Raw Confide

The hotel corridor was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioner echoing faintly as I slid my key card into the door. It clicked open, and I stepped inside, exhaustion settling into my bones after a long day. Then I heard it. A sound from the room next door. A muffled laugh, low and sultry, followed by the deep rumble of a man’s voice. Curiosity stirred. I moved closer to the adjoining wall, the kind with that thin separation only hotels seem to have. The laughter came again—hers, light and playful this time. I leaned back against my bed, listening, unbothered at first, until the sounds shifted. A moan. Soft, drawn out, unmistakable. My chest tightened. The rhythm of movement followed. The creak of bed springs. Another moan, louder now, uninhibited. I pressed my palm to the wall, pulse quickening as though I could almost feel her through it. My imagination betrayed me. I pictured her—hair tumbling across bare shoulders, lips parted, body arched with desire. The sounds sharpened those ...

The office was unusually quiet that night. Most of the staff had left hours ago, leaving behind empty desks and the soft hum of the air conditioner. The glow of the computer screen cast a pale light across the room, reflecting in my tired eyes as I typed away, finishing the report that couldn’t wait till morning. I thought I was alone—until I heard the faint click of heels on the tiled floor. She appeared in the doorway, balancing a stack of files against her chest. The dim lights made her silhouette even more striking. Her blouse clung to her in ways that made me swallow hard, and the way she brushed a loose strand of hair from her face made the room suddenly feel warmer. “You’re still here?” she asked softly, a note of surprise in her voice. “Deadline won’t wait,” I replied with a tired smile. “What about you?” She stepped inside, dropping the files gently on the desk across from mine. “Same story,” she said, her voice carrying that subtle weariness we both understood. Then she leane...

The office was dark except for the faint glow of desk lamps and the hum of the city lights streaming through the tall glass windows. Everyone had gone home hours ago, but I stayed behind, finishing reports. Or at least, that was the excuse I gave myself. Because she was still here too. My colleague. My temptation. She was seated across the room, her blouse slightly unbuttoned, heels kicked off beneath her desk. The silence stretched between us, heavy with an energy that had nothing to do with work. When she stood to stretch, the soft fabric of her skirt rode up just enough to expose the curve of her thigh. My breath hitched. She noticed. “Still working?” she asked, her voice low, teasing. “Trying to,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “But you’re making it difficult.” Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. She crossed the room, hips swaying with deliberate grace, and perched herself on the edge of my desk. The papers scattered, forgotten. “I think we deserve a break,” she whi...

The hotel lobby was quiet that evening, the marble floors gleaming beneath soft golden light. I had just checked in, suitcase rolling behind me, when the elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside first. A woman in a fitted black dress that hugged her curves as though it had been made for her. The slit ran high on her thigh, revealing smooth skin with each step. Her perfume drifted toward me, warm and intoxicating. I followed her in, pressing my floor number. The doors closed, sealing us in the mirrored box. Our eyes met in the reflection. Hers were bold, teasing, like she already knew the effect she was having on me. She leaned against the railing, one hand smoothing down her dress. The slit parted, and I caught more of her leg than I should have. “You here on business?” she asked, her voice silky, almost playful. “Something like that,” I replied, though my thoughts were far from business. She smiled knowingly, then pressed the button to stop the elevator. The soft jolt made my puls...

It was supposed to be just another business trip. I’d checked into the hotel late in the evening, dragging my small suitcase behind me, exhausted from the long day of meetings. The lobby buzzed with quiet conversations, the faint notes of jazz music playing from hidden speakers. By the time I reached my room, all I wanted was a hot shower and maybe a drink before collapsing into bed. But fate had its own agenda. I met her in the elevator. She was already inside when the doors slid open—tall, poised, with a confidence that filled the small space. Her perfume was subtle, intoxicating, the kind that lingers long after its owner has gone. Our eyes met briefly, and I managed a polite nod. “Long day?” she asked, her voice smooth, curious. “Very,” I admitted with a chuckle. “Yours?” “Same,” she replied, the corner of her lips curling into the faintest smile. We stood in silence for the rest of the ride, but I could feel her presence in the way the air shifted. When the elevator stopped at her...

Camp life had no room for privacy. Everything felt crowded—endless lines, noisy hostels, and a rush for the bathrooms before the trumpet dragged us all out for parade. One early morning, I carried my bucket into the bathhouse, determined to freshen up before the rush. The bathroom was separated by nothing more than flimsy curtains that barely held in place. As I began to wash, she walked in—the same girl who had caught my attention since the first day of camp. Tall, graceful, her skin glowing even under the dim light. She slipped into the stall beside mine, tying her towel casually around her chest. The curtain between us swayed, leaving small gaps. I tried not to look, but when she bent to pour water, my eyes betrayed me. The towel loosened slightly, her skin damp with drops of cold water. She noticed me watching. For a moment, I expected her to frown. Instead, she gave a small, knowing smile. Then, in a voice so soft it felt like it brushed against my skin, she asked: “Do you want to...

She was dressed to seduce, though she hadn’t planned to. A fitted black dress that hugged her like second skin, heels that clicked seductively against the marble floors, and red lips daring anyone to speak. The party upstairs had bored her. Too many fake smiles, too many men who looked at her like a prize and not a person. She pressed the elevator button, eager to escape it all. That’s when he stepped in. Tall. Smooth. Charcoal suit. Loosened tie. A stranger with dark, lazy eyes that slowly drank her in. Their eyes locked. No words. The doors slid shut. And the air changed. In that tight space, with mirrors watching from all sides, heat bloomed between them. He stepped closer, not touching, but close enough for her nipples to harden under her dress. “Going down?” he asked, his voice deep and dangerous. She licked her lips. “Not yet.” His hand slid around her waist, pulling her against his chest. She didn’t resist. The heat of him seared through her dress. Her breath hitched as his mout...

She was only supposed to be there for the weekend—just her, a bottle of wine, and the crashing waves to soothe her mind. No distractions. No exes. No lies. But fate had other plans. He showed up past midnight—wet from the ocean, a stranger with no shirt, just low-slung jeans and a story that made no sense. Said he got separated from his friends, lost his phone, needed help. She should’ve said no. But his voice was low and calm. His eyes... hungry. She let him in. He stood near the open balcony door, droplets of seawater trailing down his chest. She offered him a towel, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he stepped toward her, close enough for her to smell the sea on his skin and something darker—desire. “Thank you,” he murmured. “But I think you want something else.” Her breath caught. Before she could speak, he cupped her face and kissed her. Deep. Possessive. His tongue slid past her lips, coaxing hers into a dance of heat and need. She gasped when he pressed her against the wall, the t...

Everyone had gone home. The hum of the AC was the only sound as she clicked through her final spreadsheet. She didn’t hear him approach, but she felt him—his presence always stirred something in her: tension, heat, hunger. “Still here?” his voice came, low and rough behind her. She turned, startled—but his smirk said he knew exactly what he was doing. It was Dapo, the head of design. Older, confident, always watching her like he could see past her blouse. “Just finishing up,” she replied, too casually. Her heart was already racing. He walked around her desk slowly, eyes not on her work, but on her. She stood to gather her things—and that’s when his hand closed around her wrist. “Don’t go yet,” he whispered. Her breath hitched. The next thing she knew, her back was against the glass window—night swallowing the city beyond, their reflections barely visible. His lips crashed onto hers, one hand gripping her waist while the other slid beneath her blouse. She gasped as his fingers found her...

She didn’t even know his name. The rain came suddenly—heavy, angry, blinding. Lagos traffic had come to a halt, and the only dry place in sight was the small concrete shelter at the junction. She dashed in, breathless and drenched, only to realize she wasn’t alone. He stood in the corner, tall, shoulders soaked, dark eyes fixed on the street—but they flicked to her and didn’t look away. He smiled, not with his lips, but with his eyes—slowly, like they knew her already. She pulled her dress away from her skin, which clung tight from the rain, nipples pressing boldly through the fabric. She caught him staring. Neither of them looked away. Minutes passed, thunder rumbling above them like a warning—or an invitation. They didn’t speak, just edged closer, as if moved by the same silent force. Her breath hitched when his knuckles brushed her waist. He didn’t apologize. He leaned in, voice low and rough. “You cold?” She nodded. “Come closer.” She did. Her back pressed against the wall, his pal...

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore was hypnotic, a slow rhythm that matched the throbbing in her chest. The heat was thick, heavy—saturating the air, the sheets, and every inch of exposed skin. Tolu lay sprawled on the linen couch by the open window, a silk robe barely clinging to her curves. She hadn’t expected him to come. But when Chuka’s knock echoed against the beach house door and she opened it to find him shirtless, damp from the ocean, and wearing nothing but swim trunks and a half-smile, she knew this weekend wouldn’t be like the last. He stepped in, the door shutting softly behind him, and they stood inches apart. “I was starting to think you’d changed your mind,” she whispered. He didn’t reply. He just looked at her—slowly, like he was drinking her in. His fingers reached for the robe’s knot, tugging gently until it loosened and slipped from her shoulders like melted chocolate. Bare beneath, she let it fall. Chuka’s breath caught. “You’ve been waiting like this?” S...

The office was quiet that Friday evening. Most people had rushed off after the closing hour, eager for their weekend. But she—Amaka—had stayed back, finishing up reports and waiting for the Lagos traffic to thin out. He stepped into the elevator just as the doors were closing. A faint whiff of his cologne—woodsy and warm—drifted into her space. Their eyes met briefly. Tension sparked. Not the awkward kind, but the kind that tightens the air, makes breathing a little harder, and thoughts a little filthier. The elevator jolted slightly as it began its descent, then came to a sudden halt between floors. A soft curse escaped his lips. “No network,” she whispered, holding up her phone. “No CCTV either,” he muttered with a wicked grin, stepping just a bit closer. The silence grew heavy. Her pulse quickened. There was nowhere to go, nothing else to do. Just the two of them, the dim light, and that humming electricity dancing between their bodies. Without a word, he reached out, brushing a str...