“I Never Enjoy Kissing On Set” – Beautiful Nollywood Actress, Nancy Isime Reveals

Popular Nollywood actress, Nancy Isime, has corrected the notion that actors enjoy kissing scenes when shooting movies.

Speaking in an interview with media personality, Dadaboy, Nancy Isime noted that while many people have the misconception that actors and actresses enjoy sensual scenes, they treat them as mere scripts.

She explained that even though it looks good on screen, she never actually enjoys it on set.

In Her Words;

“Well, it’s a script, and Yes, I do kiss in movies. But Why will I enjoy it? 5,000 people around you. Enjoy what? I never enjoy doing nothing. There’s cameras around, it’s a scene.

I prefer to actually have kissing scenes with seasoned actors who understand the professionalism of a kissing scene or a sex scene. ‘Sex’ scene of course because everybody is all dressed up but there is movement.

So there’s literally people who understand the job and are focused and are literally just running through a script.

She Always Uses Drugs Twice Before Coming to Bed Every Night
Episode 1

The first time I noticed it, I thought it was harmless. Maybe even normal. My wife, Simi, would excuse herself every night around 10:15 p.m., just before we went to bed. She’d disappear into the bathroom, and I’d hear the tap run, the medicine cabinet creak, and then silence—followed by two sharp clicks. Sometimes, a faint sound like something being unwrapped. Then she’d come out with a smile, kiss me softly on the cheek, and slip into bed like nothing happened. At first, I thought she was just brushing her teeth or taking her vitamins. I mean, she’d always been a little obsessive about nightly routines. Skincare, candles, prayer. But one night, curiosity got the best of me.

She had forgotten to lock the bathroom door.

I walked in.

And I saw it.

Two small white pills. Her hand shaking as she brought them to her lips. Her eyes closed tightly. She wasn’t calm—she was desperate. She swallowed them dry, without water, like someone used to the bitterness. Then she turned to find me standing there. Frozen. Her face changed instantly.

“Why are you in here?” she snapped.

“I just… I didn’t know you were taking medication,” I stammered.

“I have headaches,” she replied too quickly.

Headaches?

Every night?

For the last eight months?

I didn’t push it then. I just nodded. But that night, while she slept soundly beside me, I stayed awake. Thinking. Watching. I remembered moments—how she’d sometimes stare at the wall for minutes before blinking. How she flinched when I touched her unexpectedly. How she sometimes forgot things we talked about hours earlier. I told myself it was stress. Work. The pressure of trying to conceive.

But deep inside, something didn’t feel right.

I started watching more closely. She never missed a dose. Two pills, same time, same order. Always before sex. Always before sleep. And after each dose, she became warmer, looser, more intimate. But if she skipped it—like the night we got home late from a wedding—she avoided my touch entirely, claiming exhaustion.

I tried asking again. She shut down.

“I said it’s nothing,” she hissed. “Stop treating me like a patient.”

But I couldn’t stop.

One day, when she left for work, I searched the bathroom. I found the pills tucked deep inside an old lipstick box. No label. Just small, round, off-white tablets. I took one to a pharmacist friend. He examined it, then looked at me oddly.

“These aren’t for headaches,” he said. “This is Diazepam. A strong sedative. People use this when they can’t sleep. Or when they’re battling anxiety. But in some cases… it’s abused. Especially in combination with other substances.”

Abused?

By Simi?

My Simi?

When I confronted her that night, she didn’t even deny it. She just stared at me with eyes so tired they looked older than her face.

“I need it,” she said quietly. “I can’t sleep without it. I can’t… be touched without it.”

My heart dropped.

“What do you mean?”

She looked away. And whispered the words that would haunt me forever:

“Because when I close my eyes, I don’t see you—I see them.”

To be continued

BABY MAMA TRAP
PART 1
The loud music from Club Lavish pounded in Onyinye’s ears as she stepped inside, the bass vibrating through her whole body. The air smelled like expensive perfume, sweat, and alcohol. She adjusted the tight red dress that clung to her curves, feeling both nervous and excited. Her best friends, Amaka and Chioma, had dragged her out tonight, saying, "Onyi, you’re too young to be sitting at home every weekend! Come and have fun!"
So here she was—Onyinye Obi, 24 years old, a bank teller with big dreams, standing in the middle of Asaba’s most popular nightclub. She wasn’t the type to do things like this. She was careful. She was smart. But tonight… tonight, she just wanted to forget about her problems.
Then she saw him.
Tall. Dark. Handsome. Dressed in a black designer suit that screamed money. His gold Rolex glinted under the flashing club lights as he sipped his drink. He stood near the VIP section, surrounded by men who laughed too loud at everything he said—like he was some kind of king.
Their eyes met.
A slow, confident smile spread across his face.
Onyinye quickly looked away, her heart beating fast. She knew who he was—Chief Kolawole Adebayo, a rich businessman, married with three kids. She had seen his family photos in Hello Nigeria magazine. His wife was beautiful, always dressed in expensive lace, smiling beside him at parties.
But right now, in this club, with the music thumping and the alcohol flowing, none of that mattered.
He walked toward her.
And like a moth drawn to a flame, she let him.
Three Hours Later
The hotel room was dark, the only light coming from the city outside the window. Onyinye lay in the soft bed, her body still humming from what had just happened. Chief Kolawole—no, Kola—lay beside her, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her bare arm.
"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, his voice deep and smooth. "I’ve never met a woman like you."
She knew she should feel guilty. She knew he had a wife at home. But in that moment, with his warm body pressed against hers, she let herself believe his lies.
"This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing," he said, kissing her shoulder. "We can keep seeing each other. Just you and me."
Onyinye’s heart fluttered. Was he serious?
Then his phone rang.
The screen lit up—"WIFE" in bold letters.
Kolawole sighed, sitting up. He answered the call, his voice suddenly sweet, loving—completely different from the way he had just spoken to her.
"Yes, darling… No, I’m still at the meeting… I’ll be home soon."
He hung up and stood, pulling on his clothes without looking at her.
"I have to go,"* he said, tossing a few bills on the bedside table. *"For your taxi."
And just like that, he was gone.
Onyinye sat there, staring at the money, feeling ******. Used.
What did I just do?
Six Weeks Later
The bathroom was silent except for the sound of Onyinye’s shaky breaths. She stared at the little white stick in her hand, her stomach twisting in fear.
Two pink lines.
Pregnant.
Her mind raced. *How? They used protection… didn’t they?
She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering that night—the way Kolawole had whispered in her ear, the way he had made her feel special.
Now, she was carrying the baby of a man who didn’t even care about her.
A man who would *never* claim this child.
(To be continued…)

Title: He Stole My Virginity — But Not My Destiny

(Part 7–10: Her Rise)

Part 7: A Voice for the Voiceless

Two years had passed.

Ifeoluwa was no longer the silent, broken girl crying on the church floor at midnight. She had become a woman with a mission. With the help of a Christian counselor and a local NGO, she started a foundation called “Daughters of Grace.”

It began with five girls in a classroom. Girls who had been abused. Girls who had been silenced. Girls like her.

She taught them about self-worth, healing, boundaries, and forgiveness—not because she had it all figured out, but because she knew what it meant to feel lost.

Part 8: Love After Pain

Then came Tunde.

He was a youth pastor, soft-spoken, and deeply respectful. When he heard her speak at an event for survivors, he was moved to tears.

He didn’t approach her immediately. He prayed first.

When he did speak to her, he said,
"I don’t just see a beautiful woman, I see a warrior. I see someone who chose to rise instead of rot."

She was afraid to love again. Afraid to trust.

But Tunde was patient. He never rushed her. He held her hand without touching her soul too deeply too soon.

After months of friendship, he asked,
"Can I walk with you through life—not to complete you, but to complement the strength you already have?"

She said yes—with eyes full of tears.

Part 9: Beauty from Ashes

On her wedding day, she walked down the aisle not in white to symbolize purity others judged, but in royal purple—to symbolize royalty, rebirth, and grace.

When the pastor said, "You may kiss the bride," Tunde instead kissed her forehead and whispered,
"Your body is not a battlefield, it is a blessing. And I will honor it, always."

That night, they prayed together before they lay together.

And for the first time in her life, intimacy didn’t feel like theft.
It felt like healing.

Part 10: Redemption’s Legacy

Years later, Ifeoluwa published a book titled:
"Stolen Virginity, Untouched Destiny"
It became a bestseller.

She opened safe homes for abused girls across Nigeria.
She spoke on TV, in churches, and in universities.
She looked directly into the eyes of broken girls and said,
"You are not what happened to you. You are what God says you are."

And as for Seun?
He was arrested years later for repeated abuse and fraud. Justice came—not by Ifeoluwa's hand, but by divine timing.

Ifeoluwa never hated him.

She forgave him… because freedom lives in forgiveness.

Final Words from Ifeoluwa:

> "They say he stole my virginity, but he never touched my destiny. What was broken was healed. What was taken was restored. What was meant for evil... became the seed of my purpose."

JB WORLD.

Title: He Stole My Virginity

Part 1: Innocent Heart

My name is Ifeoluwa, and I grew up in a quiet town in Osun State, Nigeria. I was raised by a single mother who always told me, "Your body is a temple; don’t give it to someone who won’t treat it as holy."

I listened. I was the church girl, the one who wore long skirts and didn't flirt. At 21, I was still a virgin—not because I couldn’t have lost it, but because I believed sex should be special. Sacred.

Then I met Seun.

Part 2: The Perfect Guy

Seun was everything I thought I wanted in a man. He was 25, charming, respectful, and always prayed before eating. He spoke gently, opened doors for me, and quoted scriptures that made my heart melt. Everyone at church called him “Brother Seun the humble.”

We became close. He never pressured me. For the first time, I thought, “Maybe this is the one.”

I told him about my vow to remain a virgin until marriage.

He said, "That’s beautiful. You’re rare. I respect you more because of it."

I believed him.

Part 3: The Trap

Six months into the relationship, he asked me to visit him. He had moved into a new apartment and wanted to “pray over the house” together.

I was nervous. But I went—because I trusted him.

He had cooked for me, played soft gospel music, and even anointed the doorpost with oil. It felt safe. Holy even.

Then it happened.

We were talking. He moved closer. One kiss became two. I resisted. He held me tighter.

I said, "Please, let’s stop."

He said, "Ife, I love you. This is not a sin if it’s done in love."

I panicked. I froze. I said "no" again.

He didn’t stop.

And just like that… the purity I’d guarded for 21 years was gone—in a moment I did not consent to.

Part 4: The Aftermath

After it happened, he got up and said, "You’re now mine completely." Then he asked me to take a bath so he could “cleanse” me.

I couldn’t speak. I felt like my soul had been crushed.

Days later, he stopped picking my calls.

Weeks later, I found out he had another girlfriend in Ibadan… and that she was pregnant.

When I confronted him, he said, "Don’t make noise. You’re not even my wife. It was just a mistake."

Part 5: Healing in Pieces

I broke down. I stopped going to church. I felt dirty, useless, ashamed. I thought I’d never be whole again.

But slowly… through therapy, prayers, and the love of my mother, I started to rise.

I realized I was not what happened to me. I was not ruined. I was still Ifeoluwa.

I began volunteering with girls who had similar stories—girls who thought no one would understand.

I started telling my story.

Part 6: My Voice, My Victory

Today, I speak not as a victim, but as a survivor.

What was stolen from me did not define me. My purity was never just about my body—it was about my heart. And that… is something no one can ever steal again.

Moral of the Story: Trust is sacred. And when it is broken, healing takes time—but it is possible. No one has the right to take from you what you are not willing to give. And if they do, they are the guilty ones—not you.

TO BE CONTINUED

JB WORLD.

OUTBREAK OF MONKEY POX

Mpox (previously known as monkeypox) is a rare disease caused by a virus. It leads to rashes and flu-like symptoms. Like the better-known virus that causes smallpox, it’s a member of the genus Orthopoxvirus.

TYPES OF MONKEY POX ARE AS FOLLOWS.
1. clade1 of mpox virus — one that originated in Central Africa Clade I

2. Clade11 originated in West Africa (Clade II).

HOW COMMON IS MPOX?
Mpox is rare. But the number of cases is increasing in Africa especially Nigeria as well as in regions that haven’t seen these infections before.
It can also be found in the United Kingdom.

SIGNS AND SYMPTOMS OF MONKEY POX
1. Fever
2. Rash.
3. Swollen lymph nodes.
4. Chills.
5. Headache.
6. Muscle aches.
7. Fatigue.
8. Trouble breathing
9. Worsening chest pain
10. Stiff neck
11. Confusion or difficulty thinking clearly.
12. Difficulty in speaking or moving.
13. Loss of Consciousness
14. Seizures.
The rash starts as flat, red bumps, which can be painful. Those bumps turn into blisters, which fill with pus. Eventually, the blisters crust over and fall off. The whole process can last two to four weeks. You can get sores on your mouth, face, hands, feet, penis, vagina or anus.
Not everyone with mpox develops all the symptoms. Different ways you might experience symptoms include:
Only a rash (no other symptoms), or other symptoms developing later.
Flu-like symptoms, then a rash. Some people don’t get a rash at all.
A rash can be widespread, but some people only a have few bumps or blisters.
You can have mpox and not know it. Even if you don’t show many signs of infection, it’s possible that you can spread still spread it to others through prolonged close contact.

MODE OF TRANSMISSION
1. Person-to-person spread (transmission) occurs when you come in contact with the sores, scabs, respiratory droplets or oral fluids of a person who’s infected, usually through close, intimate situations like cuddling, kissing or sex.

2. Animal-to-person transmission occurs through broken skin, like from bites or scratches, or through direct contact with an infected animal’s blood, bodily fluids or pox lesions (sores).

3. You can also get mpox by coming into contact with recently contaminated materials like clothing, bedding and other linens used by a person or animal who’s infected.

HOW IS MONKEY POX DIAGNOSED?
Because mpox is rare, a healthcare provider may first suspect other rash illnesses, such as measles or chickenpox. But swollen lymph nodes usually distinguish mpox from other poxes.

To diagnose mpox, your healthcare provider takes a tissue sample from an open sore (lesion). Then, they send it to a lab for polymerase chain reaction (PCR) testing (genetic fingerprinting). You may also need to give a blood sample to check for the mpox virus or antibodies your immune system makes.

MANAGEMENT AND TREATMENT
Is mpox curable?
Mpox is usually a self-limited disease (gets better without treatment) with symptoms lasting from two to four weeks. Following diagnosis, your healthcare provider will monitor your condition and try to relieve your symptoms, prevent dehydration and give you antibiotics to treat secondary bacterial infections if they develop

How is mpox treated?
There aren’t any currently approved antiviral treatments for mpox. If you’re very sick, your provider might prescribe antiviral drugs like cidofovir or tecovirimat. These drugs are approved to treat other viral infections (like smallpox),

PREVENTION OF MONKEY POX

1. Vaccination
2. Avoiding contact with infected animals (especially sick or dead animals).
3. Avoiding contact with bedding and other materials contaminated with the virus.
4. Thoroughly cooking all foods that contain animal meat or parts.
5. Washing your hands frequently with soap and water.
6. Avoiding contact with people who may be infected with the virus.
7. Practicing safe sex, including the use of condoms and dental dams.
8. Wearing a mask that covers your mouth and nose when around others.
9. Cleaning and disinfecting frequently touched surfaces.
10. Using personal protective equipment (PPE) when caring for people infected with the virus.
11. Isolation from the infected person or animal.

WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MPOX AND CHICKEN POX?

Sometimes people misunderstood Monkey Pox with Chicken Pox but they are different.

Mpox vs. chickenpox
Although they both cause skin rashes, different viruses cause mpox and chickenpox. Mpox is an orthopoxvirus, while chickenpox is a herpes virus. Both viruses can spread through skin-to-skin or prolonged face-to-face contact, but chickenpox is very contagious and spreads more easily than mpox. People with mpox are more likely to have swollen lymph nodes than people with chickenpox.

CONCLUSION:
In Conclusion, the best way to protect yourself is to get vaccinated if you’re at high risk, avoid contact with people who are infected, wash your hands frequently and wear a face mask in crowded, indoor spaces.

Thank you.
ENVIRONMENTAL HEALTH DEPARTMENT.

I am an object,I kiss my mother before I die What am I.

The Beautiful Truths About Being Horny — A Human, Romantic, and Sensual Reflection
Being horny isn’t dirty. It’s not evil. It’s not a sin. It’s one of the most natural, deeply human experiences—an ache that whispers, “Touch me, love me, see me.” It’s the body’s way of saying, “I’m alive, I’m open, I want to connect.” And when you have someone who sees you in that moment—someone who responds to that fire in your eyes, that heat in your touch—it’s a blessing beyond words.
There’s something so tender, so intoxicating, about being desired often by your spouse. When you’re married to someone who stays horny for you, it’s a love story that lives in the skin. A touch can lead to a kiss, a kiss to a slow undress of each other’s day. But when constant arguments pile up, that sensual rhythm gets lost. Conflict can drain the desire, making passion feel distant even if you’re sleeping in the same bed.
And let’s clear something up: horniness doesn’t belong to men alone. Women feel it too—strongly. Some get especially turned on during ovulation, when their body becomes extra sensitive, extra wet, and craves touch like air. This isn’t shameful. It’s powerful. It’s beautiful. It’s natural.
Many men wake up with arousal—a physical sign of longing. And dear wife, that morning erection isn’t just about sex. It’s his way of saying, “I want to be close to you.” Don’t ignore that silent invitation.
There are days when horniness can be overwhelming—when your mind is foggy, your patience thin, and your body aches for intimacy. That’s one reason marriage is such a gift—it gives your love a place to release, to exhale, to let go and give in.
But what about when you’re far apart? In long-distance marriages, the craving doesn’t stop just because your partner isn’t near. In those moments, don’t suffer in silence. Call each other. Whisper your thoughts. Flirt with your words. Build anticipation. Because when you reunite, all that bottled-up desire is ready to explode and dance across each other’s skin.
Rejection in moments of desire can cut deep. It’s not just about sex—it’s about feeling wanted. Being turned down when you’re yearning for your spouse can hurt more than words can explain. So be gentle. Be understanding. And when you can, say “yes” with your body.
Interestingly, as women approach menopause, many feel a surprising sexual surge. Desire returns with force, and they become more confident in claiming what they want. That chapter can be fiery and fierce—savor it. Let it teach you that horniness doesn’t fade with age; it evolves.
Horniness is more than biology. It’s a reminder that sex is about more than making babies—it’s about making memories, closeness, laughter, intimacy. It’s holy in its own way.
You can be deeply spiritual and deeply sensual. You can love God and love sex. Being horny doesn’t disqualify you from faith—it humanizes it. There’s no shame in that hunger, only invitation.
The answer isn’t to ignore your horniness. It’s to honor it, to talk about it, to find healthy and loving ways to respond to it within your marriage. When couples feel desire but never act on it, tension builds. Resentment simmers. Even small things can turn into big arguments.
Be mindful, too, of how contraception and hormones can affect a woman’s desire. Talk openly and find what keeps your connection alive. And remember—how you see your partner affects how much you want them. If you’re filled with negativity or resentment, desire will shrink. But if you see them with love, that flame stays lit.
Horniness is not a license to flirt or text people outside your marriage. It’s not an excuse to entertain thoughts of others. Desire needs direction—and that direction should point home. Don’t let age trick you into thinking you need to “experiment” with someone younger. That kind of curiosity comes with a cost.
In the end, horniness is a beautiful force—but it needs maturity, love, and self-control. If you don’t guide it, it will guide you—often into places you never meant to go.
So feel it. Embrace it. Share it. But always protect the love it was meant to serve.

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 8
The docks of Lagos burned with chaos.
Smoke curled into the night sky, mixing with the salty tang of the ocean as gunfire echoed between shipping containers. Obinna moved like a shadow through the fray, his men flanking him—loyal, lethal, and fueled by vengeance. But tonight, the real weapon wasn’t Obinna.
It was Ava.
The Calm Before the Storm
They had planned the attack meticulously.
Obinna’s brother, Emeka, had grown arrogant. He’d taken control of the docks, thinking Obinna was weak—thinking he had nothing left to fight with.
He was wrong.
Ava adjusted the strap of her vest, her fingers brushing the handle of the knife secured at her thigh. She had spent years training for moments like this—elite tactical drills, precision shooting, hand-to-hand combat. But tonight wasn’t about duty.
Tonight was personal.
Obinna’s hand gripped her shoulder, his voice a low growl in her ear. “Remember—Emeka doesn’t get to die easy."
Ava met his gaze, her own burning with the same fire. “I know.”
Then the signal came.
Ava Unleashed
The first shot rang out, and all hell broke loose.
Ava moved like a storm—fluid, unstoppable, deadly. She took cover behind a stack of crates, her pistol steady as she picked off Emeka’s men one by one. Headshots. Clean. Efficient.
“Damn,” one of Obinna’s men muttered, watching her. “She fights like a demon.”
Obinna smirked, reloading his weapon. “No. She fights like a queen.
Ava wasn’t just holding her own—she was *dominating.
Emeka’s men had expected Obinna. They had expected a war between brothers.
They hadn’t expected her.
The Fall of a King
Emeka was hiding in the control tower, surrounded by his last loyal soldiers.
Ava didn’t hesitate.
She scaled the metal stairs, gunfire ringing around her, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air. One of Emeka’s guards lunged at her—she sidestepped, driving her knife into his ribs before shoving him over the railing.
Then she kicked open the door.
Emeka spun, his eyes widening in shock. “You—”
Ava didn’t let him finish.
She fired.
The bullet grazed his thigh, sending him crashing to his knees with a scream.
Obinna stepped in behind her, his boots thudding against the blood-slicked floor.
“Hello, brother.”
The Aftermath
The docks fell silent.
Emeka’s men, those still alive, dropped their weapons. Obinna’s soldiers stood in stunned awe, their eyes flicking between their boss and the woman who had just turned the tide of the war.
Ava wiped blood from her lip, her chest rising and falling with adrenaline.
Obinna walked toward her, his gaze burning with something deeper than victory.
“You,” he said, his voice rough, “are magnificent.”
Then, in front of everyone—his men, his enemies, the world—he pulled her into a searing kiss.
TO BE CONTINUED...

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 7
Dawn crept through the curtains like a thief, painting gold stripes across tangled limbs and rumpled sheets.
Ava woke to the weight of Obinna’s arm draped possessively over her waist, his breath warm against her bare shoulder. For one hazy moment, she forgot—forgot she was a detective, forgot he was a criminal, forgot the world outside these four walls existed at all.
Then reality crashed back in.
The safe house was quiet except for the steady drip-drip of last night’s rain from the gutters outside. Obinna’s phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a message that made his arm tense around her.
“We need to move.” His voice was rough with sleep, sending shivers down her spine.
Ava turned in his arms, their noses almost brushing. “Who was that?”
Obinna’s thumb traced idle circles on her hip. “My brother’s making his move.”
The bathroom mirror reflected a version of herself Ava barely recognized—smudged mascara, kiss-bruised lips, the ghost of Obinna’s fingers still branding her skin. She turned the shower knob too hard, letting the scalding water punish her for last night’s weakness.
But when she stepped out, steam curling around her, Obinna was leaning against the doorframe—shirtless, a fresh scar she hadn’t noticed before slashing across his ribs.
“You stare like you’ve never seen me before,” he murmured, taking the towel from her hands.
Ava swallowed as he dried her shoulders with agonizing slowness. “I haven’t. Not like this.”
His lips quirked. “And how do you see me now, detective?"
Dangerous. Addictive. Impossible to walk away from.
She didn’t answer.
Breakfast was a tense affair—fresh mango, warm puff-puff, bitter coffee. Obinna spread a map across the table, his fingers tapping Lagos Island.
“My brother controls the docks now,” he said. “But he’s vulnerable here.”
Ava studied the markings—warehouses, patrol routes, escape points. “This is a full-scale assault.”
“It’s war.” Obinna’s gaze burned into hers. “And you’re going to help me win it.”
Ava laughed incredulously. “Why would I do that?”
He leaned forward, catching her wrist and pressing her palm flat against his chest. His heartbeat thundered under her fingers.
“Because last night wasn’t just sex.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And we both know it.”
The Intimacy of Conspiracy
Obinna dressed her himself—black tactical pants, a fitted bulletproof vest, knives strapped to her thighs. His hands lingered at every buckle, every strap, as if memorizing her.
“This isn’t a disguise,” Ava realized as he braided her hair back with surprising tenderness. “It’s armor.”
Obinna’s lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Today, I need you to be a weapon.”
When he stepped back, Ava saw the change in his eyes—the softness from this morning hardened into something lethal. The Lion was back.
At the door, Obinna caught her face between his hands. His kiss tasted like coffee and goodbye.
“When this is over,” he vowed, “I’ll peel this armor off you one piece at a time.”
Ava’s breath caught. “If we survive.”
His smile was all teeth. “When we survive.”
Then he was gone, leaving Ava with the ghost of his touch and a terrible realization—
She no longer knew whose side she was on.
TO BE CONTINUED...

The cripple man kissed the wife of Blind man, then Dump man looks at him.
Now how will the Dump Tell the blind what he sees.?
Pls ur advice is needed in this case... We have been on the matter throughout the weekend
Happy New week!

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 6
The underground safe room hummed with tension, the glow of surveillance screens casting flickering shadows across Obinna’s sharp features. Ava stood frozen, her fingers still curled around the cold metal of the gun he had given her.
His brother’s men.
The words echoed in her mind, unraveling everything she thought she knew.
Obinna moved with lethal grace, his agbada now slightly undone at the collar, revealing the strong column of his throat. He didn’t look at her as he checked the monitors, his voice low. “They’ll be here in minutes.”
Ava swallowed. “Why would your own brother send men to kill you?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because power is a poison, little detective. And family?” He finally met her gaze, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “Family is just the first betrayal.”
The rawness in his voice sent an unexpected pang through her chest.
A distant thud echoed from the tunnel.
They were out of time.
Obinna grabbed her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers as he pulled her toward the SUV. “Drive.” He tossed her the keys.
Ava caught them on reflex. “You’re trusting me to drive?”
His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. “I’m trusting you to survive.”
The engine roared to life as Ava slammed her foot on the accelerator, the tires screeching against concrete as they shot up the ramp. The garage door groaned open, revealing the storm-lashed streets of Lagos.
Rain pelted the windshield in sheets, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and neon. Ava’s pulse hammered as she swerved through traffic, her knuckles white on the wheel.
Obinna braced a hand on the dashboard, his other gripping her thigh—not possessive, not demanding, just *there*. A silent anchor in the chaos.
“Left,” he commanded, his voice steady.
Ava obeyed, cutting sharply down a narrow alley. The SUV’s side mirror clipped a stack of crates, sending them crashing to the ground behind them.
A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed what she already knew—headlights. Closing in.
“They’re still on us,” she breathed.
Obinna’s thumb stroked absently over her skin, his touch sending a traitorous shiver up her spine. “Then lose them.”
The safe house was a nondescript apartment in the heart of Lagos, tucked between a bustling market and a mechanic’s shop.
Ava barely had time to register the sparse furnishings before Obinna was crowding her against the door, his body a wall of heat as he caged her in. Rain dripped from his locs onto her cheeks, his breath warm against her lips.
“Why did you follow me?” he demanded.
Ava’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “You didn’t leave me much choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You could have run.”
She should have. Every instinct screamed at her to.
But then his hand slid up her waist, his calloused fingers branding her through the thin fabric of her ruined dress.
Ava’s breath hitched.
Obinna stilled, his eyes searching hers. **“Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
His kiss was fire and fury, a clash of teeth and tongue that stole the breath from her lungs. Ava arched into him, her fingers tangling in his locs as he backed her toward the bed.
The storm outside raged on, thunder shaking the windows as Obinna’s hands mapped every inch of her—her waist, her hips, the curve of her throat.
“You’re mine tonight,” he growled against her skin. “No lies. No games.”
Ava gasped as his teeth grazed her collarbone. “And tomorrow?”
Obinna pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his own blazing with something fierce. “Tomorrow, we go to war.”
Then his mouth was on hers again, and Ava let herself drown in him.
TO BE CONTINUED...