Bound to Favor

by Kiru Taye

  She had pushed a boundary he didn’t want breached. He would make her pay for it with his burning passion.

  This thing between them shouldn’t have gotten this far.

  Pose as his fiancée for a few days had been the agreement.

  Yet, she’d pushed him into having sex. Pushed him into talking about his life.

  Things will never be the same between them.

  So when he pushed her onto the bed and flipped her over so that she was face down on the mattress, she settled on her hands and knees and parted her legs for him.

  He entered her, thick and solid. He set a gruelling pace, his body jerking and slamming against her.

  She clutched the sheets tight and braced for each impact. Sweat slicked her body as his grip on her hips tightened.

  “Ebun,” he groaned out and went still, emptying his seed inside her.

  He slumped against her, pushing her body flat on the mattress, his weight and heat comforting after the hard sex.

  She hadn’t climaxed but she accepted that this wasn’t about her. It was about Kamali’s demons, and his past. She would be here for him as his comforter.

  Hyper aware of him, she offered her body for his pleasure if it would ease his pain.

  After he caught his breath, he let out a low curse. “I’m sorry.”

  Was he apologising for the rough sex?

  “Don’t be. You needed it,” she muttered into the pillow.

  “I came inside you without a condom. I wasn’t thinking.” He rolled to the side, breaking contact.

  Bereft of his touch, an ache bloomed inside her chest. “It’s not a problem. I’m on the pill.”

  “Still, I shouldn’t put you in this position. I—”

  “Kamali, I said it is okay. I don’t mind.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What if you get pregnant?”

  Her chest tightened and she struggled to breath. Pregnancy was still a possibility even with all the precautions they’d taken. She hadn’t thought about the consequences. By the expression on his face, he didn’t want her getting pregnant.

  “Then I’ll take care of it,” she snapped at him, suddenly aching with the need to be his in the true sense and hating that he would never consider her as his bride. She wasn’t a virginal Muslim girl.

  He stiffened. “What does that mean?”

  “It means what it means.” She rolled over and turned her back to him. “You can go to your room now.”

  “To Hell with going to my room.” He got off the bed and paced from the side of the bed to the door and back, muttering words in Hausa that she couldn’t understand. She only made out the name Toyin.

  His hands jerked and he rubbed the back of his neck a few times, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Sheen of sweat layered his forehead.

  Watching him so agitated, her anger cooled.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a soft voice as her throat clogged up. She hadn’t meant to upset him this much. “I was just lashing out.”

  “You threatened to kill my baby if you got pregnant—” he gritted out, body going still.

  “No. No. That’s not what I meant.” She sat upright, her stomach queasy. Her words had been laced with a threat but she would never hurt her child.

  “Then what did you mean?” His narrowed eyes watched her from across the room, his face back in shadows.

  She wished he was in bed, holding her. “I meant that I wouldn’t burden you with a child you didn’t want. I would raise him or her myself.”

  “You think I wouldn’t want my own child? What kind of man do you think I am?” his voice was dangerously low.

  She reared back. “You’re the one that doesn’t want to get married again. If you don’t want another wife, why would you want another child?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, drew breath and released it before speaking. “I want to be clear about this, Ebun. If you get pregnant with my child, we will get married.”

  Her anger returned at his pronouncement. She climbed off the bed, opened a drawer where she’d put her lingerie and slammed it shut.

  Swivelling, she tilted her chin up and glared at him. “You seem to mistake me for one of your virginal village girls. I don’t have any obligations to conform to your archaic traditions. The only reason that I would accept being your wife is if you loved me.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “I thought we were just enjoying each other’s company for a few days. When did this become about love?”

  His eyes probed her in that soul-searching manner of his that saw beyond what she projected.

  “It’s not,” she muttered. Swallowing, she averted her gaze and glanced down.

  He took steps towards her. Her breath caught in her chest. Then he encompassed her with his heat, his strength.

  “Ebun,” her name whispered on the skin of her shoulder as hot breath. “You ask for my love and yet you call my traditions archaic. You cannot separate me from my traditions anymore than you can separate me from my love. So be certain about what you want, Nawa. If I grant your wish we will truly become one and only death can divide us.”

  His words carried a heavy undertone.

  She wasn’t sure about what she wanted.

  She wanted to be his wife, and had yearned for his love for years.

  Still, she had come to understand him as a man who revered the customs of his forefathers, a heritage she didn’t fully understand. Some of those rituals clashed with what she’d learned in the UK.

  Like why was he allowed four wives, yet a woman couldn’t have four husbands? And why did he expect a virginal bride when there was no way of measuring if he had been a virgin on his wedding night?

  The reality of the man she’d pined for proved to be different from the fantasy she’d conjured in her mind.

  “I just know that I want you right here and right now,” she said after a few minutes where he just held her.

  “That, I can give you.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Let’s get back to bed.”

  Wanting to drive him wild so he could feel exactly the way he made her feel, she turned around and sealed their mouths, driving her tongue in to play with his. She sucked on the tip of his just as she scrubbed the pad of her fingers over his head, the thick coarse hair grating.

  Kamali lowered her onto the bed. His fingers roamed her body, her belly and the cleft between her legs. He stroked and touched, making her wet and pliant. She had to have him inside her soon.

  She pulled the fabric of his jalabia, tugging until he had to break the kiss to pull it over his head.

  Then he was back on her, the flat hard muscles of his abdomen, the smooth arc of his hips and the thick muscles of his thighs pressing against her soft flesh.

  His hands cupped and massaged the fullness of her breasts before pinching her nipples.

  “Oh,” she moaned, arching off the bed as pleasure deluged her body. Her body strained, her skin hot.

  He covered her right nipple with his mouth as his fingers returned to the junction of her thighs. He parted the hooded flesh and found her warm and slick as he caressed and cajoled her nub until she panted for release.

  Then his mouth was where his thumb had been, sucking her swollen bundle of nerves while his fingers thrust into her contracting channel.

  “Mali!” She came apart, stars bursting in her vision.

  He didn’t let up and kept twirling his tongue and sucking her while his digits surged in and out.

  She rode out the orgasms, thrashing and writhing and begging him to stop. When he finally lifted his head, she must have died a few little deaths as her body collapsed onto the bed and she breathed heavily.

  He leaned over, pressed his mouth to hers, making her taste her essence. He turned her to the side and spooned her, pulling the sheet to cover them.

  With a smile and a fuzzy feeling, she snuggled into him. His erection prodded her bum. In her drowsy mind, she realised he hadn’t come. Her eyes drifted shut to the sound of their breathing.

&n
bsp; Chapter Eighteen

  When Ebun woke the next time, bright sunlight came through the gaps in the curtain. Kamali wasn’t in bed. He must have slipped out of her room while she’d slept.

  She got up, showered and dressed before going downstairs. The house seemed eerily quiet and she couldn’t find anyone. She walked down the corridor, past the dining room and into the kitchen.

  Fahima emptied out groceries from a box while speaking to the housekeeper.

  “Good morning,” Ebun greeted as she stepped in, glad it was Fahima not Yasmin or Mrs. Danladi senior.

  “Good morning.” Fahima smiled. “How are you?”

  “I’m great. Thanks. Where’s everyone?” Ebun asked.

  “Oh. Just out running errands. There’s a wedding to prepare for.”

  “Of course. Is there anything I can do to help?” She pointed at the fruits and vegetables piled on the counter.

  “No. Not right now at least. You need breakfast.” Fahima spoke rapid fire to the woman in Hausa before turning to Ebun. “Come on. Let’s go to the dining room. I need food as well.”

  “You haven’t eaten?” She followed the woman into the dining room.

  “I had to go to the market early this morning.” Fahima pulled out one of the upholstered seats.

  The table was set for two people, as if the woman had been waiting to eat with Ebun.

  Ebun sat opposite. “I feel so guilty. Everyone is out busy and I was in bed.”

  “My brother gave the instruction that you shouldn’t be disturbed. Otherwise someone would have woken you.” The woman grinned at her.

  “Oh.” Ebun’s cheeks heated and she averted her gaze.

  Fahima broke the silence that ensued. “Kamali cares about you a lot. I can see that.”

  “You can?” Her gaze flicked sideways to meet Fahima’s.

  “Yes. He’s never brought home another woman since Toyin died. He certainly hasn’t looked at another woman the way he looks at you.”

  Ebun shook his head. She wanted to tell the other woman that Kamali only brought her here because he was trying to wriggle out of getting married to Laila. That he only looked at her in that soul-consuming manner because she’d asked him to do so while they were in Katsina and pretending to be engaged.

  “I’m serious,” Fahima continued. “Do you think this is the first time Mother has tried to match him with a potential bride? He rejected every one of them. He wouldn’t even look at most of them, let alone touch them. But he can’t seem to keep his eyes and hands off you.”

  The housekeeper came in with a tray of food and served them.

  Ebun thanked the servant and waited until she left before speaking to Fahima. “Why are you telling me about Kamali? I thought you don’t want him to marry me.”

  The woman lifted her palms facing Ebun. “No. I never said that. It was a shock to have him introduce you as his fiancée when he’s never mentioned you in that manner before.”

  She lowered her voice. “My brother hasn’t been the same since Toyin’s death. It’s like he shut himself off and withdrew into a dark place where only work mattered. All of a sudden, you’re here and the old Kamali is coming out. I want my brother to be happy. And I can see that he derives joy from your presence.”

  Ebun’s belly fluttered and her body overheated.

  Was it possible there was some genuineness in Kamali’s affection? She wished he derived joy from her presence, wished that everything Fahima implied came to pass.

  A part of her didn’t want to allow the hope to bloom or love to blossom, afraid of having to deal with unfulfilled promises later.

  She blew out her cheeks and focused on the meal, although her appetite had receded.

  She managed to get through the meal as Fahima directed the conversation to the activities lined up over the next few days.

  They’d just finished eating when the house exploded in laughter and conversations. Yasmin and Laila had returned along with the teenage girls.

  Not long after that Gloria arrived, bringing with her an air of Lagos chic and haughtiness that Ebun could never pull off.

  Ebun watched with interest as Yasmin and Laila fawned over the woman.

  After lunch, they piled into a convoy of cars and drove out of the city. Thirty minutes later, they arrived at Kamali’s country home, a huge ranch with farms and stables.

  Canopies had been set up to provide shade against the afternoon sun.

  A huge truck with Danladi Foods logo stood outside the walls and men offloaded sacks of rice. Another group stacked boxes of canned tomatoes in two piles along with two mountains of onions and towers of colourful plastic bowls with Gloria’s and Henry’s names imprinted on them.

  Mrs. Danladi welcomed them and then doled out instructions. They were to giveaway the food items to the villagers as they arrived.

  They formed two groups.

  In one, Kamali’s mother greeted and chatted with the villagers as they arrived. She handed a plastic bowl to a female servant who scooped about ten kilograms of rice into the container, then the villager stepped up to Gloria who added two large tins of tomatoes. Yasmin, Veda and Fari topped the bowl with six onions.

  In Ebun’s chain, Fahima stood at the head. She mirrored her mother’s actions, while another woman scooped the rice in the bowl. Then Ebun added the tins of tomatoes while Laila and Rashi added the onions.

  After a few minutes, Ebun noticed that Laila wasn’t handing out the onions. Only Rashi was doing it which was slowing down the queue.

  Laila said something to Fahima in Hausa. Fahima replied and looked at Ebun with a worried expression.

  “What’s the matter?” Ebun asked, wondering if she was doing something wrong.

  “Laila says she’s allergic to onions,” Fahima said, sounding annoyed. “Do you mind swapping places with her otherwise we’ll be here all afternoon?”

  “Sure.” Ebun moved out of the way so that Laila would take her place and she went to stand with Rashi.

  The queues were long. Ebun noted that they were all women with their heads covered in wraps. One of the villagers, a young mother, had a baby strapped to her back. The baby was restless as the mother queued and she had to keep jiggling to calm the crying infant. The child must have been hot.

  Nobody seemed concerned but the child’s distress made Ebun uneasy. She didn’t want to leave her place so as not to delay the queue. But she wanted to get the woman’s attention.

  She turned to Rashi. “Go and bring that woman carrying the crying baby. Tell her to come.”

  Rashi rushed off.

  “Where is she going?” Laila asked in an annoyed voice.

  “I want her to bring the woman with the crying baby under the canopy,” Ebun replied.

  “You can’t do that. The villagers are not allowed over this side,” Laila groused.

  “Why not?” Ebun frowned. “It’s just for a few minutes until the child calms down and the woman gets her food items.”

  Rashi spoke to the woman who looked in Ebun’s direction.

  Ebun beckoned her forward with her hand. The woman broke from the line and came over. She curtsied and said “Good afternoon” in heavily accented English.

  Now that she was close, Ebun realised she couldn’t be more than eighteen years old, probably much younger.

  “Afternoon,” Ebun replied and pulled out a white plastic chair. “Sit down and calm your baby. Maybe she needs a drink.”

  She lifted a plastic bottle of water from the stash in a barrel of ice water. “Take this.”

  “Thank you,” the girl replied. She unstrapped the baby, sat in the chair and unscrewed the water bottle.

  Ebun went back to serving the villagers.

  Laila turned to Fahima. “Is she allowed to do that?”

  Fahima glanced at Ebun and shrugged. “She is my brother’s chosen. She can do whatever she wants.”

  Laila stiffened and grumpily went back to serving.

  Ebun looked at Fahima who winked at her. A smil
e bloomed on her face as she returned to her work.

  They worked smoothly after that, only taking a break for some water. Within three hours, the bags of rice were gone and so were every other food item.

  When they headed back to the city, Ebun was exhausted. Dinner was a quiet affair. Kamali wasn’t back for that. She retired early to read a book in bed.

  She was drifting off to sleep when her phone pinged. She grabbed it from the bedside table, saw the message from Kamali and perked up.

  If you’re awake, let me in.

  Heart-racing, she scrambled out of bed and unlocked the bedroom door.

  He looked magnificent as always although he stood in his casual jalabia.

  “You’re a sight for tired eyes,” she said and opened the door wide.

  He came in, a smile curling his gorgeous lips. “I wasn’t sure whether to come over. I know you’ve had a long day.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” She locked the door.

  He took her hand. “I was already in bed but I couldn’t sleep. Is it okay if I stay?”

  “I won’t have it any other way.” She squeezed his hand and pressed a kiss to his chin. “Come on. Let’s get you tucked in.”

  He chuckled, his mirth rich and heart-warming to hear. He pulled off his jalabia but kept his briefs on.

  She went back to bed, turning the other side of the cover down for him.

  He crawled in and settled beside her, draping his arms around her.

  “So how was your day?” she asked.

  He told her about going to the cattle market to buy the cows to be slaughtered for the feast. Then he’d had a meeting with the other Danladi men at the Emir’s palace.

  He explained that Hausa weddings were weeklong events that were done in five stages. Gloria and Henry’s wedding ceremony was being condensed since they’d wanted a low key event.

  Tomorrow Kamali would go for the Daurin Aure at the palace which was a men only ceremony where representative members from the bride’s and groom’s families exchanged vows in front of a religious leader and guests, while the women would undertake the female-only Sa Lalle, where the women were treated to manicures, pedicures and henna tattoos.