Brooke hadn’t meant to lose herself in the movie. She had curled up on the couch after lunch, a glass of iced tea within reach, and let the quiet Saturday afternoon drift past while a romantic drama flickered on the TV. By the time the credits rolled, her heart still warm from the sweeping love story, she glanced at the clock and jolted upright. Almost pickup time.

“Victoria,” she murmured, smiling to herself as she slid off the couch. Her daughter had been away for the weekend with her best friend, Jackie, and Jackie’s mother, who lived nearly seventy-five miles away. The distance had always made Brooke a little anxious, but at least the pickup arrangements were easy—Jackie’s father, who shared custody, lived only a few blocks from Brooke and Ian’s home.

But Brooke liked Jackie and her family. The girls had been best friends since Kindergarten—five years now—and with school events, birthdays, and sleepovers over the years, they’d all gotten familiar with each other. Well, Brooke and Jackie’s mother, Serena, were more friendly with each other. Serena and Jackie’s father were already divorced by the time the girls had met, so they had only met him a small handful of times.

She smoothed her brown spaghetti-strap top, checked the lay of her patterned skirt, and gave a fleeting glance in the mirror by the front door. Not bad for a Saturday at home, she thought. Her gold wedding ring caught the light, a quiet reminder of Ian. He was out of town, spending the weekend on a fishing trip with his buddy Rich.

The house felt unusually still without him and Victoria—too quiet, almost. Brooke slipped into her brown sandals, snagged her purse, and grabbed her car keys. A flicker of anticipation stirred in her chest at the thought of having her daughter back home, her laughter filling the house again.

Moments later, she was behind the wheel, easing out of the driveway and rolling down the tree-lined street toward Jacqueline’s father’s home just a few blocks away.

——-

The short drive barely gave Brooke time to collect herself. She passed the familiar houses, manicured lawns, and clusters of kids on bikes before pulling up in front of Jacqueline’s father’s place. His house stood a little taller than most on the block, with clean lines and wide windows that caught the afternoon sun.

Brooke parked at the curb, smoothed her skirt over her knees, and stepped out of the car. The warmth of the pavement rose up through her sandals as she walked up the path to the front porch. She rang the doorbell, heart beating a little faster than she expected.

The door opened, and there he was—Jacqueline’s dad. Àṣẹ.

“Brooke,” he said warmly, his deep, soothing voice carrying the faintest trace of an accent. “Good to see you.”

That voice. It had always caught her off guard when they’d crossed paths in the past. There was something about it, low and calming, with a subtle rhythm she couldn’t quite place. His accent only made it more intriguing. She remembered the little flutter it sparked in her chest, the same flutter she knew other women must have felt. Every woman melted a little around exotic men, after all. And Àṣẹ… well, he carried himself with a presence that made it impossible not to notice.

She smiled back, trying to keep her composure. “Hi, Àṣẹ. I’m here for Victoria—though I’m sure you knew that already.”

He chuckled and stepped aside, gesturing her in. “Of course. Please, come in.”

The vaulted entryway opened into a living room bathed in natural light. Neutral tones, tasteful furniture, a lived-in comfort that immediately put her at ease. Brooke stepped inside, inhaling the faint aroma of coffee that seemed to linger in the air.

“They aren’t back yet,” Àṣẹ said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen, then frowned lightly. “Jacqueline”—he always used her formal name—“just texted. They’re still at her mother’s place. Looks like they won’t leave for another hour. With traffic, maybe ninety minutes before they get here.”

“Oh.” Brooke blinked, processing the unexpected delay. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I must’ve gotten my timing mixed up.”

“No, not your fault,” he said easily, slipping his phone away. “You had it right. There may have been some miscommunication between Jacqueline’s mother and me. We… struggle with that sometimes.” 

His smile returned, smooth and reassuring. “You’re welcome to wait. I was about to make a fresh cup of coffee—gourmet beans I just got in. Would you like some?”

Her lips curved before she could stop herself. Coffee was her weakness, especially when it came to the rich, bold blends she never indulged in at home. “That… sounds amazing, actually. Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, his eyes warm on hers. “Come, make yourself comfortable. It would be my pleasure.”

Brooke followed him further into the living room, her sandals soft against the hardwood floor. The house was quiet, the afternoon light golden through the windows, and with every step she felt the subtle shift—what began as a routine pickup already taking a very different turn.

——-

Àṣẹ moved toward the kitchen, and Brooke followed at an easy distance, her eyes drifting over the details of the home as she went. Clean countertops, a few framed family photos on the wall, the faint hum of a refrigerator — it all carried an understated warmth, a man’s touch softened by the evidence of a daughter’s presence.

“Do you take sugar or cream?” he asked, reaching into a cabinet for mugs. His voice carried back to her, smooth as velvet.

“Usually just a splash of cream,” Brooke said, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. “Though if it’s as strong as you say, maybe I’ll need both.”

He chuckled, measuring out the beans. “These are Nigerian. My cousin sent them. They’re bold, but not bitter. They remind me of home.”

Brooke tilted her head, intrigued. “Home as in… Nigeria?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod, the grinder whirring briefly before he continued. “I grew up there. Came here in my twenties. At first, for school. Then… life happened.” He poured the grounds into the machine, the rich aroma already filling the air. “It has been almost twenty-five years now.”

Brooke rested her chin on her hand, studying him. “That’s incredible. Do you ever go back?”

“When I can. Not often enough.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “But it never leaves you. The language, the rhythm… even the taste of coffee.”

She smiled softly. “And your name — Àṣẹ. What does it mean?”

His lips curved at her question, as though he appreciated her interest. “Ah-shay,” he pronounced carefully, his deep voice wrapping around the syllables. “It is Yoruba. It means ‘vital life force.’ The power to make things happen.”

Brooke’s brows lifted, genuinely moved. “That’s beautiful… and it suits you.”

For a moment, their eyes lingered on each other, and she felt that flutter in her chest again — stronger this time. She laughed lightly, trying to brush it away. “Here I was just hoping for a good cup of coffee, and instead I’m getting poetry.”

His chuckle was low, pleased. He set a steaming mug in front of her and leaned casually against the counter. “Sometimes they are the same thing.”

She lifted the mug, inhaled the rich, earthy aroma, and sighed with delight after the first sip. “Oh my… you weren’t exaggerating.”

“I rarely do,” he teased, his accent softening the words into something almost tender.

Brooke smiled into her mug, taking another slow sip. “Well, you’ve already outdone yourself. My husband isn’t exactly the coffee type. He’s more of a… grab-an-energy-drink-on-the-go kind of guy.”

Àṣẹ tilted his head. “Your husband—he is away this weekend, yes?”

She nodded, setting her mug down gently. “Ian. He’s on a fishing trip with his buddy Rich. Left yesterday morning, won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“Ah,” Àṣẹ said, folding his arms across his chest in an easy, relaxed way. “How long have you two been married?”

“Fourteen years.” Her answer came with a little smile, though one corner of her mouth curved wistfully. “We met in college. He was the quiet, steady type. Made me laugh when I wasn’t expecting it. I liked that.”

Àṣẹ nodded, listening intently, his dark eyes never straying from hers. “And after all this time?”

She chuckled softly. “We’re still happy. I mean… we’re human. We argue about bills, about schedules, about silly little things. But he’s a good man. A good father. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Even good marriages,” Àṣẹ said gently, “can feel the weight of life. Work, children, time… it all presses on love. I have seen this.”

Brooke looked at him for a long moment, struck by his insight. She gave a small shrug, her voice quiet. “I suppose that’s true. You do your best, though. That’s what matters, right?”

“Yes,” he agreed, his tone deep and reassuring. “That is what matters.”

Their eyes lingered again, just a beat longer than before, and Brooke felt the hum of connection between them, steady and growing.

Then they talked some more—sipping and talking — about the girls, about school, about small frustrations that turned into laughter when the other added a wry comment. It surprised Brooke how easy it was, how natural, like catching up with an old friend. And beneath the conversation, the attraction hummed quietly, undeniable.

At one point, he set his mug down and said with a casual grin, “You know, in the Nigerian military, they trained us for all kinds of skills. Discipline. Endurance.” He let the pause hang for a beat, his eyes dancing. “Even how to give an excellent massage.”

Brooke blinked, then laughed, shaking her head. “You’re kidding.”

His grin widened, the kind that teased and invited all at once. “I never joke about a massage. Proper training. Pressure points. Relaxation techniques. If you ever need proof…”

Her laugh softened, lingering in her throat. She looked down into her coffee, then back up at him, her cheeks warm. The air between them shifted again, just slightly, but enough that she felt it.

Àṣẹ shifted from the counter and moved to sit beside her on the off-white leather couch, his presence filling the space between them. 

“Let me show you,” he said quietly,

He raised his hands slowly, his voice low and inviting.

“May I?”

Brooke blinked, caught by surprise, but her lips curved with a nervous laugh. “Oh! Yes… of course.”

He gently guided her torso at an angle away from him, his strong hands settling against her back. His thumbs pressed just beneath her shoulder blades, kneading in firm, practiced strokes. Brooke let out a soft breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It was heavenly—her muscles unspooled, her body yielding under his touch. Warmth cascaded between her thighs, a glow she couldn’t ignore.

Soon his hands drifted upward, finding her neck. His fingers worked the knots with skillful precision, each motion easing her further into bliss. Her head tilted naturally to one side, eyes fluttering shut.

Àṣẹ inhaled deeply, catching the mingled fragrance of her shampoo and perfume—exquisite, soft, and intoxicating. The moment stretched, charged, until he bent forward, lips brushing her skin. Gentle kisses trailed along the curve of her neck.

Brooke’s breath hitched, but she did not stop him. She felt suspended in a dreamlike state, her body melting under his touch and his lips. Slowly, she turned toward him, eyes meeting his—searching, asking silently, Are we really doing this?

No words were needed. Àṣẹ leaned in, and their mouths met in a kiss that started tender but deepened with every passing second. Passion flared between them, their hands exploring, their breathing quickening as the moment caught fire.

When at last they parted, gasping softly for air, Àṣẹ brushed his thumb along her cheek. “Come,” he murmured, his accent wrapping around the word. “Let me give you a proper tour.”

Brooke could only nod, her pulse racing. He rose and reached for her hand, guiding her up the staircase, step by step, toward the master bedroom.

——-

The master bedroom opened wide, filled with soft afternoon light spilling in through the sliding doors to the balcony. A broad bed dressed in crisp white sheets seemed to wait for them, the accent pillows set neatly at the headboard.

Àṣẹ led Brooke inside, his hand never leaving hers. She stood there for a moment, her heart thundering as though she were on the edge of something impossible to turn back from. He turned to face her, searching her eyes once more as if to give her a final chance to retreat.

She didn’t move.

Their lips met again, deeper and more urgent this time, tongues twining as his hands slid boldly down her back. He pulled at the hem of her simple brown top, and she raised her arms, smiling as she looked deeply into his eyes, allowing him to pull it over her head. 

Àṣẹ stepped back to look at her natural, average breasts held behind her black satin bra with little pink flowers printed on the smooth fabric. 

He leaned in and kissed her some more, then stepped back again.

With a steady tug, he eased her skirt down over her hips, letting it fall in a soft puddle at her feet.

Now clad only in her satin bra and pink thong, Brooke flushed slightly at the obvious unmatching lingerie due to the fact that she didn’t expect anyone to see it! 

But to felt Àṣẹ, it was a beautiful sight that only fanned the flames of his desire! 

Brooke felt his hands claim her more fully. He moved in close, kissing her hungrily as his palms spread across her bare buttocks. He squeezed and groped with deliberate strength, his fingers slipping between the cleft to tease her, sending sparks racing through her core.

He pulled back just enough to unclasp her bra, letting the cups fall away. Her breasts spilled free into his waiting hands and mouth. His lips closed around her nipple, sucking firmly, then trailing kisses across to the other, his tongue swirling as she gasped, arching into him.

When at last he slid the thong down her thighs, Brooke felt her breath catch. He stepped back slightly, spinning her gently so he could admire her from every angle. She stood before him, revealed and trembling, her natural inverted triangle of hair framing the heat between her legs.

“Exquisite,” Àṣẹ murmured, his deep, accented voice thick with desire. His eyes roamed reverently, as though she were a gift meant only for him.

He sank to his knees behind her, spreading her cheeks in his hands. Leaning in, he pressed his face between them, inhaling deeply, savoring her sweet, earthy, feminine scent.

Brooke sighed, her head bowing forward as her body softened, warmth cascading between her thighs. She leaned slightly at the waist, surrendering to the pleasure as his tongue began to explore her folds with deliberate, worshipful strokes.

Àṣẹ’s tongue moved with slow, deliberate strokes, savoring every taste of her. He teased her folds, dipped lower, then swept back up in long, sensual passes that made her knees weaken. His hands held her open, steady and firm, as though he wanted to worship every inch of her.

Brooke gasped softly, her fingers curling against the sheets to steady herself as her body trembled under the waves of sensation. She leaned forward further, her palms resting on the mahogany dresser in front of her. The giant mirror before her reflected a highly erotic image: her naked self, mouth open, tits screaming in anticipation, and a gorgeous specimen of a man devouring her from behind! 

Brooke surrendered to the delicious pressure building inside her, sighing his name under her breath.

After a couple minutes, he eased back, rising to his feet and guiding her gently by the waist. “Sit,” he murmured, gesturing to the edge of the bed.

Brooke obeyed, her legs brushing against the white sheets as she perched at the mattress edge. Her breath was still uneven when she looked up at him, watching as his strong hands grasped the hem of his snug black tank and pulled it free, revealing a sculpted chest and shoulders. Then the parachute pants came down, and with them the last barrier between them.

Her lips parted in shock. “Oh, my…”

He was immense, thick and heavy, hanging between his thighs with an unignorable presence. She blinked, breathless, her voice a whisper. “I’m not sure I can handle that.”

Àṣẹ’s deep, soothing tone carried reassurance. “We will go slow. Sweetly. You will be fine.”

Her nerves melted under the warmth of his gaze, and with a trembling but eager smile, Brooke reached forward. She took him gently in hand, then leaned in, pressing her lips to the smooth tip. Slowly, sweetly, she began to caress him with her mouth—gentle kisses at first, then the soft glide of her tongue.

Her movements were tender, almost shy, as though exploring a secret she never thought she’d be allowed to touch. He let out a low groan of approval, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, careful not to push, letting her set the pace as she tasted him.

Brooke’s lips moved with slow devotion, her tongue tracing him with care, her mouth wrapping around him with a tenderness that felt almost worshipful. She wasn’t practiced in this with a man his size, but her effort, her focus, her adoring gaze up into his eyes made it far more erotic than any skill could have.

Àṣẹ looked down, meeting her gaze. The sight stole his breath—her parted lips stretched around him, her soft hair brushing her cheeks, her eyes wide with affection and awe as if she were offering a gift. His arousal tightened, pulsing with every gentle stroke of her mouth.

When the pressure inside him began to build, he inhaled sharply and eased her away with a firm but tender hand. “Enough, my dear,” he murmured, voice deep and low. “Lay back for me.”

Brooke sank into the bed, surrendering completely. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her body trembling with anticipation as he climbed over her. He kissed her lips first—soft, lingering, reassuring—before trailing down her throat, over the curves of her breasts, each kiss a promise. She shivered, surrendering further with every touch.

When he reached the space between her thighs, he paused. For a long moment he simply took in the sight of her: her legs spread wide across the sheets, her occasionally-tended triangle framing her glistening folds. From his view, she was nothing short of a vision—her body open, vulnerable, and achingly inviting.

He lowered himself onto his stomach, breathing her in. Her scent enveloped him—wild and intoxicating, a slow, burning fragrance that lingered like the rare perfume of a wildflower. The unique perfume of a woman’s intimacy. It filled his lungs, seeped into his blood, and only heightened his hunger.

Then his mouth was on her, lips and tongue pressing into her heat, tasting her deeply. He devoured her, licking, probing, swirling across every sensitive swell and fold. His tongue plunged inside her, then swept back up, relentless and consuming. He buried his nose in her slippery hole, pressing it as far as it would go. Then he returned to licking her.

Brooke cried out, her hips shifting instinctively against his mouth, but he only anchored her tighter. One hand slipped up to cup her breast, pinching and teasing the nipple as his other hand joined his mouth below. His fingers slid into her warmth, stretching gently, deliberately preparing her for him while amplifying the ecstasy of his tongue.

She writhed beneath him, gasping his name, trembling as the waves of sensation built higher and higher. Her entire body tightened, her hands clenching the sheets, until the climax broke loose like a flood. Pleasure washed over her in rolling waves, wrapping her in warmth like a heavy blanket.

Her thighs quivered around his head as she cried out again, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Àṣẹ lingered between her thighs for a moment longer, savoring the sight of her trembling body, before rising up to crawl over her again. His chest pressed against hers, his breath warm against her lips as he kissed her deeply.

Brooke shivered when she detected her scent on his nose and tasted herself on his mouth—the faint, lingering sweetness mingled with the rich heat of his kiss. It was strange, yes, but strangely beautiful too, as though the two of them were becoming part of something greater, a shared fire that blurred every boundary.

Her hands slipped over his shoulders, her nails grazing lightly as she pulled him closer. Their tongues danced, slow and tender, until she became aware of the new pressure low between them.

The heavy, bulbous head of his cock nudged against her entrance, hot and unyielding. She stiffened slightly, sucking in a sharp breath. He kissed her deeper, murmuring between kisses in that soothing, accented voice. “Relax… breathe with me.”

She did, inhaling slowly, exhaling against his lips, each breath syncing with the gentle push of his hips. The massive tip stretched her, sliding in only a fraction at first. She whimpered softly into his mouth, her legs tightening around his waist.

Again he paused, kissed her lips, her cheek, her temple. “Easy… slowly,” he whispered, easing forward by the smallest measure.

Brooke clutched at him, overwhelmed by the mix of sensations—the burn of the stretch, the incredible fullness, the comfort of his weight pressing her into the sheets. Each breath carried her further, every kiss steadying her as he continued inching inside.

And still, he went slow. Tender. Patient. Every deliberate movement was paired with another kiss, another caress, until at last her body yielded, wrapping around him as though she had been made for him alone.

He filled her inch by inch, stretching her body in ways she had never known. Brooke clung to him, breathing hard against his neck, every nerve alive as he pressed deeper. Even once fully seated inside, the fit was still exquisitely tight, her body adjusting around his size. He held still, kissing her lips and stroking her cheek, waiting until he felt her soften, open, welcome him.

Then, slowly, he began to move.

Each thrust was careful at first, gentle, easing her into the rhythm. The discomfort melted into a new kind of sensation, sharp edges blurring into waves of pleasure. Brooke’s gasps turned to moans, her legs locking tighter around his waist as the fullness became euphoric. She had never felt anything like it—every push seemed to ignite her from the inside out.

When the climax came, it seized her suddenly, rippling through her core until her whole body arched beneath him. She cried out, her nails digging into his back as the orgasm overwhelmed her.

Àṣẹ kissed her again, swallowing her sounds as he slowed, then rolled them carefully, reversing their positions. Brooke now straddled him, her hair tumbling around her face. He lay back against the pillows, hands resting on her thighs as she adjusted to the shift.

She began to move, slowly at first—tentative bounces that quickly grew into confident, hungry pumps of her hips. She threw her head back, riding him with abandon, every rise and fall sending shockwaves through her body. He groaned deeply beneath her, his hands sliding to her waist to steady her, guiding her into deeper strokes.

Brooke shifted, experimenting—leaning forward against his chest, rolling her hips in tight circles, then straightening and bouncing faster. Each change brought new angles, new sparks of sensation, until another orgasm tore through her, her cries muffled as she pressed her mouth to his shoulder.

Her body quivered as she slowed, collapsing briefly against him. But Àṣẹ wasn’t done. With a growl of desire, he rolled her again, guiding her onto her hands and knees.

Doggystyle.

His hands gripped her hips as he drove into her with a steady, relentless rhythm. The slapping of skin, the raw force of his thrusts, filled the room. Brooke’s cries rose higher, her cheek pressing into the sheets as she surrendered fully.

Her body clenched around him as the final climax burst, shaking her from head to toe. The spasms of her orgasm sent him spiraling into frenzy. He pumped harder, faster, until the roar of his release tore from his throat.

Brooke gasped, remembering fleetingly—with almost guilty relief—her diligence in taking her Loestrin tablets.

With one last thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, emptying deep inside her. The heat of it flooded her, pulsing through every twitch and spasm until he collapsed against her back, groaning.

When at last he withdrew, she felt the thick mess spill from her folds, trailing down her thighs. She shuddered, spent and glowing, her body marked by every touch, every kiss, every surrender.

——-

They collapsed side by side, the sheets tangled beneath them, their bodies slick with sweat that glistened in the golden afternoon light. For a long moment neither spoke, their breathing ragged and heavy, the only sound in the room the slowing thud of their hearts.

Brooke turned her face toward him, her hair sticking in damp strands to her cheek. Àṣẹ’s chest rose and fell in deep waves, his broad frame glowing with heat. Their arms brushed, and instinctively their fingers intertwined, a silent tether in the stillness.

“God…” Brooke whispered, her voice husky, broken by panting. “I’ve never…” She trailed off, laughing breathlessly at herself, unable to find the words.

Àṣẹ shifted onto his side, propped on one elbow, and looked down at her with eyes still dark from passion. His deep voice carried the faint Yoruba lilt, soothing even in its exhaustion. “You are beautiful, Brooke. And I don’t mean only your face and your hair…” His fingers traced down her arm, then over the curve of her hip, lingering with reverence. “I mean your body. Your softness. Everything else.”

Her eyes shimmered, stunned by the tenderness in his tone. “I’ve… I’ve never had that before,” she admitted, voice low. “Not like this. Real… vaginal orgasms. And more than one.” She shook her head in disbelief, her lips curling into a shy, amazed smile. “I didn’t even know I was capable.”

He kissed her temple gently, his breath hot against her skin. “Of course you are capable. You only needed someone to unlock what was already there.”

She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of him beside her, the hum still echoing through her body. For the first time in years, she felt completely unraveled and whole at the same time.

For several minutes they lay in silence, side by side, letting the last ripples of release ebb from their bodies. Brooke’s chest still fluttered with the aftershocks, though her mind had begun to drift back toward reality.

She turned her head on the pillow, studying his profile. “This… this wasn’t supposed to happen,” she laughed. “I just came here to pick up my daughter. That’s all.”

Àṣẹ’s gaze lingered on the ceiling before he looked down at her, his expression soft. “Sometimes life brings us moments we do not expect. Beautiful moments.” His hand brushed her cheek. “But I know. You have your marriage. Your family.”

Brooke nodded slowly, her throat tightening. “Yes. Ian’s a good man. And I love him. But today…” She shook her head, voice trailing to a breath. “Today was different. It has to stay between us. Just once. Just a secret.”

“After today, you could show him a thing or two!” They both laughed. 

“Yeah, maybe I should,” she chuckled.

His deep, soothing voice carried no judgment. “I understand. And I will honor that.”

She exhaled, relief mingling with gratitude. “Thank you.”

For a moment longer, they lay there, their fingers twined, their bodies warm with sweat that glistened faintly in the afternoon light. Then Brooke stirred, pulling the sheet modestly over her chest. “I should… probably clean up. Use the bathroom.”

Àṣẹ smiled gently, nodding toward a door across the room. “Through there. Take your time.”

Brooke slipped from the bed, her legs still unsteady. She padded across the room, gathering her discarded thong on the way. In the master bathroom she relieved herself, feeling the warmth of his release slipping from her, then rinsed with tissue and water at the sink. She freshened her face, finger-combed her hair, and stared into the mirror. Her reflection startled her—a flushed woman, glowing, lips swollen from kisses, eyes still hazy with desire.

She whispered to herself, almost in disbelief, What did you just do?

After a deep breath, she pulled her skirt back on and adjusted her top, slipping into the careful mask of normalcy that waited outside the bathroom door.

——-

Brooke lingered a moment longer at the mirror, steadying her breath, before opening the bathroom door. The bedroom was hushed, the scent of their passion still hanging faintly in the air.

Àṣẹ was already dressed, his black tank snug again over his chest, his parachute pants sitting comfortably on his hips. He stood near the bed, folding the sheet back into place with a quiet, meticulous touch. When he looked up and saw her, he gave a small, knowing smile.

“You look refreshed,” he said gently.

Brooke smoothed her skirt and gave a soft laugh, shy but genuine. “Presentable, at least.”

He stepped toward her, brushing a finger along her cheek before letting his hand fall away. “Come. Let’s relax before the girls return.”

Together they descended the stairs, hand in hand until they reached the living room, where they separated as though nothing unusual had happened. He flicked on the TV, the low murmur of a cooking show filling the silence. They settled onto the couch—Brooke curling her legs to the side, Àṣẹ leaning back with a practiced ease.

For a while, they sat like that, sipping water he had poured, trading small comments about the program and laughing softly at the silly banter of the chefs onscreen. It was almost ordinary, yet the glow in her body refused to fade.

Brooke crossed her arms loosely over her stomach, hiding the faint smile she couldn’t quite suppress. She felt light, buoyant, almost girlish. At the edge of her vision, she caught Àṣẹ watching her, his dark eyes steady, calm, but carrying a depth she’d never noticed before.

Minutes passed. Twenty, maybe more. Then the sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the spell.

Brooke’s heart skipped as she straightened her skirt and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced at Àṣẹ, and he gave her a small, reassuring nod. The moment was over, but the memory… that would linger forever.

——-

The front door opened, and the sound of voices and footsteps spilled into the house. Jackie bounded in first, her backpack bouncing against her shoulder as she embraced her huge dad. Victoria followed close behind, her face brightening the instant she spotted her mother.

“Mom!” Victoria called, running across the room. Brooke rose quickly, bending to gather her daughter into her arms. She pressed a long kiss to her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. “I missed you, sweetheart.”

“I missed you too,” Victoria giggled, squeezing tight before pulling away to chatter excitedly about the weekend’s adventures.

Serena stepped inside behind them, offering Àṣẹ a cordial but slightly cool smile. She exchanged polite words with him, then turned to Brooke. She hugged Brooke warmly, then her eyes flicked over Brooke’s face—her flushed cheeks, her glowing expression, the brightness in her eyes. Something unreadable passed through Serena’s gaze, a faint narrowing as if she sensed what lingered beneath the surface.

Brooke smoothed her hair self-consciously, willing her cheeks not to burn hotter. She forced a calm, casual smile. “It sounds like the girls had a wonderful time.”

“They always do,” Serena replied evenly, though her glance lingered a second longer than necessary.

The goodbyes came quickly after that. Hugs exchanged, promises for the girls to see each other again soon. Brooke gathered Victoria’s bag, thanked Àṣẹ with polite warmth, and guided her daughter toward the door.

On the porch, she turned back one last time. Àṣẹ stood in the entryway, tall and composed, his dark eyes meeting hers. For the briefest moment, the world fell silent, and the memory of his hands, his lips, his voice washed over her like fire.

Then the door closed, and the spell was broken.

Brooke walked her daughter down the path to the car, her smile steady, her voice calm. To anyone watching, she was just another mother picking up her child on a Saturday afternoon. But inside, she carried the searing secret of a passion that had bloomed and burned away in the span of a single golden afternoon—one that would remain theirs alone.

-THE END