supposed to melt long for more, my strength failing me under her sweet tender onslaught. My desire soared with the heat of her body and her breath, destroying me completely. And just when I felt I had to put an end to this as gently as I could, I realized she might crumple to the floor if I let go of her. My hand grazed down the curve of her backside to settle under her, steadying her.

The shallow hum that came from within her ignited something in me, like a million sparks of burning desire in my groin, stomach, and head, and every part of me.

“Ifenkili?” My voice came out in a squeak. “What are you doing to me?”

"I don’t know," she breathed against my cheek. “Maybe... we should... stop...”

"No. Destroy me,” I managed, a moment before I caught her face and drew her in, our lips dangerously close. My heart was beating like the steady kick of a car ignition. Hers too. “Ife, I want to kiss you now.” That was so stupid. The most stupid thing a man would say in the heat of passion. Her lips stretched in a suppressed laugh while the tension in my body stretched, the effort of holding back, of wanting to take this one chance, however dangerous and stupid and unwise, and kissing her the way I had thought I would never, in my life, be able to kiss any woman. “It’s just a kiss,” I said, and heard the roughness in my voice, and wondered if she heard it, too.

Not that it mattered—there was no way to hide it. It was too much. I had never wanted like this before... and she understood, laughed when I laughed, saw through the defenses I put up to what was underneath.

“You innocent baby,” she murmured before I tilted my head and shut her smart mouth up with mine.

And that was it. All the self-control I’d employed over for long left me in a poof. Jesus! Her lips were everything I had ever fantasized and more; soft, round, and demanding. I could taste her - hot and sweet with the spice from the food she just made and her total yielding. My stomach trembled, and a warm drop of pleasure spread beneath my skin. More. I wanted more, so I drew her even deeper, blocking out all the notions that this was wrong, that she was off-limits until we legalized this, that tomorrow I might regret this. I didn't care.

The strength of my desire, the speed with which it flowered, shocked me. Suddenly, I flinched and startled back from her. I had a moment, only a moment, to see her face framed in the afternoon light, her lips slightly parted, still half-forming a kiss. Her eyes were wide with surprise and wild desire. That undid me. Even though, deep down, I knew that right at this moment, she was the embodiment of a bad decision. The twin of danger and desire. The fine line between deadly and divine. The ocean pulling me into an endless drowning. I wanted this her. Hungry. Wild and ready to be ruined by me. I wanted to ravish her lips so badly that she’d never remember any other kiss but mine.

I wove my hands into her hair, grabbed a fistful, and gave a gentle tug. She whimpered. Then I moved closer. This was the man she wanted, the beast she had been trying to unleash. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I traced the valley between her lips with my tongue. Parting her lips, I deepened the kiss. It was like taking a joy ride together, first moving slow and rhythmic, and then, when we were both panting, the kiss turned into a hot, fast race I never wanted to end. I had kissed a few women before, but none were like this; sensual and extremely addictive.

We were still in the kitchen, leaning against the cabinet. Before I knew it, I was coursing us through the floor and slamming her back against the wall. Still not ideal, but I hardly noticed. Jesus, how could she be so sweet that I could hardly think? Only feel... her warm breath, her tongue licking every part of my face, my neck, and my ear. She was good. So good that I didn’t know if she was kissing me or I was kissing her. All I knew was that I was whispering something to her, drawing out from her moans and pleas. I wasn’t going to push her too far, or both of us would crash. The guilt that came after sexual immorality wasn’t what I wanted to deal with. But without thinking, my hand slowly moved up her bare thigh.

"Don’t... stop. So good," she said breathlessly.

Why would she say that? Why would she encourage my hand to explore her warm and damp skin while my lips caressed the hollow of her neck? I slipped my hand inside the loose shirt from under. Her breath hitched. She lifted her leg and wrapped it around my hip, giving me the nudge to keep stroking up to the tight shorts she had inside, grabbing the band while holding her firm against the wall with my weight and my other hand on her back. She let out another whimper and began to unbutton my shirt. In less than no time, her fingers were roaming over my chest and shoulders, searing my skin.

"You're... perfect," she panted.

Me perfect? Far from that. But right now, I was not going to argue with her. Moving lower, my tongue followed a path down to the silky skin of her neck again while she grabbed the back of my hair, urging me on. She tasted of sweat and spices and so damn good. Too good. Oghene meh!

“Sugar... Oh God, you are so perfect,” she murmured, kissing my chest. She brought down her leg, then lowered her head to kiss my stomach and came up again to run her tongue over my nipple.

Throwing my head back, “OhJesusohgodgodgoodness,” was all I was capable of saying as my already hardened erection pulsated in response. She had a wicked smile on her face when I looked down at her. I wanted to tell her not to do that again, or she’d get us into deeper trouble than we already were, but when I captured her gaze with mine, those shining orbs glowing with desire... Oh, talk about perfect.

“Ife... baby...” I groaned, breathing heavily. She didn’t need to utter a word for me to know that the feeling was mutual. I knew how long she'd wanted this. But I wondered how long I'd wanted it.

****
Ife

How could one man look so drunk in lust and so terrified at the same time? And to think he just kissed me like I’d never been kissed before, like I never imagined he would! Jesus. How could he look decent and untouched, yet kiss like a damn romantic gangster? At first, he was gentle, a little unsure. His lips merely grazed mine in a soft, feathery touch. Arousing me, firing my body with his fingertips brushing over my skin while he wet my face with his tongue, igniting me.

I had suspected that he was sensual. That day inside the Sianna, his breath washed over me, enflaming me. Everything about him was stimulating, and the most exciting thing about him was that he had no idea how much fire he had… none. Today, when I turned and noticed him standing there, his stare was undressing me, sending blood rushing down my core. His lust was glaring. Like the ‘I want you… so bad’ kind.

I didn’t plan this from the beginning. I’d only come here to hustle for a ring and a promise because I felt it was long overdue, and because I saw the way sisters were looking at him today in church. But then this happened: the dance, the stare. The ache, a hard, nearly painful ache. And he kissed me. It was as if he knew this day would come somehow, and he had been waiting, and planning, and waiting. His moves were deliberate and calculated. His lips knew the right places to graze, his tongue the right part to wet, his teeth the perfect time to grate before he sucked, fanning the tension between us, thickening the air with unspoken desire. His breath was hot against my skin, his touch searing into my memory. I wanted him, needed him, in a way that was almost unbearable. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the future, only the intoxicating present where we were lost in each other.

What he was doing was more than igniting me; it was a declaration, a claim. He wasn’t just arousing me; he was branding me with his passion, leaving an indelible mark on my soul. And I wanted to be his, completely and utterly, to give myself to him without reservation. Because in his arms, I felt like the most beautiful, desired woman in the world. And I never wanted this moment to end.

The excellence in the way his lips moved around my face, like a practiced art, like his brain was working while he seduced me with ease, noting each of my responses, made me conclude he must be grinning inwardly.

I imagine him thinking, ‘Yes, baby. Take that. You want this part of me? You have it. Now let me see you handle that.’

And when he was sure I was about to disappear like steam from a teacup, his hand slid down to grip my upper thigh, the lower part of my bum resting on his arm. The awareness of his touch down there, the sound of his desire evident in his strangled groan sent gasps after gasps rolling out of me. When his tongue sought entrance to my mouth, I didn’t hesitate. His kiss became intense, filled with the urgency of his hunger for me, which was there in way he coursed us away from the kitchen cabinet. The force at which he slammed my back against the wall added to the wildness of this moment.

Soon he was aggressively demanding, driving me, pushing me, possessing me with his hands, his tongue. Crushing me totally until I was nothing but his damaged car while he fiddled me like he did the vehicle engines at his workshop. He was kissing me senseless, adoring me with his words, commanding me with his moans. His lips moved with precision and passion, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

He explored every inch of my mouth, his tongue dancing with mine, tasting and teasing, each movement igniting a fire within me. His hands roamed my body, one sliding up to cup my breast, the other gripping my thigh, lifting me slightly so I could feel the full length of him pressed against me. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and desire that had me clinging to him, lost in the throes of our passion.

Every touch, every kiss was a balance of sensations and desire that built and built until I thought I might explode. His lips left mine to travel down my neck, sucking and nibbling, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hand moved from my thigh to my waist, pulling me closer, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

He whispered my name, his voice rough with need, and it sent a shiver in waves all over me. I was his, completely and utterly, and he knew it. He took his time, savoring every moment, every gasp and moan that escaped my lips. It was as if he wanted to memorize every inch of me, to brand me with his touch, his kiss.

And I let him. I let him take me apart piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the two of us, lost in the heat of our passion. The world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way he made me feel. Alive. Wanted. Loved.

I wrapped my leg around his waist, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against me. He responded with a growl, his lips finding mine again in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. It was a kiss that spoke of promises, of a love that was as deep as it was wild.

His hands were everywhere; my cheeks, my neck, under my clothes, stroking and searing my flesh with his touch, marking me as his. I was begging, willingly offering all of myself to him.

Then he couldn’t take it anymore. His passionate kiss changed. It gentled, soothed, and entreated, giving me the chance to switch roles with him. I became the aggressor; he became the recipient. I was kissing him like my life depended on it, like I wanted to preserve this moment, this slice of time when the day was heated with our passion and the possibility of more sinful acts. Every event in my life after this would be different because Oghene had kissed me so passionately, so fiercely. I was unbuttoning his shirt with no idea of what I would do or say next. But when his perfectly sculpted torso came into view and my hand touched the beauty, I knew instantly that I must have the pleasure of running my tongue down his body or I would starve.

I loved the way he groaned at my touch, the rapidity at which he was losing control to me. I loved it that it was me bringing him to his knees. But when I came up to cover my mouth around his nipple, he let out a hissed gibberish and jolted back to reality.

Gently, he pulled away from me, unlocking my hands from around his neck and stepping back, still staring at me. His lips were parted, his eyes wide.

“Ife, you are something else,” he murmured, panting. There was a ghost of a smirk on his lips he just ran his tongue over. I giggled. He chuckled. “Shuu? You chop winsh?” He lowered his head for a moment and looked up again. This time, his lips held a full smile.

I took that as a cue, walked closer to him, and placed my hand on his chest. He liked it. God, he loved what had just happened between us. And it seemed he hadn’t had enough. I hadn’t either. His hand covered mine that was on his body, the other slid across my neck, his touch feathery soft, sending a fresh shiver down my spine into my legs, which were having a hard time keeping me upright. I felt his heart slamming against my palm.

“Ife...please.”

Whether it was for me to stop or not to, I loved that he was begging. So, I touched his face, feeling the stubble on his chin, a sandpapery contrast to the softness of his lips, and he was looking at me, and I was looking back at him. Then I leaned forward, briefly noticing his closed eyes, and kissed him. It was a shadow of a kiss, cool and insubstantial. But then his eyes opened, and he smiled at me with such innocent happiness that my ridiculous heart gave a leap.

He grabbed the back of my neck, leaned forward, and crushed my lips with his, kissing me long and hard, and then gave my bottom lip a bite before letting me go.

“Ouch!” I touched the spot. “What did you do that for?”

“This is not going to happen again until we are married,” he said, his voice a mix of resolve and desire. The words hung between us, a promise and a challenge.

M-married? Wait. Was this a proposal? Did Oghene just throw a marriage proposal at me like he would a bunch of keys, expecting me to catch it? Well...I’d just pretend like I didn’t get it. “But we can kiss, right?” I asked. “Nothing is wrong with kissing...just kissing. No touching...”

“No be me you go lead into eternal damnation. God forbid,” he muttered with amusement, and I burst out laughing. “You know how many days fasting with serious cabashing I go do to cleanse my mind? Abeg, dish out the walensh make we chop,” he added, walking towards the door, shaking his head. Halfway out, he turned;

“Ife?”

“Ehn?”

“I’ve never kissed lips like yours.”

“How many lips have you kissed?”

“Not so much. Three.” The way he said it, like he found it embarrassing yet wanted me to know. “You are so sweet. I was gone and almost...you understand why we must not allow this temptation again, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sugar. I do.”

He grinned. “I may start getting used to you calling me ‘Sugar.’”

“You should, Sugar.”

“It’s better than ‘Daddy.’”

“Hmm.”

“And, Ife?”

“Ehn?”

“I love you so much.”
“I love you too, my Warri boy.” And I loved the stillness, the pressure, the rhythm, and the breathing of this love.