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“I’ll have her,” he said.

“What?” The chief gazed at him, his brows curved and eyes widened.

“I said I’ll have her,” he retorted.

“Hello,” he turned to me “I’m the highest bidder. You decide now.”

“Follow me,” I signaled. I loved the firm tone in his voice. The shyness was gone.

He lowered his head to enter my small room. He was tall.

“I thought you were the highest consort here. Why this room of all rooms?” he asked.

“I just find peace in here. I have a place in another location owned by this brothel. I rarely stay there though.”

“Then we must go there.”

“Why?” I asked. No one has asked me that before. I never told anyone about the place though, because no one has really about my small room.

“I just want to see where you really live.”

“I don’t have time for this. Why don’t we get to the reason we came here. I’m tired and want to sleep.” I started pulling my clothes.

He held my hands, gently sat me on the bed and sat down too. His hands were as cold as ice, they sent chills down my body. He turned my face to his and after about 5 seconds of staring deep into my eyes, started kissing me, in a slow consistent motion.

His lips were as cold as his hands. They made me do what I had never done – close my eyes.

He fondled my boobs, ran his fingers through my waistline and gave my lip a last bite.

“That’s it for today,” he stopped, leaving me in desire. I quenched.

“What? That’s it?”


I hurried up, trying to hide what I was feeling. “All right then, get out now.” I dragged the door open. Who does he think he is?

“Relax, I want to have you all for myself, Zara.”

I was surprised he knew my name. “You can’t, I have to work.”

He wrote a million naira cheque and stuffed it into my palm. “Just give me one week, in your house, not here.” “Don’t’ worry, I have your number, I’ll call you.” He left.

That week, he made me feel the things I had never felt. No. he didn’t sleep with me. He made me feel warm, something you’ll describe as love.

We finally did it on the seventh day, and he told me he was leaving the country in two days. My heart churned. He wrote me another cheque.

“I don’t want your money,” I had torn it.

“I won’t take your money anymore. I don’t charge for making love. I love you Pete.” I was down to tears.

“Shh. It’s OK. I was hoping to hear that before I go.”

“What does it matter? You’re leaving anyway.”

“Leave with me.” The words reverberated in my ears – leave with me.

“Yes,” I jumped at the opportunity. There was nothing to think about. “Yes. Yes. Pete.” I chuckled. I caught him smiling too before he covered my mouth in the warmth of his.

Read: My Honey Pot-1

Mostly Read: How To Become Creative in Writing

About Successpensit

This blog is managed by Oluamara Success Nwaeze. She is a law student at the University of Nigeria. Aside blogging, she ghostwrites, creates contents and edits manuscripts. Her happiness mostly comes from food.

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  1. Avatar

    Nice write up

    You are indeed a chimamanda.

  2. Avatar

    OMG, Gosh, why do you have to stop. I got carried away thinking there was more. This is beautiful dear. Kudos to you.

  3. Successpensit

    Thanks IPHY 😄. I’m glad you enjoyed the short story.

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