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Gadariens today is our celebration day please where ever your are come let celebrate together with our humble founder.
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Can excessive alcohol cause colon cancer?
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Title: Babylon. Decadence, depravity and outrageous excess lead to the rise and fall of several ambitious dreamers in 1920s Hollywood as the industry begins to transition from silent pictures to the world of sound films. Starring: Brad Pitt, Margot robbie.
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Can excessive alcohol cause colon cancer?
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IF THE CHOICE YOU MADE IS NOT REFLECTING THE RESULT YOU DESIRED, MAKE A DIFFERENT CHOOSE TO SEE A DIFFERENT RESULT.
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TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE!
In today’s world, relationships can sometimes feel like just another item on life’s to-do list. But when you strip away the noise, one simple truth remains: two is better than one. That’s especially true when it comes to marriage.
Marriage isn't just about the fairytale moments or the highlight reels on social media. It’s about showing up—day in, day out—for your partner. It’s about building something that lasts through the highs, the lows, and all the everyday stuff in between.
So, why is two better than one?
For starters, life hits different when you have someone by your side. A strong marriage offers emotional support, companionship, and a safe space to be yourself. When one person is down, the other steps in. When one wins, both celebrate. It’s not just about sharing a life, it’s about multiplying the joy and dividing the stress.
Marriage also brings out the best in people. Living with someone who knows you inside and out means constantly being inspired, challenged, and encouraged to grow. Your partner becomes your teammate, your cheerleader, and sometimes, your biggest mirror. The journey isn’t always easy, but that’s what makes it meaningful.
Married couples often enjoy better mental and physical health, increased financial stability, and longer life expectancy. But more than statistics, it’s the everyday connection, the late-night talks, inside jokes, shared goals, that makes marriage so powerful.
Of course, no relationship is perfect. Marriage takes work, patience, and a whole lot of communication. But when both partners are committed, the rewards are undeniable.
So whether you're married, dating, or dreaming about the future, remember this: love isn’t about finding someone to complete you, it’s about choosing someone to do life with. Because at the end of the day, two really is better than one.
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DON'T MARRY FOR LOVE, IT'S A SCAM, YOU WILL LOOSE

If You Marry for Love—You Are A Loser.

Marriage is not romance. It’s a strategic investment.

Let’s stop deceiving ourselves.

Love is not enough.

Romance won’t sustain you.

And marriage built on feelings will collapse under pressure.

Because marriage isn’t an emotional experiment.

It’s a power move.

1. Feelings Fade—Structure Stays

You’re happy today. Great.

But what happens when money gets tight?

What happens when you lose your job?

What happens when she wakes up and says, “I’m not in love anymore”?

If your marriage was built on butterflies, expect it to collapse once the wind changes.

Love is a spark. But marriage needs fuel.

Vision. Structure. Alignment. Sacrifice. Strategy.

2. If You’re 70 and You Marry 30—Your Household Is 50

Let’s talk logic.

You’re wise. She’s fresh.

But instead of raising your stock, she drops the average.

You’re thinking legacy—she’s thinking TikTok.

You’re building wealth—she’s building “influencer reels.”

(She’s not even ready to build it into a media business.)

You’ve seen war—she’s crying because you forgot to comment on her new selfie.

And now you’re stuck in a marriage that drags you backward.

Because you married vibes—not vision.

3. Marriage Is a Merger—Not a Movie

When two become one, it’s not about hugs and kisses.

It’s about merging empires. Consolidating influence.

Combining assets. Multiplying momentum.

Even the Bible said:

“One will chase a thousand, two will chase ten thousand.”

But what if the “two” is a liability?

What if she’s chasing dopamine instead of purpose?

What if she’s more obsessed with matching pajamas than matching values?

Now, you’re running with dead weight.

Fighting alone. Providing alone. Planning alone.

And she’s somewhere saying,
“I don’t like forcing things.”

4. Modern Girls Don’t Grind—They Ghost

Let’s be real.

Many modern women want:

• Love with no labor
• Comfort with no contribution
• Leadership with no loyalty

She wants a soft life—but won’t lift a finger.

She’s jobless, but has high taste.

She’s broke, but her demands come in six figures.

She says you’re stressing her mental health—because you asked about her career goals.

Try to build with her, and she’ll say,
“This isn’t flowing naturally. I need space.”

5.Her Submission Is a “Maybe”

Her obligations are “Optional”

Today’s woman wants:

• To reply when she feels like
• To submit if the vibe is right
• To bear children only when convenient
• To pause the relationship if she’s “not in the mood”

Any hint of hardship, she’s gone.

Any serious talk, she’s “emotionally unavailable.”

Any call for accountability, she’s “being controlled.”

And if you dare lead with firmness?

She’ll tell Twitter you’re a narcissist.

6. Dysfunction Is the New Normal

Many modern girls were raised in chaos.

Divorced parents. Absent fathers.

Traumatized mothers.

And instead of healing, they brought that chaos into dating.

So when you show up with purpose and structure?

She calls it “too much.”

She wants a soft man who’s strong.

A rich man who’s humble.

A loyal man who doesn’t ask questions.

She wants everything—but gives almost nothing.

So Here’s the Brutal Truth:

Marriage is a system.

If you don’t build it with strategy, it will collapse in drama.

Stop marrying for butterflies.

Start marrying for alignment.

For values. For vision.

Pick a partner who multiplies your purpose—not one who multiplies your pain.

Because at the end of the day…

It’s not who makes your heart skip.

It’s who helps you finish the race.

Marry wisely.

Remember—when it finally comes to a divorce, obligations are enforceable by law, but no one can compel her to keep loving you and riding your joystick that’s insisting she’s the best rider it has ever seen.

Speak with wisdom in the comments, I will like to have your opinions.

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A Heart Touching Fight-
GIRL- "I want to end our Relationship.
I m going to return evrything u gav me"
BOY- "Ok... then, Let's Start wid
Hugs & Kisses....

Been together almost 20 years. Female in her 40s and male just about to leave his 40s. We had a fantastic intimate life up until about two and a half years ago. All of a sudden our private intimate life came to a hault. When I would bring up the topic, I was met with "give me a few days to find my words", I'd sit for those days with the heaviness on my chest. I would bring up the topic again and express how this is making me feel and again I would be met with "let me find my words". Eventually he would say "it's not you, I'm all up in my head, I do love and desire you" and then nothing. I broke down last summer, showed him my tears, again I was met with "give me a few days to find my words" and I would. Then he'd say again "It's not you. I'm all up in my head". I have tried to be understanding, I've tried to "spice things up", I've tried to bring back things we used to love. Nothing. There is no physical cheating going on, he still holds my hand, hugs and kisses me, but nothing more. I want to scream! I love this man with every part of my being, but I'm getting resentful, jealous over other females, and I feel so lonely. I'm lost. Why am I no longer desirable to my husband? My selt esteem has never felt so low.

I highly recommend having a clingy, lovey-dovey partner—the kind of person who isn’t afraid to love you out loud. Life is too short to be with someone who treats affection like an obligation or makes love feel like a guessing game.
Be with someone who lights up when they see you, who reaches for your hand instinctively, who pulls you closer just because they can. Someone who kisses your forehead steals little glances at you when they think you’re not looking, and makes you feel like you’re the most precious thing in their world.
Love should be felt, seen, heard—not something you have to beg for. Find the person who wraps you in their arms like home, who texts “I miss you” in the middle of the day, and who makes even the smallest moments feel magical.
Because real love isn’t distant. It’s present. It’s felt deeply and expressed freely—without fear, without hesitation. And that’s the kind of love you deserve.

Hi Honey,

Your penis has a BIG complaint
— And until you don't solve it,
it'll keep sabotaging your erections.

Click here to find out what your penis is complaining about.

Kisses,
Viclyon igwe
Sex Expert & Author of BetterLife BetterSex

Late night post for married couples

TRUTHS ABOUT LADIES CLITORIS.

1. The clitoris is a God-created organ, created only for sexual pleasure. Don't be shy about it.

2. Alot of men ignore the clitoris not knowing how powerful a woman's clitoris is.

3. The clitoris is more sexually sensitive than the vagina. Ignoring it is missing out on a lot.

4. The husband's tongue and the wife's clitoris make a perfect match.

5. The husband's tongue is suitable because it is naturally lubricated and can bend and do acrobatics on her throbbing clitoris. The lubrication is good because the clitoris is senstive.

6. The fingers of the husband can also be used to rub and please the clitoris as he kisses her.

7. The husband can also rub his hardened penis on her clitoris for it to get erection like erected penis for pleasure.

8. Playing with the clitoris is good foreplay, it makes your wife sufficiently wet to receive your hardened commando.

9. Dear wives, do not be self conscious about your clitoris. Spread your legs and let your husband see you in all your glory to play with that sweet centre of yours. A rigid and closed up wife will not enjoy love making. Confidence and freedom is attractive to your husband.

10. Dear husbands, give clit jobs as much as you request for blow jobs.

11. Pleasing your spouse sexually and creatively is not ungodly as long as both of you are comfortable and enjoy it.

12. Most loving husbands get turned on by sexually pleasing their spouse. If your husband loves licking you and rubbing your clitoris, don't refuse him.

13. A lot of wives wish their husbands licked them more and for longer. If your wife likes it, give it to her generously.

14. For your husband to enjoy licking you, maintain good hygiene and shave often.

15. For your wife to enjoy being licked by you, maintain good hygiene, especially oral hygiene.

16. Most women climax more through clit jobs than penetration.

17. Dear husbands, if after pumping and penetration you ejaculate but your wife is yet to reach her climax, consider licking or rubbing her clit till she screams your name as she reaches orgasm.

18. Love making in marriage doesn't have to be boring.

This is the basic and hard Truth and you need to learn. Don't be shy.

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 12
The cool, damp air of the midnight garden offered little solace. Jessica paced the manicured paths, the scent of night-blooming jasmine heavy and cloying, failing to mask the bitter taste of humiliation and confusion that lingered from Amanda’s assault and the terrifying confrontation. She’d run from the gun, from Amanda’s venom, from Scar’s terrifying, lethal rage – even though it had been wielded in her defense. The image of him, cold and absolute with the pistol aimed at Amanda’s head, was seared into her mind. It wasn’t fear *of* him, but fear *for* him, for the darkness that Amanda could provoke.
She finally returned to the penthouse, the silence now thick with unspoken aftershocks. Pushing open her bedroom door, she found him immediately. Not waiting, not pacing, but kneeling beside her bed, his broad shoulders slumped, his head bowed. In the dim light from the hallway, he looked not like the feared kingpin, but like a man utterly broken. He didn’t look up as she entered, but his posture spoke volumes – a silent plea for forgiveness, an embodiment of the guilt and anguish he’d voiced earlier.
"Jessica," his voice was a raw scrape in the quiet. "Please…"
She stood frozen for a moment, the sight twisting her heart. The part of her that still ached from Amanda’s words, that felt bruised by the secrets, warred fiercely with the overwhelming love and empathy she felt seeing him like this. He had chosen her. He had defended her with terrifying ferocity. Yet, the emotional storm inside her was still raging. She needed space to breathe, to process, to quiet the echoes of "gutter rat" and the crack of the gun.
"Scar," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I… I need some time. Please. Just… give me some space tonight."
He flinched as if struck. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he raised his head. His eyes, usually so commanding, were pools of raw pain and utter defeat. He searched her face, finding no anger, only a profound exhaustion and a plea for distance. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the stillness. Without a word, he pushed himself up from his knees. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t argue. He simply bowed his head again, a gesture of absolute surrender, and walked silently out of the room, closing the door with a soft, final click. The sound echoed Jessica’s loneliness.
***
The next morning, Amanda was gone. Vanished. Like a poisonous mist dispersed by the dawn. William confirmed it tersely; she’d been escorted to the airport before sunrise, under firm instructions and the lingering threat of Scar’s promise. The penthouse felt emptier, cleaner, yet the tension didn’t dissipate. It shifted, solidified into something colder: Scar’s absence.
For two weeks, he became a ghost in his own home. He skipped breakfast, leaving before Jessica rose. Dinner was taken in his study, the door firmly closed. He returned late, often well past midnight, slipping silently into his own room. When their paths did cross – Jessica heading to her study nook, Scar striding down a hallway – he would freeze for a fraction of a second, his expression shuttering instantly into an impenetrable mask, then he would turn and walk the other way. The warmth, the possessiveness, the easy intimacy – all gone, replaced by a chilling, deliberate distance.
Jessica felt the void like a physical ache. The luxurious penthouse became a gilded cage of silence. Her studies felt hollow. She replayed the scene in her bedroom that night – his kneeling form, the utter defeat in his eyes, her own request for space. *Was I too harsh? * The question gnawed at her. He had faced down his past, his dangerous ex-fiancée, for *her*. He had chosen her publicly, violently, irrevocably. And how had she repaid him? By pushing him away when he was most vulnerable, when he came offering his shattered heart.
Guilt, sharp and corrosive, joined the loneliness. She remembered his whispered confessions of love, the way he’d clung to her after Amanda’s arrival, the desperation in his pleas outside her locked door. He had fought for her, bled for her emotionally, and she had turned him away. *I went too far in my hurt, * she realized with a sickening jolt. *He gave me everything, defended me against everything, and I pushed him into this cold exile.*
The resolve solidified within her. She couldn’t let this stand. She had to fix it. She *needed* to fix it.
***
The day she decided to bridge the chasm stretched endlessly. Jessica was a bundle of nervous energy. She paced, she tried to read, she stared out the window, her mind racing with scenarios. Would he reject her? Would the wall he’d built be too high? Was the damage irreparable? Anxiety twisted her stomach into knots. By the time the familiar sound of the penthouse door announced his return at 11 PM, her heart was pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She heard his footsteps, heavy with fatigue, move down the hall towards his room. The click of his door closing was like a starter pistol. Taking a deep, steadying breath that did little to calm her nerves, Jessica slipped out of her room. The hallway felt vast and intimidating. She stopped outside his door, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it. She knocked – a soft, tentative sound.
No answer.
Gathering every ounce of courage, she gently turned the handle. The door wasn’t locked. She pushed it open just enough to slip inside, closing it softly behind her.
The room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp. The air held the faint, clean scent of his cologne. And then she saw him.
He stood framed in the open doorway of the en-suite bathroom, bathed in the brighter light spilling from within. A white towel was slung low around his hips. Water droplets glistened on his shoulders, tracing paths down the powerful contours of his chest, over the defined ridges of his abdomen, catching the light on his dark skin. He was a vision of raw, masculine beauty – tall, perfectly sculpted, water-darkened curls clinging to his forehead. He looked like a figure from a myth; a god carved from night and strength.
He had frozen mid-motion, a second towel in his hands paused over his damp hair. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto hers. Shock, then a flicker of something guarded and wary, passed across his face before it settled into careful neutrality. He didn’t speak. He simply watched her, waiting.
Jessica’s breath caught. Shyness and confusion warred with the overwhelming surge of love and longing that seeing him like this ignited. Words tangled in her throat. How could she start? How could she bridge the weeks of silence?
The sight of him, the sheer magnetism, the vulnerability she sensed beneath his guarded stance, broke her hesitation. Without a word, she crossed the room in quick, determined strides. Before he could react, before he could retreat behind his walls, she threw her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against the cool, damp skin of his chest. She held on tightly, as if anchoring herself to him.
For a heartbeat, he remained rigid. Then, a shuddering breath escaped him. His arms came around her, slowly at first, then crushing her to him with a force that spoke of weeks of pent-up longing and relief. The towel fell from his hands, forgotten. He buried his face in her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. "Jessica," he breathed, her name a ragged prayer.
The dam broke. All the distance, the coldness, the aching loneliness evaporated in the heat of their reunion. They came together not just with passion, but with a profound, desperate hunger, like two halves finally made whole after a cruel separation. It wasn't just physical; it was a fierce reclaiming; a deep communion of souls starved for connection. They devoured each other with kisses that tasted of salt tears and unspoken apologies, with touches that mapped familiar territory with new reverence. Scar worshipped her body with a slowness that bordered on agony, relearning every curve, every sigh, every sensitive point, as if imprinting her on his soul anew. Jessica met him with equal fervor, her own hands exploring the powerful planes of his back, his shoulders, tangling in his damp curls, pulling him closer, deeper. Time lost meaning. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the slide of skin on skin, the gasps and whispered pleas, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly consumed and cherished. It was love-making as healing, as desperate affirmation, as a vow renewed in the most primal language.
Later, tangled in the sweat-slicked sheets, limbs entwined, Scar stirred. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his eyes dark with emotion. "Jessica, about before… I need to tell you… I’m so sorry I didn’t—"
She silenced him not with words, but by placing her fingers gently on his lips. Then, she replaced them with her own, kissing him with a tenderness that held the weight of her own regret and forgiveness. "Shhh," she murmured against his lips, her voice husky with spent passion and deep affection. "No more apologies. Not tonight." She traced his jaw, her eyes holding his, luminous in the dim light. "Just… make love to me again, Sebastian. I’ve missed you… missed *this*… so much."
He needed no further invitation. The hunger, momentarily sated, flared anew, deeper, sweeter this time. They moved together in a slow, sensual rhythm, a dance of reconnection, of promises whispered through touch, of wounds beginning to knit closed in the shared heat of their bodies. It was tender, passionate, a reaffirmation of the bond Amanda had tried, and failed, to break.
Exhausted, sated, wrapped in the profound peace that follows the storm, they finally drifted towards sleep. Scar held her tightly against him, her back to his chest, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his arms locked securely around her waist. Jessica nestled into his embrace, her hand resting over his where it lay protectively on her stomach. The silence now was warm, comforting, filled only with the sound of their synchronized breathing. The distance was closed. The sanctuary, though scarred, was reclaimed. They slept, entwined, the shadows of the past two weeks finally banished by the undeniable force of their love.
TO BE CONTINUED...

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 9
The heavy silence left by William’s announcement didn’t lift. It pressed down on the sunlit bedroom, turning the golden warmth cold. Jessica sat frozen, the silk sheet clutched tightly around her, watching Scar’s rigid back. The shift in him was terrifying. The powerful, possessive man who had held her moments ago was gone, replaced by a statue carved from ice and tension. He hadn’t looked at her once since William spoke that name.
Amanda.
The name echoed in Jessica’s mind, sharp and poisonous. Who was she? What hold did she have over him that could shatter his invincible composure so completely? Jessica’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a gilded cage. Fear, cold and unfamiliar in this sanctuary, began to creep in.
Scar finally moved. He stood up from the bed with a fluid, predatory grace that was devoid of its usual sensuality. He didn’t look at Jessica as he strode naked to a massive walk-in closet. Jessica watched, mesmerized and terrified, as he pulled on black trousers with sharp, efficient movements, then a crisp, white shirt that he buttoned with deliberate slowness, his fingers steady despite the storm Jessica sensed raging inside him. He buckled a sleek leather shoulder holster, sliding a heavy black pistol into place with a chilling finality. Finally, he shrugged into a perfectly tailored charcoal grey jacket. The transformation was complete: the lover replaced by the ruthless kingpin.
Only then did he turn towards the bed. His eyes, when they finally met hers, were shuttered, unreadable. The warmth, the possessiveness, the *her* that usually lived in his gaze was buried deep beneath layers of cold control.
"Jessica," his voice was low, rough, but unnervingly calm. "Stay here. Do not come out of this room. No matter what you hear. Understand?"
The command was absolute. The underlying warning was clear. Jessica nodded mutely, her throat too tight to speak. The fear solidified into a cold knot in her stomach.
Scar held her gaze for a beat longer, a flicker of something unidentifiable – protectiveness? Apology? – passing through his eyes before it was ruthlessly extinguished. He turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. The soft click of the latch sounded like the sealing of a tomb.
Jessica scrambled off the bed, pulling on the silk robe Scar had discarded earlier. It smelled like him, a small comfort that did nothing to ease the panic fluttering in her chest. She crept towards the door, pressing her ear against the cool, heavy wood. She could hear the low murmur of voices downstairs, too indistinct to make out words, but the tone was tense, charged.
Downstairs, the opulent living room felt suddenly claustrophobic. William stood rigidly near the entrance, his face a mask of professional neutrality, but his eyes darted nervously towards the figure seated elegantly on the central cream sofa.
Amanda.
She was breathtaking. Dressed in a sheath dress of liquid silver that clung to her curves like a second skin, her dark hair cascaded in artful waves around a face sculpted with almost unreal perfection – high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep crimson, large, dark eyes fringed with impossibly long lashes. She looked like a fashion plate, a goddess descended into the mortal realm. She held a delicate porcelain cup of coffee, her posture relaxed, exuding an aura of supreme confidence. Yet, beneath the polished surface, an unnerving stillness radiated from her, like a viper basking in the sun.
Scar entered the room, his presence instantly dominating the space. He stopped several feet away from the sofa, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his expression impassive, but his eyes were chips of black ice fixed on Amanda.
"Amanda," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection. "What are you doing here?"
She looked up, a slow, dazzling smile spreading across her perfect features. It didn't reach her eyes. "Darling," she purred, her voice like velvet over steel. "Is that any way to greet your fiancée after five long years?"
Scar didn't flinch. "That arrangement was terminated. Permanently."
Amanda placed her cup down with exaggerated care on the glass coffee table. The delicate clink sounded unnaturally loud. "Terminated?" She gave a soft, tinkling laugh that held no humor. "By you? Because of one... little... mistake? You sent me away, Sebastian." She used his real name, a calculated intimacy. "Exiled me to that dreary clinic in Italy. Was that fair?" Her smile remained, but her eyes hardened. "Look at me. I worked so hard. Therapy, Sebastian. Sobriety." She gestured gracefully to herself. "All for you. To be worthy of you again."
Scar’s gaze didn’t waver. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure warning. "Don’t you think you’re a little late, Amanda? Things have changed. I have changed. I’ve moved on."
The air crackled. The polished mask on Amanda’s face fractured. A flash of pure, incandescent rage contorted her beautiful features for a split second, her knuckles whitening where she gripped the edge of the sofa. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, smoothed over by a brittle smile. She rose gracefully, smoothing her dress.
"Have you now?" she murmured, stepping towards him. She stopped just out of arm's reach, her dark eyes sweeping over him with possessive appraisal, then flicking dismissively around the room. "We shall see, Sebastian. We shall see." Her voice dropped, becoming a venomous whisper. "I’ve come back to take what’s mine."
She didn’t wait for a response. With the regal bearing of a queen reclaiming her throne, she walked past him towards William. "William, darling," she said airily, as if the previous five years and her violent exile had never happened. "Be a dear and have my bags brought up. The usual suite, I assume is prepared?" She didn’t wait for an answer, brushing past him and heading towards the sweeping staircase as if she owned the place.
William looked helplessly at Scar. Scar’s jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle spasmed in his cheek. He gave a single, sharp, almost imperceptible nod. William hurried after Amanda.
Scar remained standing in the center of the living room, radiating a cold, dangerous fury that seemed to vibrate the very air. He didn’t move for a long time, staring at the space where Amanda had sat, the ghost of her perfume – heavy, floral, cloying – hanging in the air, a stark contrast to Jessica’s lighter, fresher scent.
Upstairs, Jessica had retreated from the door, pacing the luxurious confines of the bedroom like a trapped animal. She’d heard the murmur of voices, the chilling clarity of that feminine purr, the unmistakable sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. Panic clawed at her throat. Fiancée? Exile?* The words screamed in her mind. Who was this woman? The fear for herself was momentarily eclipsed by a deeper, sharper pang – the fear of losing *him*, of this perfect, hard-won sanctuary being invaded and destroyed.
Hours crawled by. Jessica heard muffled voices elsewhere in the vast penthouse, the sound of doors opening and closing. The luxurious room felt like a prison. She jumped violently when her own bedroom door finally opened.
Scar stood there, framed in the doorway. The controlled mask he’d worn downstairs was still in place, but the strain showed around his eyes, in the tight set of his shoulders. He looked exhausted, haunted. He didn’t speak. He simply walked in, locked the door behind him, and crossed the room in three long strides.
He pulled Jessica into his arms with a force that stole her breath. It wasn't a passionate embrace; it was desperate, almost fearful. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his arms banded around her so tightly she could barely breathe, crushing her against the hard planes of his chest. He trembled, a fine, almost imperceptible vibration that terrified her more than any shout.
"Sebastian?" Jessica whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lifted his head and captured her lips in a kiss that was unlike any they’d shared before. It was slow, deep, achingly tender, yet underpinned by a raw, almost frantic intensity. It was a kiss of claiming, of reassurance, of desperate need. He kissed her like a drowning man clinging to air.
He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. This time, there was no playful chase, no fierce claiming. He laid her down with heartbreaking gentleness. His touch as he removed her robe, then his own clothes, was reverent. He worshipped her body not with demanding passion, but with slow, lingering caresses that traced every curve, every scar, every inch of her skin as if memorizing it, as if it were sacred. His lips followed the same path – soft kisses on her eyelids, her temples, the pulse point at her wrist, the valley between her breasts, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
He took her slowly, with a depth of feeling that stole her breath and brought tears to her eyes. His eyes never left hers, dark pools reflecting a vulnerability she had never seen. He moved within her with exquisite slowness, each thrust a promise, a plea. He murmured against her skin, words breathed like prayers into the quiet room.
"I love you, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, rough with a fear he couldn't name. "I love you so much." He kissed her deeply again. "You are mine. Only mine." He held her gaze, the intensity almost painful. "I will protect you. With my life. Always."
He repeated the words like a mantra as their bodies moved together in a rhythm that was pure, desperate connection. "I love you... mine... protect you..." It was a confession ripped from the deepest, most guarded part of his soul, a shield erected against the ghost that now walked his halls.
Their climax, when it came, was a slow, powerful wave that washed over them together, a shared release that felt more like a merging of souls than a physical act. He held her through it, his arms like steel bands, his face buried in her hair, his body shuddering.
Afterwards, he didn’t let go. He pulled her tightly against him, her back to his chest, his arms locked around her waist, his face pressed against the nape of her neck. His breathing gradually slowed, deepened, into the rhythm of sleep, but his hold never slackened. It was as if he feared she would vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly.
Jessica lay wide awake in the circle of his arms, his words echoing in the silence.
I love you.
He’d never said it before. He was a man of actions, not declarations. His protection, his care, his fierce possession – that was his language. Hearing the words aloud, raw and vulnerable, spoken with such desperate intensity… it shook her to her core.
The fear hadn’t left. It coiled cold and heavy beneath the lingering warmth of his love and their intimacy. Amanda’s chillingly beautiful face, her possessive words, her entitled invasion… they painted a picture of danger Jessica couldn’t yet fully see, but felt bone-deep.
Something serious was happening. Something dark from Scar’s past had erupted into their fragile present, threatening everything. The man who feared nothing slept clinging to her like a lifeline. The confession of love wasn't just a gift; it was a warning.
Jessica stared into the darkness beyond the window, the unfamiliar weight of Scar’s sleeping embrace both a comfort and a chain. His whispered promise, *"I will protect you,"* warred with the terrifying certainty that Amanda was a storm they might not weather.
Who is she? Jessica thought, her mind racing, her body acutely aware of the man who loved her and the ghost who threatened them. *What did she do? What does she want?*
The warmth of Scar’s body against her back couldn’t dispel the chilling dread. Amanda wasn’t just an ex-fiancée. She was chaos wrapped in silk. And Jessica knew, with a cold certainty that settled in her bones, that she needed to understand this enemy.
And I will find out, she vowed silently into the dark, her hand tightening slightly over Scar’s where it rested on her stomach. The battle lines, unseen but deeply felt, had been drawn.
TO BE CONTINUED...

Surprise Gìft Gone Wrong

It was a bright Saturday morning. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and Mr. Ade was feeling proud. He had just surprised his wife with a special gift—20 brand new underwears

But instead of kisses and praise chaos broke loose.

His wife held the panties up like she had just found a crime scene.
You bought me 20 pants, all in SAME COLOR Haba People will feel I’m not changing my underwear

Mr. Ade blinked. He thought he was being smart. One color, easy laundry. Life hack, right

Wrong.

He shouted back, People Which people

Now the real investigation began.

Was it the neighbors peeking through windows?
The dog?
The spirit of her great-grandmother?
Or the invisible Pant Police monitoring daily underwear rotation

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she just shook her head like she married the village clown. Mr. Ade, meanwhile, sat down in defeat, realizing that in the mysterious world of fashion variety truly is the spice of pants.

: Even underwear needs diversity. Because people are always watching whoever they are.

*Things women love during making love but afraid to tell you

for married!!👇🏻

Sexual rejection from a husband can make a woman see herself as less desirable and ruin her self esteem by 80%! One of the ways you can boost your wife's self esteem is to make her know she is super hot, super sexy, and sexually desirable to you.

Why is your wife cold in bed and doesn't respond sexually to you? Why does she hate sex? Why is she frigid? May be because you don't know these10 things and she is sick or afraid of telling you. Get to know them now and set her loose from all inhibition. By the time you are through and practice them continuously, your wife should have become a glorified husband seductress you never imagined! Let's go!

1. WOMEN LOVE VARIETY IN BED: Same touch, same way, same method, same place, same time is super boring to a woman! Women love adventure. That is why we don't wear same clothe 7 days a week. Variety is the spice of sex. How you touch her yesterday may not be how she wants to be touched today. She may want back rub yesterday but toe massage today. It is your job to notice her, read her like a book and know when she wants passion or tenderness.

2. WOMEN LOVE ROMANCE: gentle, passionate kisses, soft touches at the right places gradually sets a woman on fire!

3. WOMEN LOVE TO TALK BEFORE SEX. Listening to her about how her day went makes you super sexy to a woman. Do not undress her till you have undressed her heart.

4. WOMEN LOVE TO BE ON TOP: may be not all women but most. It keeps her in charge, control the depth and watch you enjoy her front view.

5. WOMEN WILL GLADLY GIVE A QUICKIE IN THE KITCHEN, TOILET, ANYWHERE, any how you want it if you will respect her, show love, be tender, affectionate and not see her as a sex object for quick release.

6. WOMEN LOVE TO HAVE THEIR CLITORIS STROKED TENDERLY, affectionately, appropriately at the right time before and during sex.

7. WOMEN DON'T CARE ABOUT THE SIZE OF YOUR P*NIS AS LONG AS YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE GOOD USE OF IT, hit the right place, position at the right angle and get her moan in pleasure.

8. WOMEN WILL GLADLY OBLIGE TO ANY SEXUAL POSITION AS LONG AS IT GIVES HER ORGASM.

9. THE FUEL OF SEXUAL PASSION FOR A WOMAN IS LOVE, CARE, ATTENTION, AFFECTION AND GENEROSITY WHICH YOU MAKE A LIFESTYLE, give her all the time not just at the moment you want sex. It makes her bond with you emotionally and eagerly makes love to you.

10. WOMEN LOVE LONG DRIVE AND HATE PREMATURE EJACULATION. If you can withhold long enough before shooting and give her some pleasure, she will enjoy love making, enjoy you, pursue you and eagerly have sex with you.

Note that SEX IS STRICTLY FOR THE MARRIED.

The post is strictly for legally married couples not kids who should be facing their studies. If you go into premarital sex, you lose favour with God, experience shame, sorrow and a crises laden marriage awaits you.

Waiting for sex in marriage pays. You will have all the sex you want and enjoy it to the maximum if you do things right!

There is absolutely no need to rush. May your marital sex life catch fire!

Thanks for reading and sharing to educate others,

Give true love always and be faithful to your partner.

May God bless our Marriage ✍🏻

*Things women love during making love but afraid to tell you

for married!!👇🏻

Sexual rejection from a husband can make a woman see herself as less desirable and ruin her self esteem by 80%! One of the ways you can boost your wife's self esteem is to make her know she is super hot, super sexy, and sexually desirable to you.

Why is your wife cold in bed and doesn't respond sexually to you? Why does she hate sex? Why is she frigid? May be because you don't know these10 things and she is sick or afraid of telling you. Get to know them now and set her loose from all inhibition. By the time you are through and practice them continuously, your wife should have become a glorified husband seductress you never imagined! Let's go!

1. WOMEN LOVE VARIETY IN BED: Same touch, same way, same method, same place, same time is super boring to a woman! Women love adventure. That is why we don't wear same clothe 7 days a week. Variety is the spice of sex. How you touch her yesterday may not be how she wants to be touched today. She may want back rub yesterday but toe massage today. It is your job to notice her, read her like a book and know when she wants passion or tenderness.

2. WOMEN LOVE ROMANCE: gentle, passionate kisses, soft touches at the right places gradually sets a woman on fire!

3. WOMEN LOVE TO TALK BEFORE SEX. Listening to her about how her day went makes you super sexy to a woman. Do not undress her till you have undressed her heart.

4. WOMEN LOVE TO BE ON TOP: may be not all women but most. It keeps her in charge, control the depth and watch you enjoy her front view.

5. WOMEN WILL GLADLY GIVE A QUICKIE IN THE KITCHEN, TOILET, ANYWHERE, any how you want it if you will respect her, show love, be tender, affectionate and not see her as a sex object for quick release.

6. WOMEN LOVE TO HAVE THEIR CLITORIS STROKED TENDERLY, affectionately, appropriately at the right time before and during sex.

7. WOMEN DON'T CARE ABOUT THE SIZE OF YOUR P*NIS AS LONG AS YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE GOOD USE OF IT, hit the right place, position at the right angle and get her moan in pleasure.

8. WOMEN WILL GLADLY OBLIGE TO ANY SEXUAL POSITION AS LONG AS IT GIVES HER ORGASM.

9. THE FUEL OF SEXUAL PASSION FOR A WOMAN IS LOVE, CARE, ATTENTION, AFFECTION AND GENEROSITY WHICH YOU MAKE A LIFESTYLE, give her all the time not just at the moment you want sex. It makes her bond with you emotionally and eagerly makes love to you.

10. WOMEN LOVE LONG DRIVE AND HATE PREMATURE EJACULATION. If you can withhold long enough before shooting and give her some pleasure, she will enjoy love making, enjoy you, pursue you and eagerly have sex with you.

Note that SEX IS STRICTLY FOR THE MARRIED.

The post is strictly for legally married couples not kids who should be facing their studies. If you go into premarital sex, you lose favour with God, experience shame, sorrow and a crises laden marriage awaits you.

Waiting for sex in marriage pays. You will have all the sex you want and enjoy it to the maximum if you do things right!

There is absolutely no need to rush. May your marital sex life catch fire!

Thanks for reading and sharing to educate others,

Give true love always and be faithful to your partner.

May God bless our Marriage ✍🏻

Middle of the night sex…That soft, sacred hour when the world is silent and the only sound is the rhythm of your breathing—syncing slowly as you drift between sleep and desire.
No words are spoken, none are needed. Just the language of touch. A hand reaching for a familiar curve. A body instinctively leaning into warmth.
Caresses melt into kisses, and kisses evolve into something deeper… slower… more intense.
It’s not rushed. It’s not forced. It’s felt. Two souls tangled in quiet passion, where every movement speaks louder than any whispered “I want you.”
This is grown folks love. Pure. Unfiltered. And oh, so unforgettable.