Improvised Plan #ProjectNigeria

32- Vibes and Inshallah

Saheed:

Watching her raise her brows in shock does not have on me the effect I was expecting. Ola sits up straight, her hands resting on my bare chest, her hair in a rough, curly halo around her head.

"Claim what?" she asks.

Mentally, I face palm myself. My chest tightens and I close my eyes for a few moments. Saheed, you idiot.

"I want you to be mine," I say slowly, so each word sinks in past all that hair and into her skull.

"A relationship," Ola states.

"A relationship," I agree with a nod.

"Just the two of us."

"Just the two of us. No third parties involved." No Boma, no David or Joseph or Emeka or Ahmed, no other person.

Her sudden laughter startles me. "You're saying this because of Boma, aren't you?"

"What does he have to do with what I said?" I ask, getting annoyed.

For crying out loud, this sounds like a rejection and she wants to add jara by annoying me? O wrong nau.

"He got me a dozen roses, you got me twenty-four. And then you show up hours after my date with him talking about claiming. It took another man giving me attention for you to go back on your word about your M.O. on transactional sex, Saheed."

What the hell is this woman saying? And why would she bring up something I said months ago?

Ola tries to get off of me, but I hold her in place, clamping my arms around her waist. She huffs in indignation and impatiently pushes her hair from her face. For a moment I am lost, watching her. Her lips are still slightly swollen from our kisses, and I can see a light bruise on her collarbone where I may have sucked her skin too hard. Her eyes are shooting daggers at me, but her body fits perfectly against mine, all curves and edges aligned. The movements she makes to free herself inadvertently stir what is supposed to be resting.

What kind of jazz is this? You're finished, Saheed. Finished!

"You're a mad man," she murmurs, bending over to touch my lips with hers.

I groan when her tongue teases mine. She rolls her hips slowly, her hands lifting my now-slackened arms above my head, pinning them there. I am helpless but not by choice, melting and hardening at the same time.

Ola, I'm your ashawo. You've made me your ashawo. My village people have reached the junction.

Her mouth trails down to my ear lobe, sucking it in. Warm breath on my skin, small sounds in my ear. Moist kisses down to my neck, right over my Adam's apple. Freed, my arms fall to my sides, currently useless. I gasp when her mouth closes over my nipple and her fingers gently pinch the other.

She raises her head and looks directly into my eyes, her face void of any expression. "Saheed, my answer is no."

I almost choke on air, and I am too slow to stop Ola from springing off me to the floor on her feet like a cat. I watch her walk away, unclad, her hair bouncing, buttocks jiggling.

"What the fuck?" I manage, throwing off the sheets and setting my feet on the floor. I follow her, covering the distance between us.

Is this one normal like this?

"Did I stutter?" she throws over her shoulder as she snatches up a piece of clothing from the floor. It turns out to be my boxers, and she holds it in her hand for a second longer before handing it over to me. Now, on a good day, Ola would have worn my boxers. This gesture stings me and I don't know why.