“Wakey wakey”

I said as I strolled into our bedroom.

Giselle lay in bed, looking ever so beautiful even as she slept. Her beautiful tresses were spread across the pillow. She was such a beautiful view to wake up to every morning. Without make up, she looked gorgeous.

It was time to get dressed. We had a long day ahead of us. Our wedding was coming up in a few days. One hundred guests had seats at the beautiful wedding to celebrate our union.

The past few months were hectic. It was one drama or the other. It came from people who were close to us.




Giselle finally found love, and all hell was let loose. She had a child with the man she found love with, and it became a problem. We had spent weeks praying together and going to therapy. The therapy sessions were brutal. We had to be vulnerable with our therapist, who did a great job stripping us off the walls we had built around ourselves.

At a point, I felt she was going through postpartum depression. She had different moods every day. Some days she would not want to hold the beautiful child we made together, Henrietta.

She was the happiest six month old human I had ever met. She had her mom’s beautiful eyes and smile. How could she look at the beautiful baby and not want to hold her? After a while, she was convinced she was not a good mother, and maybe someone else deserved to be Henrietta’s mom. It broke me.

I, on the other hand, had my issues with Stephanie, who was Giselle’s cousin. We were engaged to be married, but we broke up. I met Giselle and things got heated up and then complicated. Stephanie told everyone that Giselle snatched me from her. She said all sorts of nonsense about me. I tried to talk to her, but she refused. Giselle didn’t care. It put me in an uncomfortable position. Giselle was ready to ride and die for me. Family gatherings became like funerals for me. I felt like a Judas who had put two cousins asunder. If Giselle wasn’t pregnant with my child, maybe Stephanie would not have been so angry. I got used to the mean mugging, the snide comments, and the cold treatment from some family members. Stephanie’s parents were indifferent.

I stared at her as she slept. I didn’t want us to be late for our appointment. We had an hour drive, and we had to be there by noon. We also had to meet with the marriage counselor at 3pm, and dinner with her parents by 5pm. The nanny was downstairs. She watched Henrietta everyday from 9am till 5pm. I asked her to stay while we went for dinner with Giselle’s parents, and promised her overtime money. She was more than happy to oblige.

“Giselle wake up.” I called out as I walked into the closet. We had a huge walk-in closet in our bedroom. Her clothes occupied more than half of the closet.

I picked out a white shirt, black slacks, and my favorite Ferragamo belt. My shoe rack was by the door. I would wear my favorite ones. I could not understand why Giselle was still asleep. She always took her time to do everything. She had her morning routine, and she had slept through her alarm. She didn’t wake up to read her Bible in the closet, she didn’t go running three miles. She was not listening to her podcast. She must have been exhausted from running around yesterday.

“Babe,” I called out as I walked towards the bed to wake her up. She was still.

I leaned in to kiss her forehead. Normally she would stir a bit, open her eyes and smile at me. It didn’t happen. She was not breathing.

“Giselle” I called out and shook her.

She didn’t move. I felt for a pulse. There was none.

Giselle was…… dead.

Almost doesn’t count

But everybody knows, almost doesn’t count. ~ Brandy 

Brandy was right a decade ago, and she is still right today.

If they have one leg in and one leg out, it means nothing.

If they haven’t made up their mind about you, it still means nothing.

If they were thinking about you and didn’t act on the thought, it means nothing.

From today and onward, no more “almost”. Almost there, almost happy, almost crying, almost doing, almost tripping, almost buying. 

 No more!

Being intentional about everything we do is important.

Being intentional in the lives of the people we love is priceless.

When we have an “almost” attitude to a person or to life itself, it holds no value. Imagine what buying a gift someone would do to a person, it would make them happy, what if you almost bought the gift. It means nothing. It doesn’t count.

I have heard people say “It’s the thought that counts”. Fair enough. It is the action that counts. Moving forward, no more potentials. No more , what could be?It is either ‘it is’ or ‘it isn’t”.It is great to know that you are worthy of all the love you choose to give a person or thing.  You are worthy of the respect you choose to give a person or a thing. You would not want to be half assed about how you show love and appreciation to another person or a thing. If you would not be half assed about how you treat people, then do not accept half assed love or respect. Almost doesn’t count. It either is or it isn’t. 

A person that values you will put effort  to make sure you feel valued, wanted and loved. It is very important to understand that as much as we want to feel loved and cherished, also make sure you are giving the same energy to the right person/people that we allow into our lives. Vet the people you let in, so you don’t get disappointed when they don’t turn out to to be how you envisioned them. No “almost ” energy.  

So in order to move forward and reset, take an inventory of what you don’t need, what is not provided and what won’t matter in the long run and get rid of them.

Is there someone in your life that you are giving the “almost” energy to and deserves to be treated better? You are in charge of your life, you can upgrade , downgrade and remove where you deem fit. It either is or it isn’t. 

Just know that no matter what

 Almost doesn’t count.

Confessions of a Cheating Wife (3)

How do you look into the eyes of someone you have betrayed?

I walked slowly towards Yemi. I had the bed sheet draped around my body. He didn’t turn to acknowledge my presence but I was sure he knew I was behind him.

“Why our bed?” he said facing the window.

I could not say anything.

I had to ask myself that question. Why did I decide to defile our marital bed?

I wanted to speak, but the words could not come out of my mouth clearly. Yemi was patient and kind. How could I blow that up?

Osas was the only reason I would blow my marriage up with Yemi.

Osas was nothing like Yemi. He was just good for sex. Today, I got caught and from then on things would never go back to being the same.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, there is clearly no excuse for what happened in there.” I responded. I had to own up to this, it wasn’t fair for him to suffer emotionally for my infidelity. He had given me basically everything including the assurance for the growth of a healthy relationship.

He didn’t turn to look at me. He stared out of the window. It hurt to know that someone who could so easily look me in the eye avoided mine.

What was he thinking?

  • *************************************************

Running into Osas after a few years of no contact was a curse. Osas was my guilty pleasure but nothing good was going to come out of our encounters. The last time we saw each other, it ended on a bad note. I decided to accept my loss and move on.

He had cheated again for the umpteenth time and did not want to take responsibility or even apologize. It was my cue to leave. Any woman with common sense would leave such a situation the first time such a thing happened. I guess my common sense was lacking.

I was at Glass House, a tall building with over a hundred floors. I was meeting up a colleague for dinner. I walked up towards the elevator doors. There were three people standing ahead of me, a young lady who had her attention on her cell phone scree. The other two were a couple, the woman was pregnant, the man stood beside her and held her close, rubbing her back gently.

I craved for this type of love from a man for a long time until i met Yemi. Yemi was the best thing that had ever happened to me in such a long time. We waited for the elevator to come down, we knew it would take a while as there were other floors and other people on those floors would want to get. There were three other elevator doors. A few minute later, one of the doors opened up, a woman in yellow shorts, a tank top with a Jane Fonda look walked out of the elevator, the next person to come out was a familiar face.


I stopped dead in my tracks. If there was ever a day to look so good, it was today. I had on a red dress, white pumps from Nine West. My make up was well done. I just felt the need to look good, and I pulled it off effortlessly. I pulled my long hair up into a high bun, the hair Osas loved pulling during sex. He looked good. His beard was well groomed, his barber had given him a good hair cut. He had on brown pants and a white long sleeved shirt. His eyes were on me.

“Hey.” he said.

I nodded in response. He walked towards me, I could smell his cologne. The familiar scent that memories..

“Hi” I responded taking a step back. I didn’t want him hugging me. He noticed what I had done.

“I am not going to bite you, why are you taking a step back?” he asked as he walked closer. I was losing my defenses. My body began to tremble, it seemed all so familiar.

Unforgiveness- the only prison in which you have the key to set yourself free.

As the year comes to a close, it is a good thing to look back and reflect on how the year has gone.  

Forgiveness is one thing we need to reflect on.  There has been offense from friends or family members and you tell yourself you have forgiven them. 

Here are some scenarios 

  1. When you think about what happened, you are still angry. I sometimes rehearse how I could have responded to a situation, because I am still dwelling on the issue in my head and heart. I know there and then that I have not truly forgiven. 
  1. You find yourself discussing the incident of almost ten years ago as if it happened today. I have heard a lot of people talk and hold on to how their parents treated them as kids. Their parents have most likely forgotten or not even known they offended their child(ren). Instead, the child grows up harboring thoughts of resentment and unforgiveness.  
  1. When you find yourself refusing to be friends with anyone who loves them, you have not truly forgiven. I call it witchcraft campaign. It is when you decide to create enmity because you and a certain person are not in good terms. Imagine going to an event and you decide to avoid certain people because you have a clash with someone they love dearly. You will be the uncomfortable one in the room.  
  1. When the attempts to make things right is met with your rejection, you have not truly forgiven. It is because you have maybe justified anger, it may be pride or betrayal. Maybe you need more time to process the conflict. Any or more of these reasons means that you have not forgiven. 

Check your heart.  

Have you truly forgiven that person? 

Do you know what it means to forgive a person. 

If you can forgive, you are a powerful person.  

Revenge is for the weak-minded person. 

Forgiveness means you are willing to move forward. It unties the cords that tie you to the offense that was committed against you. It sets you free. Imagine being bound with huge ropes to a container. You can’t move and it is uncomfortable. It is what unforgiveness feels like. You are the one suffering. The person who tied you up is not suffering. Forgiveness is for you. It is not for the other person.  

To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you. ~ Lewis B Smedes 

We always say other people are toxic, we may be the toxic one. When you hold on to unforgiveness, it’s like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Isn’t that toxic thinking? 

It is exhausting carrying baggage from your past into your future. Your journey does not need the baggage of unforgiveness to where you are going. Leave it at the bus stop of forgiveness. 

Forgiveness is a choice you make every day. It is not a onetime event. The reason why is that the offense will come back to your mind again, you have the choice to let go or hold on.  It is a commitment. People process forgiveness differently. For some it is sooner than for others.  

A good way to look at it is putting yourself as the offender asking for forgiveness. It hurts when you ask for forgiveness and it is met with rejection. There is so much beauty in life every day to look forward to. 

When you hold on to the pain from the past, you actually hinder yourself from seeing beauty in a new day and new situations. You hold yourself at ransom that only you can pay.  You can’t free yourself if you don’t pay the ransom. Forgiveness is the ransom. 

If you want to love. Forgiveness will always be a constant. If you can’t forgive, you can’t love. While forgiving other people, also know that you have to forgive yourself too. 

Forgive yourself for mistakes you made out of ignorance. 

Forgive yourself for hurting other people. 

Forgive yourself for holding onto weights and things you should have released a long time ago. 

In this might, you need to learn to forgive, not because the other person deserves happiness, but because you deserve peace. 

Confessions of a Cheating Wife (2)

Before I decided to throw my marriage into the boondocks, everything was going well.

I lacked nothing.

I did not have to work, it was an option, not a necessity.

I had pocket money.

I went on lavish vacations or rather baecations.

The luxury goods in my closet have valued the price of a full boutique.

I was happy, got regular sex, great foot rubs, and massages.

I could be described as one of the few women who found a husband on a platter of gold.

I guessed I was positioned in the right place and time to receive him. There was only one pending question in my head.

I took the question into my marriage.

Did I deserve him?

Yemi had the opportunity to marry someone else but instead, he chose me. Rita, was a Kalabari girl whom his parents had approved of for him to marry. I remember seeing her once at a wedding. She was fair-skinned with long, thick, natural type 4 C hair. She was a medical doctor who was practicing in a private hospital. Yemi was not interested in marrying Rita, much to his parent’s dismay. Rita moved on quickly. I thought there would be drama, or she would come fighting me for Yemi, but she never did.

Yemi and I got married three years later, it was a struggle, we had broken up and made up so many times. There was only one reason why I was doing that.


Yes, I had a serious weakness for Osas. We were childhood sweethearts, and I lost my virginity to him. We did not quite work out no matter how hard I tried to force things to work. We were always in turmoil, and it took so much in me not to kill him. I caught him sleeping with my room mate from school and I cut him loose.

I never got over what happened and every opportunity I could find to contact him, I applied. Osas could not be bothered with me. He had a great supply of women at his disposal. All he had to do was tell them he was an American citizen, which was true. He was born in the US. Those women flocked to him. Every time I saw him, it was one female or another. I never saw him with the same female twice.

It hurt.

A few months later I met Yemi.

Yemi told me, he was going to be my husband from the very first day he saw me, and he did not fail to keep the promise despite all odds. Rita was my greatest odd.


The look on Yemi’s face as he stood in the doorway broke my heart. I could explain anything else, but I could not explain having another man in our matrimonial bed. I pulled away from Osas as I grabbed the bedsheet and wrapped it around my body. Yemi walked away, I heard the footsteps as he walked briskly down the stairs. How could I have been so careless? He never came home at this time. It seemed Murphy’s Law was operating in my life today and it would probably get worse.

I looked at Osas and pointed at the clothes we careless the on the floor and motioned to him to put his clothes on and leave my house.

Osas looked shocked.

I slid off the bed with the bedsheet draped around my body and ran barefoot down the stairs. Yemi stood in the living room facing the window. Shame engulfed me. How could I even look him in the face

He says he is not ready to be in a relationship (1)

There are many men, and they come along like the next bus or train every four minutes. You just need to be at the bus stop on time and get on the right bus.

He said he was not ready to be in a relationship.

After going on so many dates.

After investing physically and emotionally.

What happened?

The keyword is access. Who do you give access to?

As a child, my mother was very wary of the people I allowed into my life as friends. I was not allowed to make friends of my own unless they were my classmates. The reason being I always looked for the best in people and took them at face value until I got hurt or taken advantage of.

I took this mindset into relationships. Making myself open prey until I heard words that broke my heart and made me cry for days on end. Words such as,

“I am not ready to be in a relationship.

“It’s not you, it’s me”

Are there any warning signs that come before getting disappointed?

Most likely there would have been but we females, we tend to overlook them. When a woman is in love, even the ambulance wailings won’t wake her up from la-la land until is too late.

If a man has to take advantage of you, you have to give him access. Females are visually stimulated just like men are and also stimulated by the things we hear.

“I love you”

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me”

Do those words sound familiar?

These things happen because some women are easy to fall prey. Some men tell us what we want to hear because they have spent time enough with us to figure out what would work and what wouldn’t. Some of us are predictable, we try to play hard to get, but once they crack the code, they are in.

All those walls you worked hard to build will come crashing down like a pack of cards.

A simple analogy is giving a spare key. Once you give someone you may not have fully trusted a spare key, they have a copy and can get access into your house and worse still they can make a duplicate.

The stage of going from friendship to becoming exclusive is in the power of what transcends during the process. It first starts with telling.

Not showing.


He tells you great stories, about himself, the things he does, the past relationships. The things that he feels look good on his dating resume. It is your job to investigate and make sure that what he is telling is truly who he is.

This takes time.

Character does not hide for too long.

So, I am sure you are asking, what is your role here?

Your role here is being the upper hand. You are the flower being sought, the one who has the access code. Hold on to it tight. Take your time to give access. To your heart, to go on a date, to have sex, to become exclusive.

There are many men, and they come along like the next bus or train, if you miss one, you can always catch another. Do not allow fear to pressure you into giving in. If he decides not to find you attractive because you are playing your cards right, let him move along to the next available chic. You are saving yourself from a lot of potential…..bullshit.

Apart from being in charge of the access code to your heart and body. You should also ask yourself if he is worthy of you. It is not about you being the perfect one for the man. Is he worthy of you? Your time? Your potential and who you truly are? Your future. It really counts for everything.

Most importantly go on dates to learn. Learn about the person. When you have a list of what you can take and what you won’t take, you will be able to filter out the garbage before it becomes garbage. Do not rush into anything because you won’t find anything out there anymore. You are not going on a date so he can like you, even though it is important to make a great first impression by putting your best foot forward. You also have to determine if he is worth your time.

If he is not worth your time, move to the next in line.


In life, there are certain people you need to say hello to and walk past, nothing else.

I grew up in the projects. My brothers and I shared one room in or tiny apartment. It was what my parents could afford. They worked hard to make sure we had food on the table. All my siblings and I had to do were go to school and do homework. I was the middle child and the only girl. My older brother Joe was a year older than me. My younger brother Michael was two years younger than I was. We were very close because we were all we had. Mom never let us go outside to play with the other kids. There were a lot of kids our age we could pay with and attended the same school as us. The rule in the house was firm. We could not go out to play with those kids.

Part of the reason why mom never let us go out to play was that she was a stripper at a club downtown. She was ashamed of what she did. She was raped at sixteen years old and got pregnant. She lost the baby at four months and was never the same again. The grief haunted her for a long time. She barely graduated high school, but she decided to fund the easier way out. She was very attractive, she was five feet and six inches tall. She had a pretty face, full breasts, a small waist, and nice legs. I was the spitting image of my mom, so I knew I would look exactly like her when I got older.

Dad worked for a man who owned a mechanic shop called Alfred. Dad was four years older than mom, they met after high school and started dating. He worked at a fast-food restaurant while mom braided hair all day and followed men at night. They broke up a few times because mom would not stop sleeping with different men. Dad didn’t want to lose mom, at twenty-three years old. He had nothing more than eight hundred dollars to his name, a jalopy that could take him to work and back, and a one-bedroom apartment. He bought a ring and proposed to my mom. She agreed to marry him, and they started their life together.

Mom had a best friend whom she worked with.


They were thick as thieves, always together. They talked about buying new clothes and make-up. They talked about small shows. They also talked about Larry, their boss, a short Italian man who owned the club. I had seen him once when he came to the house to check on why mom had not come to work in a week. He reeked of alcohol and had a Cuban cigar in his mouth. Mom had a high fever and could not work for a few days. Tatanisha updated mom on what went on at work. She was unmarried and had no kids. It was the life she chose for herself She came from a broken home and ended up in the adoption system. Her parents didn’t want her, the system didn’t want her. It was the men who wanted her, that was what she lived for. The only day she didn’t have the same work shift as mom was on Monday. She always came in the evening to check on us and make sure we were tucked in bed after dinner. She would hang out with dad in the living room watching television. She was always gone in the morning.

One night, she came over to the house like she usually did. She always showed up at six-thirty and made sure we had dinner. She checked our homework and had a glass of beer with dad. Dad sent us to bed at eight-thirty instead of nine. Reluctantly we went to our beds. I don’t know how long I had been asleep, I woke up to yelling and noise coming from my parent’s room.

My brothers were fast asleep. I got out from the bed I shared with my brothers and walked towards the door. I wanted to hear what was going on clearly. I heard mom’s voice. Mom was home? She was meant to be at work. Monday was crucial for her, her best clients showed up on Monday. What could have happened?

The Placeholder.

“He is not going to marry you; you are just a temp.”

“He is not going to marry you; you are just a temp.”

The words of the woman pierced into my heart like a knife. She was right. I was wasting my time.
All these months, I was dating someone who turned me into a placeholder. I was the committed one, he was using me to pass time until “The One” showed up.
I am a five-foot nine-inch chic, Pretty face with a Master’s Degree in Computer science, but I can not keep a man. They walk in and out of my life like a bus stop. I thought in my pretty head that I was doing it right. I wore nice clothes, smelled good, my hair appointments were monthly, nail appointments were bi-weekly. I took trips four times a year. I attracted handsome men with everything going for them but commitment.
So, the question is, what am I doing wrong?
I met Philip in Cabo. He was the perfect boyfriend for me. When we got back to Los Angeles, we went on dates back-to-back. I was living my dream relationship. He had the hots for me and I felt the same way. Sex was ahhhhhmmazing. He was damn good in bed. It made me pray that I was not sharing him with any other woman.
Red roses at work.
Roses on my doorstep.
Foot rubs in the evening or weekends spent together.
Fancy dinners.
Front row seats at sporting events.
Surprise weekend getaways.
Expensive designer accessories.
Should I say more? Would you want what I had? Yes, and yes.
This was my perfect relationship which included constant phone calls and video calls. Then the smoke started. He started spending time with his friends. He used work as an excuse, not to go-to date nights.
I complained to my co-worker Sasha who had become a confidant.
“Maybe you should let him have space,” she advised.
“Yes, maybe he is dealing with stuff and he is either internalizing it or doing something different it may have nothing to do with you,” Sasha said.
I could not understand what she meant by him dealing with stuff. He could always talk to me.
My phone calls were automatically sent to voicemail.
Getting a response to my text was like playing the lotto.
Then the fire started.
He didn’t return my calls for a whole day, so I decided to check on him.
I drove forty-three miles to his home in Laguna Beach. I opened the door to his condo with my key and saw a woman on the couch watching tv.
“Hey,” I greeted in half shock and half uncertainty. For all I knew, she could be a relative.
She sat up in surprise.
“Hey, how may I help you?” she asked as she put the remote control in her hand on the center table.
“Where is Phillip?”
“He is not here,” she replied flatly.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Bianca, I am his girlfriend. And you are?”
It felt like my heart had leaped into my mouth. What did she just call herself?
His girlfriend?
Then what was I?

“You were a placeholder,” Sasha replied as she listened to my sob story.

I had never been so humiliated in my life. I took the walk of shame out of Phillip’s home.
“He loved me, we were going to get married,” I said quietly. I was convinced in my heart that he was the one.
“He was not in love with you,” Sasha said with a straight face. “Listen, sweetheart, this is not new and I know it hurts so bad, but men lie. They lie about you being the one because they are cowards and can’t let you go. They want to keep you in place until they can find ‘the one.”
I didn’t want to believe this whole heartbreak thing was happening again. What was it about me that was not making them commit?
“I did everything to make him love me and make me stay.”
“Well maybe that’s where you missed the point, you were too busy trying to make him stay and you didn’t stop to check if he was worthy of you. You are worthy of love. You will not get love from the wrong one.” she said with a smile.
“You are right.”
“We lie about our requirements sometimes, and when we find the requirement we reject it, it happens even with women too”
“So how do I keep a man, I am tired of these constant breakups.”
Sasha smiled.
“You need to be your true authentic self, the right man will see that and he will stay, just take this as the trash taking itself out and start all over again.”

ON THE RUN (1) a novella

For my dear life, I had to run.

The ray of sunshine filtered into the room through the blinds. I looked at the clock which was across the wall from me. It was a few minutes past 7 am. My partner was not laying next to me. He had not done so in almost two years. I never imagined waking up alone every single day. Some nights he would creep into the bed and put a pillow between us. Other nights he would have me drunk with wine and then have sex with me with the lights off. I could see his eyes in the dark and the contortion of his face when he was about to cum. It was a routine I had gotten used to. He didn’t care if I was on my period or not sometimes. It felt like rape.

Yes, I said “sex”. I could not remember the last time we made love. He kept himself buried with work on his computer or found every excuse in the book to keep away. Our lovemaking ended when our daughter turned two. I craved to have my husband to myself some nights. He rejected me every time I tried touching him. He came up with the idea of having a pillow between us. I pulled the covers over my head. Why did I wake up to this day?

It was May the 28th, my 31st birthday. A year ago, it was my 30th birthday, all I did was plan a small girls’ trip with my friends. I left my little one with my aunt, who was more than delighted to have her for the weekend.

I looked forward to this day as a child. At age thirty-one, I hoped to have a husband and a child or rather children. I hoped to have gone to college and graduated to become an engineer. All though I had accomplished everything on my list, I was in an unhappy marriage.

I never imagined I would ever be in an unhappy marriage. My parents had a happy marriage until my mom passed away. I was eighteen years when she passed away. My dad was distraught for a few years. It was hard to watch him slip into depression.

I don’t even know how my husband and I got here. I am sure you are wondering. Is there another woman involved?

Yes, there is another woman involved. She hates me so much that she is bent on watching my marriage get destroyed. I became a stranger in my own home, the one that I had built with him. We were broke grad school students at the time we bought the house. We wanted to get our Master’s and move on with life. When we got approved for the loan to buy the house, we spent to search for the perfect home in a nice neighborhood. We finally found a three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath in the suburbs. Those were happy days for us until the other woman who was lurking in the shadows made her appearance.

Confessions of a Cheating Wife. (1)

It was not always bad. My marriage, I mean. I married a good man.

All I could feel were my legs vibrating.

The bed creaked. The headboards hit the wall in a noisy pattern, rhythmic to how I was being pounded.

It took months for Osas and me to plan this. The endless back and forth text messages since the first time we ran into each other on the elevator.

The nights when I would sit on the toilet seat sending messages and smiling. The surprise good morning texts via WhatsApp with a name saved as Vivienne. Osas was falling in love with me fast. I had spent several evenings at his place having dinner and chilling. He was my happy place. An escape from the madness in my current life.

Today, he decided to surprise me.

He showed up. He looked dapper. A chocolate brown suit, his black leather shoes. He dripped sophistication. I opened the door and let him in.

“You made it,” I said and planted a kiss on his lips.

“I have to my love.” He said and grabbed my slim waist. He looked into my eyes and smiled. “Did you cook anything I am starving?”

“I made some okra soup, it’s in the fridge. I can make you breakfast.”

He smiled and shook his head in disapproval.

“No thank you. I have a different type of breakfast in mind though.” He said with a smirk.

“Are you serious?” I asked raising my eyebrows. I knew what he was talking about. I wanted him to confirm it himself.

“Yes, it is ready to eat too.” He said staring into my eyes and refusing to break the gaze he held steady. “You know I am here for business, so let’s get to work,” Osas whispered in my ears and kissed the back of my neck.

I ran my finger down his chest. He put his arms around me and grabbed me to the sofa. He began to squeeze my breasts.

“Osas.” I moaned.

“Shhhh.” He whispered as he moved some of my hair across my face. He kissed me on my mouth and down my neck. He pulled the straps of my jumpsuit and moved them apart. He reached for my bra clasp and took it apart. My breasts were revealed. He dragged the jumpsuit further to the lower part of my body. I pulled his jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt. I reached down below his pants and felt for his hardness. He was rock solid hard. I held his hand and led him up the stairs. I needed us to be a little more comfortable. We got to my bedroom upstairs.

I reached for his belt and he helped me loosen it. He pulled his pants off.


I heard a phone vibrate. I was not sure if it was mine or his. I do not remember bringing my phone upstairs. It could have been in his pants pocket. Osas kept pushing harder between my thighs. My breasts kept bouncing as they kept in rhythm.

His hot breath was on my face and his breathing became more rapid. The bed boards were banging against the wall.

“Faster.” I panted as he kept thrusting deeper and deeper.

“Do you want to bend over instead? I could go faster that way if you want.” His voice sounded jagged.

Sex with Osas was a full-body workout.

“No. Not yet.” I said panting. I was almost out of breath.

“Okay.” He said and continued thrusting harder.

He kissed my neck and found his way to my mouth. I sucked his tongue. I heard the phone vibrating again. Osas looked upset but he did not stop. He flipped me around and started hitting me from the back. This was my favorite position with him. I felt his girth in my vagina. I moaned loud and he kept thrusting faster.

The bedroom door flung open. I was bending on all fours with Osas hitting it from the back and my husband staring at me in shock. Osas came out of me. I got up from the bed. It was too late. He had seen it all. The expression on my husband’s face. I will never forget for a long time to come