The first time I saw Neema, she was gliding between tables at that charming restaurant in downtown Kampala, her movements effortless, her smile luminous. I had come for the lasagna, but it was her, the way her eyes flickered with warmth as she served me, the delicate curve of her backside as she leaned to refill my glass that left me hungry for more.

When I complimented her and left a generous tip, her lips parted in surprise, then curled into a smile so radiant I felt it in my chest. Unforgettable.

A week later, I returned. The lasagna was just as rich, but it was Neema’s presence that truly satisfied me. This time, I asked for more than the meal. "Let me take you to dinner," I murmured. Her hesitation was brief, her nod sending a thrill through me.

The night arrived, and when she stepped into the lobby of the high-end Kampala hotel, time slowed. Her pink dress clung to her curves like a whispered secret, the fabric shimmering under the chandeliers. She smelled of vanilla and something deeper, spiced - an intoxicating blend that made my pulse quicken.

Her lips brushed mine in greeting, soft yet electric, and I knew. Tonight, we wouldn’t resist to fuck.

Dinner was a blur, my Cobb salad forgotten; her steak barely touched. The real feast was the way her fingers traced the rim of her wineglass, the way her laughter curled around me like smoke. By the time we reached my hotel suite, the air between us was thick with anticipation.

She undressed with quiet confidence, her body a masterpiece of dusky skin and enticing shadows. When she stepped into the shower, she glanced over her shoulder, an unspoken invitation. I stayed, watching the water cascade over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, each droplet a temptation.

By the time she emerged, glistening and fragrant, my restraint was threadbare. I poured us drinks, our fingers brushing, and then finally her mouth met mine. The kiss was slow at first, a tease of tongues, but when she straddled my lap, her hands gripping my head, it turned feverish.

She stood before me, and I held her tightly as we kissed again, this time longer, deeper. Her hands rested on my shoulders, and she whispered her fears and hopes. I assured her that this moment was about trust, not just passion.

I lay her back on the bed, her breath hitching as I traced the inside of her thigh. 

"You’re sure?" I asked, my voice rough. Her nod was all the permission I needed.

Her body was a revelation warm, yielding, soaking with desire. As I slid into her, her gasp melted into a moan, her walls fluttering around me with delicious tightness. "Gosh, you feel…" Her words dissolved into whimpers as I moved, each thrust drawing out sounds so sweet they bordered on pain.

I took my time, savouring her the way her back arched in doggy style, the desperate clutch of her fingers in the sheets when I pinned her beneath me. Her climax crashed over her with a cry, her body trembling as she begged for mine.

When release came, it was with a groan, my thick sperm and hot against her curved ass. She shuddered beneath me, her satisfied sigh mingling with my own.

Later, wrapped in each other under the glow of lamplight, we shared whispers and promises between kisses. That night, Kampala didn’t just give me a holiday, it gave me her.