This week, I’ll be sharing the first kiss between Yemi Okeke and Vincent Mba from the novella, Unexpected Love, one of the love stories in the anthology, Be My Valentine, published by @LoveAfricaPress.
This scene was in the car, when Vincent dropped Yemi off at her home after an unexpected encounter with her in a restaurant.
I love car kisses. Always get me hot.
“Thanks, Vincent. I had a fantastic time tonight,” she said, fiddling with the zip on her hand bag.
“Me, too, Yemi. It was fun being with you … talking …” He trailed off.She sat stiffly. Silence stretched between them.
“Okay, I’ll see you later.” She turned towards the car door and reached for the handle.
A strong grip closed on her arm, stopping her. Startled, she whirled around to face him. Before she could process what was happening, Vincent’s lips had descended on hers.
Sheer unadulterated pleasure zapped through her entire body as his tongue teased her lower lip enticingly. Succumbing to the force of sensations he evoked, she parted her lips and welcomed the intrusion of his tongue.
“Ohhh,” she moaned, flinging her arms around his shoulders, vaguely aware of the sound of her bag crashing onto something in the car.
Her body came alive as Vincent’s large hands roamed over her, all the while he devoured her mouth with an intensity that excited her.
His hands were everywhere. Her back, her ass, her neck, and then her hair. She couldn’t get enough of tasting him, touching him.
“You taste so damn good,” he muttered, angling his head for a deeper kiss, his tone guttural. “So hot and so sweet.”
Yemi could barely hear him as her entire body concentrated on the exquisite sensation of his tongue stroking the roof of her mouth.
This week, I’ll be sharing the scene of the “first kiss” between Ogonna and Philip from The Governor’s Wife.
Although not really their #FirstKiss, this was the first one they shared when they accidentally met again seven years after a bitter separation.
I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it.
A deep part of his subconscious rose up in protest. This was Ogonna, the woman who broke him by running off to marry someone else.
He shouldn’t want to have anything to do with her, let alone kiss her. He needed to bring this madness to an end, turn and walk away.But Philip remained rooted to the spot, deepening the pressure of his thumb instead, and then trailing it slowly across her full lower lip.
Her tongue darted out, flickering lightly. A bold move. Unexpected.
His eyes swept to hers and he froze. They were wide as saucers, as if startled by her own boldness. It would have been easier for him to let her go if even an iota of repulsion or uncertainty registered in their dark depths. Instead, something primal flashed in her pupils.
His breath trapped in his chest. Ogonna wanted him, too. The realisation sent a wave of need through him, weakening him.
Another soft moan came from her. His nostrils flared, and he let out a groan from deep within his throat. Almost roughly, he reached for her face, cradled it in both hands and brought his mouth down on hers.
It’s getting cold here on the Wirral peninsular where I live. For a little heat to cope with the daunting cold, I’ll be sharing the scene of Rita and Nosa’s first kiss from The Senator’s Daughter.
Here, Rita had just revealed a deep fear of hers to him. She was vulnerable, yet, she felt a sensual connection with Nosa.
She laughed, and he felt his chest expand, happy that he had thrown some humour into a horrible memory.
They stood that way, locked in each other’s arms, drawing comfort from each other.
Slowly, Rita rose to her tiptoes and brushed a soft kiss to his lips. Nosa froze.
His heart slammed into his chest. He could feel the sensual change in the atmosphere. His heart began to pound rapidly inside his rib-cage, but he remained still, immobilised by a mixture of need and dread—the intense desire to, and fear of getting, lost in her embrace.
“Kiss me, Nosa,” Rita spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“Rita…” he protested weakly. He didn’t want to take advantage of her grief, of her trust. He tried to pull away, but she was having none of it. She secured her arms around him and pulled him closer.
“Kiss me, Nosa,” she whispered again.
Nosa’s gaze dropped to her full lips. They were parted slightly, welcoming, and pleading. He would oblige her, kiss her and let her go. Just one kiss and he would let her go. He couldn’t deny her this request. How could he? When he also wanted a taste of her succulent lips.
Heart hammering, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her gently. The soft throaty sound she made scrambled his resolve. With a deep groan, he sought her mouth again.
This time, his tongue probed her mouth, which she opened without hesitation, allowing his to tangle deliciously with hers. Her lips were soft, her mouth wet, sweet, enchanting.
I hope this warmed you up a bit. And if you’re already warm, I hope it stoked the fiery flames within.😉
Hanie Morrision has either completely lost her mind, or she’s finally taken charge of her love life when she starts a liaison with a man she meets online. Their friendship fast becomes more, and she’s having the best (cyber) sex of her life.
When her internet lover decides to travel halfway across the world to see her, she must make a decision of her own—book a one-way ticket back to reality or risk her heart and find love one orgasm at a time.
#UnwrappingHanie #ChristmasRomance #Holidays #ComingSoon Have a great day!
This week, I’ll be sharing the first kiss between Onome and Nnamdi from my #romancenovel Starting Over Again.
In this scene, Nnamdi visited Onome to inform her about the outcome of an account they had been both worked on securing for their investment bank.
A strictly business visit. 🤔Or was it?
“Did we get the account?” Onome asked nervously, scrubbing her sweaty palms over her bright green cotton shorts.
He hesitated, his facial expression serious.
Onome’s heart sank. She had let him down, let the bank down. Her stomach knotted with trepidation. “We… we didn’t get it?” she mumbled hesitantly.
His lips twitched momentarily, then cracked into a disarming smile.
“Congrats, Onome, you have brought in your first account.”
“Oh my God!” Onome exclaimed, jumping in delight. “I have been so anxious, oh my God!”
He opened his arms, and without a thought, she ran into his outstretched arms, wrapping her arms around him. He lifted her, twirled her around briefly before gradually lowering her on her feet.
“I’m so proud of you, Onome.” His deep baritone resonated within her.
“Thank you for letting me do this. I have actually missed doing this, hustling for accounts.”
They stood that way, locked in each other’s arms as moments ticked by, neither of them making any move to break the connection. Slowly, the atmosphere between them shifted from elation to sensual awareness. Their eyes locked. His brown eyes, darkened now, dipped to her lips.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured. He sounded as if he was warning her, giving her a chance to back away from him.
Onome had no such desire. She had dreamt of kissing him countless times, been consumed with the desire to feel his full lips glide over hers, spent nights wondering if he kissed softly and sweetly or if he plunged in, hard and rough, taking, demanding—
Before she could complete that train of thought, his mouth descended on hers. Onome parted her lips without hesitation, welcoming the intrusion of his tongue into her mouth
I hope you enjoyed reading this. Drop your comments below ⬇️
This week, I’ll be sharing the first encounter between Emem Akpan and Yomi Oladipo from the romance novel, Love At First Sound published by Love Africa Press
In this scene, Emem was in the process of moving into a block of flats where Yomi also lived.
He was only trying to be a friendly neighbour. Or was he flirting? Hmmmmm…
A slow warmth swept over her. Maybe everything would turn out okay. Maybe I’ll finally move past this.
Just as the comforting thought entered her mind, a man emerged from the opened front door.
No. A god. Almost too stunning for words. Tall, with broad shoulders, smooth, golden skin, too light for her usual taste, but the complexion on him enhanced rather than deterred from his good looks. With a long nose and fine facial features, he looked biracial, posh, and out of place in a local area like this.
As he strutted towards them, she found herself instinctively holding her breath, everyone fading away from her line of vision as her gaze narrowed on him. Such a knockout. The long, jet-black dreadlocks with blond highlights hanging from his head down to his shoulders reminded her of Ziggy Marley.
He was dressed in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a black tank top, which brought attention to strong, muscular arms showcasing large Chinese calligraphy tattoos on each side.
Embarrassed to be staring at his arms, she jumped her gaze back to his face, and heat burned her cheeks at the arrogant glint in his eyes. He obviously knew how stunning he was, and probably got this same reaction from women.
A quick side glance at Natalie’s rigid posture told of her own awestruck response to the man’s beauty.
“Welcome to our block of flats, beautiful ladies,” he said, standing right in front of them, legs akimbo. Confident. Rugged.
Both still speechless, they didn’t respond. And he didn’t seem to be bothered by their silence. He swept his gaze to the movers who had begun pushing the trolley towards the front entrance, and then back at them.
He cast a quick glance at Natalie before he focused his attention on her. His lips parted in a slow grin, exposing white teeth and gorgeous bilateral dimples.
“I’m Yomi Oladipo, and I live upstairs in Apartment Eight,” he said, an arrogant drawl in his voice as he offered her his hand.
Emem ignored it, but Natalie reached out and shook it vigorously, allowing her fingers to linger for moments.
“I’m Natalie,” she gushed, grinning from molar to molar.
He smiled at Natalie, his dimples making another stunning appearance.
“Hello, Natalie. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have a beautiful lady like you moving into this building,” he drawled, a slight British accent in his intonation.
Natalie blushed, and Emem felt like slapping her across the face. You have a man, girl, she thought bitingly, not wanting to analyse the annoyance dripping through her at seeing her friend flirting with this stranger.
“I’m not moving in.” Natalie sounded disappointed. “I’m helping my friend, Emem, move in.”
His gaze moved back to her, and Emem’s chest spasmed.
“Emem … a lovely name for a beauty,” he said, shoving both hands into his jeans pockets, as though accepting her refusal to shake.
Emem fought back the desire to roll her eyes at his cheesy lines. A fuck boy. A young fuck boy who didn’t think twice about making a pass at older women. Nope. Not interested. No matter how handsome, she was not in the mood for this.
“Can I help you move in, too, Emem?” he asked, his tone dripping with honey.
“No, thank you. We are fine,” she answered curtly.
“Oh, my … yes!” Natalie said at the same time in a shrill voice.
The man’s gaze jumped to Natalie and then settled back on her. His thick, perfectly carved eyebrow arched.
“One Yes and one No,” he drawled, seemingly unfazed by her rudeness. “Which is it, ladies?”
Emem shook her head. She really had no time for this young dreadlocked fuck boy. She had stuff to do. “Thanks, Mister, but I’m good.”
She threw an exasperated glance at her friend who still appeared spellbound by the stranger.
“Natalie, abeg, let’s go and bring the rest of my stuff from the car.”
Sucking her teeth, Emem walked around the man, aware she was being rude but not caring. She needed to nip this right in the bud. He lived in the apartment just above hers, and she didn’t want him becoming too friendly.
The move to this place was for her to heal and regain her focus. Not to have to deal with an overtly cocky neighbour knocking on her door whenever he felt like it, thinking he could get lucky.
I hope you enjoyed reading. Please leave a comment.
This week, I’ll be sharing the first encounter between Vincent Mba and Yemi Okeke from Unexpected Love, one of the stories from the anthology, Be My Valentine published by @LoveAfricaPress.
A sound at the door jarred her from her musings. She turned towards the entrance, and her heart lurched.
A good-looking, athletic man dressed in an impeccable black blazer walked in. His skin was smooth toffee brown, his head shaved bald, and a well-groomed beard and moustache surrounded perfectly shaped full lips.
Embarrassed to be focusing on his mouth, she jerked her attention up to his eyes, and her breath trapped in her chest. Stunning intense dark eyes. No man had the right to have such thick and curly eye lashes without using a mascara, or wonderfully carved eyebrows that should be on a woman.
“Yemi Okeke? You are the orthopaedic surgeon, Yemi Okeke?”
The man’s deep baritone voice flooded the room. Such a sexy sound. Her throat went dry, screaming hoarsely from a sudden need for water.
“Yes, I am.” She nodded, surprised to see the spark of recognition reflected in the man’s eyes. She hadn’t met him before. Had she? Although there was something vaguely familiar about him, she couldn’t quite place it. “I have a meeting with the board of directors … or Mr. Mba.”
“I am Mr. Mba,” he said with a smile. “Vincent Mba.”
“Oh, hello, sir.”
Butterflies skittered all over her tummy, making her even more nervous now that she realised he was indeed the man she was here to meet. What a stunning male specimen. And young, too. Probably less than thirty. He was certainly nothing like what she’d expected a hospital manager to look like.
“Vincent. I hate people calling me ‘sir’.”
He lowered his eyes to her left hand briefly and then held her gaze.
“Hmm … Seems like the fool still didn’t man up and wife you?” he said, broadening his grin.
“What?” Her forehead furrowed in confusion, unsure she had heard properly.
“Oh … I was there in the restaurant … you know, when you proposed to your boyfriend of six years.”
Blood drained from her brain, making her feel lightheaded. She quickly pulled out a seat and slumped on it.
So much for having a fresh start in Lagos.
I hope you enjoyed reading. Please leave a comment.
Strong arms engulfed her as she hit her head against a rigid wall. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a wall. It felt like firm chest muscles. The alluring aroma of maleness and cologne that filled her nostrils tightened her chest. She inhaled deeply. She had died and gone to heaven in the arms of Angel Michael. Rita buried her face in his chest, and she felt the pounding of his heart against her cheeks.
“Angel Michael,” Rita whispered, resting her face against his broad chest, feeling safe in the arms that carried her. This was heaven. “Thank you, Angel Michael.”
“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me! What the hell is wrong with you!” The voice that barked at her was gruff. Her eyes snapped open. That was definitely not the voice or words of an angel.
“Who are you? Let go of me!” Rita screamed, suddenly aware of her surroundings. She had not jumped off the bridge as she had intended, and a stranger held her in his arms, refusing to let her go.
“Let go of me!” she cried again, hitting the stranger on his back. He neither responded to her command nor flinched from the force of her blows. He simply turned, holding her firmly in his arms and began moving towards a vehicle.
“Let me go, please,” Rita pleaded, alarmed. Reality set in; she was being abducted by this man. “Please let me go. Who are you?” The man still did not respond. She began to panic, really panic. She was alone. No one knew where she was. She immediately regretted locking Tango back in the bungalow. If this man took her somewhere and killed her, nobody would even know where to find her.
“Do you know who I am?” Rita’s panic-stricken voice rang out again. “I am Senator Obaseki’s daughter. My father will have you killed.” Anger replaced her fear. “Let me go! Do you hear me? My father is very rich…”
He remained silent as he carried her to the black car parked at the other end of the bridge. Rita noticed the opened front door of the vehicle, but before she could say anything more, he slammed it shut with his foot.
The stranger yanked open the door to the backseat and dumped her inside. She tried to kick him away, but he held her legs together and pulled out a rope from the floor of the car. Keeping her legs bound with ease, he tied the rope around her ankles and knotted it. Rita’s arms flapped about, throwing punches at the man in a state of terror. She hit him anywhere she could find his flesh, but he didn’t duck or flinch.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small knife. Rita’s eyes widened. She held both hands above her head in surrender, temporarily immobilised by fear. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll give you money. Name your price. Whatever amount you want, I’ll give you.” His facial expression was indifferent, as if unimpressed by her declaration. Without even looking up at her, he used the knife to cut the rope and placed it back in his pocket.
After securing the rope on her ankles, he retrieved another rope from somewhere in the car and reached for her forearm. He captured one forearm in his large hand and aimed for her other hand. Rita didn’t make it easy for him, aimlessly flailing her free hand around, trying to elude his grasp.
“What do you want? Money? I can give you up to ten million Naira today if you let me go.” She searched his face anxiously for a sign that he heard what she’d just said. There was no emotion there. His focus was aiming for her hand. Fear gripped her insides. This was not about money. This man didn’t need her money. And that was frightening. What did he want? Was he a rapist? A ritualist?
“Give me your hand,” he muttered in a low voice. Rita continued to evade his attempt to gather her hands together. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just give me your hand.”
“Please, let me go, then. I have money. Loads of money I could give you today if you let me go.” Her voice became desperate. “Please…”
“Give me your hand now,” he said again. This time, there was an authoritative ring to his words that made her heart jump. Rita offered her other hand to him.
While he tied her wrists together, Rita studied him silently, trying to recall if she had met him before. His glossy skin was a deep mahogany hue that she would have found appealing under different circumstances. He had a long face with piercing large eyes below thick well-carved eyebrows. His nose was long with flared nostrils, and his full lips stood out amongst his precisely trimmed facial hair. Closely cropped smooth curls crowned his head, tapering to thin sideburns.
Her frantic mind search for previous encounters with this man came up empty. She hadn’t met him before, had she? Was this personal? He was a tall, muscular man with a commanding presence that she would not easily forget had their paths crossed. No, she hadn’t met him before. She was sure of that.
“Please let me go, I haven’t done anything to you, have I? I don’t know you, do I? Please let me go…please…I can give you money.”
He didn’t look up or even acknowledge her statement. He used the same knife from his pocket to cut the ends of the rope that secured her wrists before replacing it in his pocket.
Glancing up at her, he ran a thumb over her bound wrist.
“Does this hurt?” he asked in a tone that Rita would have described as compassionate were she not tied hands and feet in the back seat of his car. It took a moment for her to realise that he was referring to the rope on her wrists. Rita shook her head.
“Good…” He brushed his hand over his face. “Listen, Princess. I don’t want to hurt you. If you do exactly as I say, you will be fine,” he warned her. His intonation was a rich baritone that cracked at the end of his sentence.
“What do you want? Are you a ritualist? I can give you money if you are a ritualist… Name the amount…you don’t have to do anything to me. Please. I’ll pay double whatever they are offering you.”
He laughed in response. The sound of his laughter reverberated in the air. Not replying to her comment, he slammed the car door shut and walked over to the driver’s seat and sat down.
“You are a rapist, then. A big man like you… Do you have to resort to rape to have sex? So, you can’t manage to find a girl to convince to sleep with you? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
He remained silent. Rita’s fear intensified. Her throat tightened with tears. She was going to die. This man was going to rape her, kill her and leave her body somewhere nobody would ever find. And it was all her fault. Oh, God. Why did I lock Tango inside the bungalow?
“Where are you taking me? Please don’t hurt me…please…” Rita’s tone wavered. Tears fell down her eyes.
Her plea seemed to touch him, and she noticed him pause his movements. He glanced at the rare-view mirror and their gazes linked. “I promise I won’t hurt you, okay?” he said gently. Rita watched him open the glove compartment and pull out a small syringe. He took out a tiny needle from a box in there, tore away the packet, and attached it to the end of the syringe. “This is the only thing that will hurt. But just like a sharp sting, like a mosquito bite. Nothing dramatic.”
Rita could barely hear what he was saying. Her needle phobia kicked in. Blood drained from her head, causing her to feel dizzy. Wide eyes with dread and her gaze focused on the advancing needle, she remained paralysed, so scared that she didn’t even feel the sharp sting of the needle as it pierced the skin of her arm. All she could feel was the blood pounding in her ears.
“You will soon become light-headed,” the man continued in a deep voice. “And then slowly fall asleep. Don’t worry; it’s a low dose, so you will be fine when you wake up, Rita.”
Rita? He had called her by name. She was not a random victim. This man knew her name.
“How do you know my name? Why are you doing this? Who are you?” The man did not reply. He started the car, pulled out of the side road where they were, and drove towards the main road.
More questions formed in Rita’s head. But her brain became fuzzy, and slowly, just as the man had warned, her eyes grew heavy. The questions whirled around in her brain in disjointed circles until she could no longer keep her eyes open or her mind alert. Heaving a deep sigh, Rita gave in to the darkness that claimed her. But not before she noticed the flash of regret that touched the stranger’s sharp eyes.
Hardworking nurse Simisola Oladeji is unlucky in love.
When reclusive billionaire Aiden Essien walks into her life, she knows there will be no future with him and even more so when she stumbles upon his bloodthirsty secret.
She is safer reuniting with her long-lost boyfriend Femi, surely?
Caught between the two, trouble is never far away as she discovers some disturbing truths about her past life. A dark force is rising and the messy trio is going to have to fight, together, to save lives.
From the east, the wind rose and whipped the trees, bending the branches and leaves. Dark clouds hovered over the Meje clan gathered in the forest clearing. The powers of the spirits they evoked with resonant voices surged in their midst.
The air reeked of a foul presence. Gusts of wind screamed, making the animals scamper in fright.
The hunters of Ori clan remained still and silent, hidden in the long grass, undeterred by the bloodcurdling sounds.
They had waited for this moment all their lives. This mission was the reason they existed, the reason they had been fiercely trained for years.
As devout worshippers of Yemaja, the earth goddess had imbued them with the strength to rid the earth of the abomination that tarnished her order.
The demon hunters with their bodies painted black and white, the symbol of impending war, had in their hands, daggers with long thick horns for handles.
These daggers had been forged from the rocks in the hidden cave beneath Yemaja’s waterfall—the only weapons capable of slaying the beasts short of taking their heads off from their bodies, which proved to be an almost impossible task.
The hunters waited for the opportune moment to strike, their bodies primed for action, eager for the victory to come.
The Meje clan folk held hands firmly by the edge of the lake and chanted after their leader whose head was adorned with cowries and raffia palm.
Erhu Kome Yellow is an urhobo author of fantastical stories where gods, mythological creatures and magic come together.
She has been shortlisted for the Syncity Anthology prize, the Quramo writers prize and featured in Blaud Magazine. Dawsk is her first book, and is currently the Creative Freelance Writers Book of the year.