Forbidden Flames.... Torchlight for Twilight.

By Ogbu A.M.

The traffic buzzed outside their Lekki apartment as Emeka sat quietly in the living room, his eyes fixed on his phone, though his mind was miles away. Lagos had a way of wearing people out—but nothing had worn him down like what he’d just learned.

His best friend, Charles, had dropped the bomb casually while they shared beers at a bar in Victoria Island.

"Guy, I no dey try cause wahala, but I think say you suppose know wetin your wife dey do. Ngozi talk say Chioma dey knack her oga for office. That Ndubisi guy."

It had hit Emeka like a slap. For days, he pretended he hadn’t heard it. But now, as he watched Chioma humming in the kitchen, moving gracefully like nothing was wrong, he knew Charles wasn’t lying. Her phone was always face-down. Late meetings. A new perfume. The soft smile she had when she texted someone she wouldn’t name.

And then there was Ngozi—Chioma’s younger sister. She had moved in temporarily while job-hunting, according to Chioma. Young, vibrant, always in skimpy shorts and tank tops that hugged her slim waist and round hips. Emeka had tried not to notice. He respected the house. But respect had its limits.

That evening, Chioma said she’d be working late again—another meeting with her “team.” She kissed Emeka lightly and left wearing a tight dress and red lipstick she hadn’t worn in months.

Emeka stood by the window, watching her Uber drive off. Then he turned to find Ngozi standing there, barefoot, in a long T-shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs.

“You’re not eating?” she asked, eyes locked on his.

“I lost my appetite,” he muttered.

Ngozi stepped closer, voice low. “Charles told me what happened. About Chioma. I’m sorry.”

He looked at her, trying to read the sympathy in her face—but there was something else there. A glint. A hunger.

“You don’t deserve that,” she added, placing a hand gently on his arm.

The warmth of her touch sent a jolt through him.

“I should probably go to bed,” Emeka said, turning away. But he didn’t move.

And neither did she.

Instead, Ngozi stepped behind him, close enough that he could feel the soft press of her chest on his back.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” she whispered. “And I’ve watched the way she treats you.”

“Ngozi…”

“You’re a good man, Emeka. You didn’t cheat first.” Her hands slid down his sides, lingering at his hips. “But you deserve to feel something again.”

He turned around, breath shallow, and looked into her eyes. They were dark, sultry, and full of unspoken invitation.

And then, without a word, their lips met—furious, needy, desperate. The dam had burst.

She moaned softly as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around him instinctively. He carried her to the guest bedroom, where desire drowned guilt and the heat of betrayal melted into sweat-slicked skin.

For one night, morality vanished into the chaos of Lagos heat and tangled sheets.

---

Part 2

The Lagos rain poured hard against the windows, but inside the guest room, it was nothing but heat.

Emeka traced his lips down Ngozi’s neck, tasting the salt of her skin, his fingers moving with slow, deliberate urgency. She gasped, arching beneath him, her body soft and electric. The thin T-shirt she wore was now crumpled on the floor, joined by his shorts, the only evidence of hesitation lying somewhere far behind them.

Ngozi’s voice came in broken whispers.

“I used to wonder what it would feel like,” she confessed, dragging her nails down his back. “To be touched by you… to be taken like this.”

Emeka’s breath hitched. The guilt clawed at the edges of his mind, but her body under his erased it with every sigh and moan. His hands explored her curves, memorizing every dip, every tremble, every urgent cry of pleasure.

She reached down, guiding him to her wet warmth, her eyes locked onto his, daring him.

“Show me,” she whispered, “why she shouldn’t have taken you for granted.”

And just like that, Emeka entered her—slow at first, stretching her open as she clutched his shoulders, legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

Her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in pleasure. “God… Emeka…”

He moved with purpose now, deep strokes that left no room for regret. Her moans filled the room, mixing with the thunder outside. She pulled him in closer, biting his lip, rolling her hips to match his rhythm.

“You feel so good,” she panted. “So much better than—”

He silenced her with a kiss, hungry and rough. He didn’t want to hear Chioma’s name. Not now. Not when Ngozi’s body was clenching around him, dragging him into madness.

He flipped her over, her ass raised high, back arched beautifully. She looked over her shoulder, lips parted, eyes wild.

“You want more?” he growled.

“Yes. Don’t stop. Please…”

He thrust into her again, harder this time. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed like a primal beat, her cries muffled into the pillow. He gripped her hips tightly, riding the wave of lust they had both denied for too long.

When she came, it was explosive—her body convulsing around him, nails clawing the sheets. And moments later, he followed, burying himself deep inside her as pleasure overtook him, fierce and blinding.

They collapsed together, breathless, sweat-soaked, tangled in each other.

For a moment, silence fell. Only the sound of the rain.

Then Ngozi turned her face toward him, still glowing, still breathless.

“This isn’t the last time,” she said softly, eyes burning into his.

And Emeka knew—this was only the beginning.

---

Part 3

Days passed, but the fire Emeka shared with Ngozi refused to fade. Every time he closed his eyes, it was her voice he heard, her scent he remembered, her body he craved. Not Chioma. Not anymore.

But tonight, Chioma was home early. She had cooked his favorite—catfish pepper soup, white rice, and chilled palm wine. She wore red lace lingerie beneath her silk robe, acting sweet, pretending as if her late-night “work meetings” hadn’t left a trail.

“Babe, come na,” she cooed, pressing against him in the bedroom. “It’s been too long.”

Emeka tried. He really did.

She kissed him, her lips soft, tongue teasing. Her hands moved lower, pulling his briefs down, gripping him gently.

Then she dropped to her knees, eager.

Her mouth wrapped around him with skill and effort—tongue swirling, lips wet, moaning with every stroke. But…

Nothing.

Emeka looked down at her, willing himself to react. But his body was numb. Lifeless.

Chioma paused, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I’m just tired,” he lied, frustrated.

She stroked him again. Licked. Sucked harder. Sloppier.

Still, nothing.

Until…

Emeka closed his eyes.

And imagined Ngozi—naked, on all fours, whispering his name, biting her lip as he buried himself inside her.

Suddenly, he stirred.

Chioma smiled, hopeful, and doubled down. But the illusion cracked when she looked up—and Emeka’s face was distant, somewhere else.

“Wait,” she said, standing slowly. “Who are you thinking about?”

Emeka didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

The tension in the room was thick, heavy, real.

Two nights later, Chioma came home unexpectedly early. She had a gut feeling, and for once, she followed it.

She walked in through the front door, the lights low. From down the hallway, she heard faint moans. Familiar ones.

She crept forward.

Bedroom door: slightly ajar.

And there, under the dim light, was her husband—naked, gripping her baby sister’s hips, pounding into her with raw, furious pleasure. Ngozi’s head was thrown back, face twisted in ecstasy.

“Emeka!?”

They froze. Ngozi screamed and covered herself. Emeka didn’t bother pretending.

“Chioma…” he started.

“You bastard! You’re fucking my sister?!”

“Before you shout too much,” Emeka said coolly, reaching for his phone on the nightstand, “you might want to see this.”

He tapped play.

A hotel room appeared on screen. The view was discreet, angled from a corner. But the people were clear.

Chioma. Naked. Kneeling between the legs of a dark-skinned man in a suit. Her boss—Ndubisi. Her head bobbing eagerly, her voice unmistakable as she moaned his name.

“No… no no no…” she stuttered, backing away.

Emeka stood, still naked, still hard. “Charles found the hotel’s backdoor surveillance feed. One of his guys works security there. Looks like Ngozi wasn’t the only one who knew.”

Chioma’s mouth hung open.

“You were cheating first,” Ngozi snapped, now standing in just a silk robe, unbothered. “Don’t act holy.”

Tears welled up in Chioma’s eyes. “I–I didn’t know… I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think,” Emeka said. “Exactly.”

He picked up his trousers calmly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish what you interrupted.”

Chioma stood there—silent, broken, and defeated—as Emeka pulled Ngozi back into bed, shutting the door behind them.

End......