Wembley Widow
"Newly widowed Nneka hasn't been touched in years—until her late husband's best friend Emeka comes to help sort the estate and reminds her what it feels like to be wanted."
The funeral was three months ago. Nneka had done her mourning in the proper Igbo way—worn black, cried at the church, accepted condolences.
What nobody knew was that her marriage had been dead long before her husband.
Now Emeka sat in her Wembley living room, going through Chidi's papers, and Nneka couldn't stop staring at him.
He'd always been handsome. Thick shoulders, kind eyes, hands that looked capable. She'd suppressed her attraction for fifteen years of marriage.
Now there was nothing to suppress.
"Nneka? Are you alright?"
She blinked. "Sorry. Lost in thought."
"This must be hard." He reached out and touched her hand. "Losing Chidi."
"You don't know the half of it." The words spilled out before she could stop them. "He hadn't touched me in five years. Hadn't looked at me. I was a widow before I was a widow, you understand?"
Emeka's eyes darkened. "I didn't know."
"Nobody knew." She laughed bitterly. "I have needs, Emeka. I've had needs for so long."
The tension in the room shifted.
"Nneka—"
"Tell me you haven't thought about it." She stood, her thick body silhouetted against the window. "All those years. Every family gathering. Every party. I saw you looking."
"You were Chidi's wife."
"I'm not anymore."
She approached him. Stood between his legs. His hands found her hips like they belonged there.
"This is wrong," he said.
"It would have been wrong before. Now it's just... overdue."
He lifted her like she weighed nothing. Carried her to the bedroom she'd slept alone in for years.
"I'm going to make you feel things," he promised. "Things you've forgotten."
"Please."
He undressed her slowly. Worshipped every curve. When his mouth found her center, she realized she'd forgotten what desire felt like.
"Oh God. Emeka. Please don't stop."
He didn't.
When he finally entered her, Nneka cried. Not from sadness—from relief. From pleasure. From finally being touched like she mattered.
"You're beautiful," he murmured. "Every inch of you. Every curve."
He moved inside her with a passion Chidi had never shown. Made her come once, twice, three times. Made her feel alive again.
"I want this," she gasped. "I want you. Please."
"You have me. For as long as you want."
The arrangement continued. Officially, Emeka was helping with the estate. Unofficially, he was helping Nneka remember what it meant to be a woman.
Her church friends noticed the change in her. The glow. The confidence.
"The grieving process is healing you," they said.
Nneka just smiled.
If they only knew what her healing process looked like.
What it sounded like.
What it felt like, in that bedroom in Wembley, where a widow was finally getting what she deserved.