Written by Oluwaseun
It was a busy day for her. Zainab’s schedule was jammed so tightly, that she was practically jumping from one meeting to another, unable to catch a break. It happened in slow motion. She was introduced to him by her secretary as the man who was going to take her brand to the next height. “A marketing genius,” she was told.
Alas, it caught her unexpectedly, the wild and unhoned attraction she had for this man. He had broad shoulders she wanted to hang her legs on. During the introduction, she shook his hands and she heard his voice. “Mr. Bankole is what I go by, pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” “Pleasure is all mine,” she squeaked. She knew he could feel the attraction too, with the way he shook her hand, he looked like he almost wanted to kiss it and whisper “My lady”, or something.
His presentation was a brilliant one. He clearly knew his beans. Zainab was focused thoroughly on his chest and she had so many visions of undressing him. She was about to combust with lust. Hearing someone cough, she was drawn out of her reverie. “I wanted to know if you had any questions?” he asked while looking at her directly, his gaze a soft whisper. She didn’t. Rounding up the meeting, she let herself through the door first, bidding her workers a good day because she had other meetings to attend. Her secretary’s heels clicked behind her as she rushed down the hallway.
“Ma’am!” he yelled.
Zainab turned mid-stroll, curious to see who had stopped her. Turned out it was Mr. Bankole. Amusing, she thought. A man who goes after what he wants. Her attraction shot through the roof.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have the time to ask for your digits earlier. I would love a date with you if that’s okay with you?”
“No, Mr. Bankole. I do not mix business with pleasure. Do have a pleasant day.”
He was about to give his response to that when she turned and continued in haste so she could meet up with her schedule. She wished she had said yes–oh, why the fuck did she not say yes? Now she will have to go home to her vibrator once more. Well, she could always be sure of an orgasm; the same could not be said for most of the sex she’s had with men.
Jogging early in the morning was her secret to her trim figure. She loved the rush it gave. Addicted to runner’s high, she could relate to Stella from “How Stella Got Her Groove Back.” Speeding with her ears plugged, she rammed into someone unexpectedly. This might’ve been because of the dew in the air; harmattan in Nigeria is just like that.
“Great, I close my eyes for one second to savor this high and I am now going to end up with a cracked skull,” she frowned.
“I am so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you coming.”
“Ah”–she sputtered–” it’s fine, it’s this dew.”
“Wow, I had no idea you were a runner, this is a pleasant surprise.”
She slowly took in his voice and physique–well, well. Who could’ve thought? It was Mr. Bankole.
“So”–breaking the silence–” can I get your contact now?”
“And why should I change my mind, Mr. Bankole?”
“Because I want to get to know you,” he paused, “and those legs.”
Blinking, Zainab couldn’t believe she was about to hand this man her digits. She did it anyway.
“Will you be free on Sunday? Say 5 pm?”
“Yes, call me.”
And with that she plugged her earphones back, playing electronic music on her iPhone.
Zayn’s “pillow talk” slowly emanated from the speakers in the room as they both held each other. The weather was perfect, the lighting was smooth, Zainab was about to lose all her home training and she was thankful for it. This man apparently knew his way around a woman’s body. He had been persistent in texting and calling her, so she decided to give him a trial. Looks like this might pay off.
They both wined and dined in his expansive sitting room, laughing out loud at “The Office”, a comedy show they both immensely enjoyed. This felt like a bubble, this moment here and then, because it seemed like life had paused and every other thing going on was pure noise. The wine was smooth and savory, tingling the back of her throat and gently cascading down to her stomach. From there, she felt the slight buzz make its discreet way down to her clitoris. She could feel it getting engorged.
Miss, as she’d named her vagina, wanted some action, and she wasn’t playing about. His built shoulders, ripped and broad, strained through his shirt as he tried to drop the wine bottle on the table beside her. She was hit full force by his pheromones. They sang sweet melodies of pleasure to her ears and she listened. Promises, promises, she couldn’t wait to see what the night held in store for her. So she leaned into him, softly touching his chest and she heard him gasp.
Groaning, he shifted from her and looked into her face. “I want to take this slow. I want to devour every part of you till you beg me to fuck you, gently”. Blinking, Zainab was formerly hypnotized by his Adam’s apple, the way it bobbed up and down. His words registered some thirty seconds later and she was a river down below. He gently took her feet in his hands, massaging every inch of them. She didn’t know there were spots behind the ankles that held so much pleasure, she didn’t know sucking her toes was going to drive her crazy. She had been ignorant for a long time it seemed.
Her silk gown seemed to melt into her skin with all the fire this man was arousing in her. She watched as he gently kissed her legs, running his tongue along her thighs, whispering about how much he loved her skin, telling her she was a goddess he was created to worship. Then he rearranged her body, and at this point, mind you, Zainab was already lost in the slow fire. It was simmering beneath her skin, seeking escape, so she ordered him to kiss her.
Kissing her felt like heaven and he couldn’t stop. He wanted to blame it on the wine but deep down, he couldn’t. The wine mixed with the ecstasy of the moment; their tongues darted in and out of the other’s mouth, slowly ravishing each other’s lips. He slid his finger into her pussy. Wet, extremely wet, he noted. He hungrily groaned into her mouth and had a rethink of the whole “slow lovemaking” idea, but he stuck to his words; he wasn’t about to lose track now.
Gently massaging her walls, he found her G-spot and did unspeakable things to it. Creating tempos and rhythms that musicians could only write, he had her walls quivering in no time. He talked through her during her petite mort, whispering sweet nonsense about how wild she made him and how he’s lost his sensibilities since setting eyes on her. Unsatisfied, he buried his head between her legs. Her scent drove him wild and he ripped Zainab’s gown open. “I am so gone, fuck. What the hell?”
Zainab arched when his tongue started swirling around her clitoris, he had his fingers in her and also exposed the hood of her clit so she was bare. She wanted to run from it all, the pleasure bursting through her core with this sheer force. She tethered on the edge. “Please”, she cried softly. He understood her pleas. Folding her in his arms, he carried her to his bedroom and laid her down softly. Assortment of clothes were strewn all over the house but no one was paying mind to that in this heated moment; the world could be burning for all they cared.
He removed the condom from his drawers and she wore it on his penis with her mouth. Folding her legs up, he gently eased into her and she let go. Falling into the abyss where pleasure has been promised, she orgasmed and her t constricted against his penis involuntarily. This flooded her canal and he was slipping in and out of her warmness with reckless abandon.
She maneuvered him and rode him as the Khaleesi did to Khal Drogo in the “Game of Thrones,” maintaining eye contact all the while. He moaned and bit his lips, so she went faster, grinding them both into another bliss of hedonism. Panting, they both fell off each other and she looked at him, sweating and breathless. Zainab might have been right to give him a chance, after all, it seems he was her match.