Preordained #ProjectNigeria

21- You'll Let Me Do What I Like

Maduka's POV:

Friday night sees us on the parking lot of Barnex Hotel at Anthony Village, near Maryland. Beside me in my car, Nwanyieze is fixing her hair with the car's inner light and a small mirror, checking her make up and smacking her red-painted lips.

She's quite the siren, I think. The make up and carefully coiffed hair make her look a bit different, but it doesn't hide her vulnerability. Part of me is screaming to follow her into the building, find that lecturer, and beat him till he begins to plead for his life. She catches me staring and smiles.

"He's in for a big treat, isn't he?"

"I wish I hadn't told you about this plan."

"I'll be okay, Maduka. It'll all go down well. Besides, you won't be far."

"What if he-"

"He's not doing anything," she says firmly, placing a hand over my mouth and drawing closer, narrowing her eyes for emphasis. It's obvious she didn't think of that before doing it, but I'm tempted to flick out my tongue against the inside of her palm.

Now, that would really shock her.

"Now, I'm going in. Of course, in the event that this plan flops, you know what to do." She takes her hand away.

"Of course," I say with a wicked grin. "I even want it to-"

"Maduka!" Her hand is back and my tongue almost develops a mind of its own.

I nod and turn off the inner lights. She gets out of the car and saunters towards the building, dressed in a black cotton coat and red shoes with six-inch heels. At the door, she turns towards me and blows me a kiss. In the darkness, I grin. Five minutes later, I follow.

I'm worried about her, I really am. I'd told her about this plan as a joke to cheer her up, hoping she would let slip this lecturer's name so I could find him. Instead, she'd developed an idea and decided to try it out.

"What if it flops?" I'd asked, surprised and wondering if she'd lost a nut somewhere.

"What if it doesn't?"

"Would you seriously consider letting that man come near you? I can't let you."

She'd frowned at me. "I don't need your help, really. I'll carry it out on my own..."

And that was how I, Maduka Obiagu, a very logical, sane, reasonable man, ended up here with Nwanyieze on a mission that is most likely to fail (even if she won't let me admit it to her face). Just the thought of whoever he is touching a hair on her head makes my blood boil.

The lobby of Barnex Hotel is quite small, but very beautifully decorated. On walking in all I see is gold, from the drapery to the two huge chairs to the electronic fireplace to the walls, giving me the feeling that I am Ali Baba stepping into the cave after overhearing "Open sesame" from the Forty Thieves.

At the reception I give the receptionist, a young woman in her mid-tewnties, a charming smile. She smiles back. Beside her stands a light skinned young man dressed in a sharp navy suit with an intricate B on the left side of his jacket, ready to show me around.

"Good evening, Sir. Welcome to Barnex Hotel," they chorus.

"Good evening and thank you."

Nwanyieze's POV:

Room 205.

I knock on the door and it opens promptly.

"I thought you had changed your mind, Queen."

I put on my best smile, but inside I'm recoiling in disgust.

Even a prostitute has her own tastes.

"Good evening, Sir," I greet.

Mr. Adeyemo seats himself on the white-covered bed. He is dressed in a big shirt and a pair of boxers, displaying his skinny, hairy legs. I find myself thinking of how this beautiful room, tastefully furnished and dimly lit, is so undeserving of such a customer. On the table beside his bed, there is a glass of what is probably brandy.

Can't function without it, can you? I mock inwardly.

"You're looking so ravishing tonight. I knew there was more to you than met the eye, baby."

I cringe inwardly. Baby doesn't sound so nice coming from him. Taking a quiet but deep breath, I half-close my eyes, change my smile to something between coy and mysterious, and take two steps towards him.

"Really, sir? How so?"

He pats his thigh, a sign that I should come and sit down on it.

"Don't be scared, I'm actually a great lover. Tested and trusted." He grins at me.

I walk closer, swaying my hips as seductively as I can. The hunger is evident in his eyes, in the way they shine in the dim lights. His face, thin and dusted by grey hair (I wonder why, he's barely fifty) reminds me of a grasshopper's. Carefully, I settle on his thigh and his arm encircles my waist. I smell the alcohol on him and temporarily hold my breath.

"You're different, do you know that? You always look so innocent every time I see you, but now I'm beginning to think you know more than your age, you this girl. You're bad inside."

"I'm really innocent, sir," I tell him.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

I shake my head, lower my eyes, play with my fingers. "No, sir."

"As beautiful as you are? You don't have a man? Come, now. Stop lying."

"I'm serious, sir. I don't have a boyfriend."

"Are you a virgin?"

I peer at him from underneath my lashes. "Well, you'll have to find that out for yourself, won't you, sir?"

He throws back his head and laughs. His hands move to my backside, but I stop him.

"Are you scared?" Impatience flashes in his eyes.

I widen my eyes, give him my best scared look. "A bit. But I'd like to play for a short while. Foreplay makes sex very...interesting."

He grins. "This is going to be mind blowing."

"You'll let me do what I like and I'll let you do what you like." My hands are toying with the buttons of his shirt, my fingers are touching his chest, drawing circles. He licks his lips and pulls his eyes from my own lips.

"Sounds fair. Let's begin, then."

In five minutes, I have his hands tied up over his head, legs bound as well with scraps of material I brought with me inside my tote bag. He is clad in only his boxers now, expectantly waiting for me to begin my sexual exploitation of his very unattractive body.

Stepping back, I look at him and begin to laugh.

A/N: Sorry I'm late.