Norbury Nights
"Jazz singer Adaeze performs at Norbury's best-kept secret club. When music producer Marcus offers her a recording deal, she shows him the after-hours performance that seals everything."
The Norbury jazz club was impossible to find unless you knew—down an alley, through a door, into another world. Marcus only discovered it through an old industry contact who insisted he see the singer.
Adaeze took the stage at midnight, and everything else disappeared.
Her voice was smoke and honey, filling the intimate space with songs about love and loss. Her body was pure seduction—thick curves poured into a red dress, moving with the music like they were one.
After her set, Marcus found her at the bar.
"I want to sign you."
"You don't even know my terms."
"Name them."
Her terms were simple—creative control, good money, no interference. Standard stuff. But she had one more condition.
"I don't work with people I don't know. Really know."
"What does that mean?"
"Come to my place after close. Let me see who you really are."
It was either a terrible idea or the best one he'd ever had. Marcus couldn't tell which.
Her flat above the club was small but cozy, filled with records and memories. She poured whiskey while Marcus sat on her worn couch.
"You have questions," she said. "I can see them."
"Why me? You could sign with anyone."
"Because you watched my face while I sang. Not my body—my face. You actually listened." She sat beside him. "Do you know how rare that is?"
"I wanted both. To be honest."
"Better. Honesty I can work with."
She kissed him with whiskey on her lips, her voice humming against his mouth. Her thick body pressed into his, all curves and heat.
"This isn't how I usually do business," he managed.
"This isn't business anymore."
Her red dress slipped off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Underneath was nothing but her—dark skin, full breasts, thick thighs that promised paradise.
"Sing for me," she whispered. "With your body. Make me feel what you heard in my voice."
He laid her down and worshipped her, his mouth tracing every curve, his hands learning her rhythm. She moaned melodies as he explored her.
"Yes... there... perfect..."
When he entered her, she began humming—low, throaty, turning their joining into music. Her thick legs wrapped around him, pulling him into her rhythm.
"Don't stop... keep the beat... yes..."
She came singing, notes that had no words but spoke everything. He followed, and they lay tangled in her small bed, breathing harmony.
"So," she said eventually, "do we have a deal?"
"We have everything." He kissed her forehead. "The deal, the music, this."
"Good answer." She traced patterns on his chest. "I'll need a lot of studio time. Late nights. Private sessions."
"Recording?"
"Among other things." Her hand drifted lower. "Some of my best work happens after midnight."
His Norbury nights had only just begun. And Marcus was ready to produce something beautiful—in the studio and out of it.