HE STOLE MY HEART AND I STOLE HIS NIGHT

6_THE UNVEILING OF A MONSTER

The campus buzzed, a low hum of student life, but Nelly's steps cut through the noise with an urgency that felt out of place. Her eyes scanned the familiar pathways, darting between clusters of students, Until she sighted Stella seating under a mango tree, lost in the pages of a book. She quickened her pace, her heart thrumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"Stella!" Nelly's voice sliced through the tranquil air.

Stella's head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise, then narrowed slightly as she recognized Nelly's breathless form.

"Nelly? What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost." Stella's voice, usually calm and measured, held a note of genuine concern. She closed her book, marking her place with a slender finger, and laid it carefully on the bench beside her.

Nelly dropped onto the bench next to her, a huff escaping her lips. "Have you heard?" she gasped, her eyes wide, searching Stella's face for any flicker of recognition.

Stella's gaze remained steady, a slight tilt to her head. "Heard what, Nelly? The usual campus gossip?" A small, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips.

Nelly shook her head, a sharp, dismissive motion. "No, Stella, not that. Michael r@ped Kingsley's sister to death, and run away." Nelly said and watched Stella's face, expecting a gasp, a look of horror, anything.

But Stella's eyes remained flat, unblinking. A slow, deliberate breath escaped her lips. "I heard." Her voice was low, devoid of emotion.

Nelly's jaw dropped. "You heard? And you're just… sitting here? Reading a book?" Her voice rose, tinged with disbelief. "I mean, Michael, Stella! Your almighty Michael! Are you still… in love with him?" The question, sharp and probing, hung in the air, laced with a hint of accusation.

"Nelly, this is not a time for jokes." Her voice was tight, each word clipped.

"Instead of making a joke of such a horrific matter, we should be going to see Kingsley. He needs comfort. He needs friends." Stella's voice softened slightly, a tremor in its depths.

"Go see Kingsley? Who told you he hasn't gone home? To tell his parents? To be with his family?" Nelly's voice held a note of challenge, but also curiosity.

Stella turned back to Nelly, her expression unreadable. "I heard the police asked him to stay. For the investigation. Until they're done with everything." Her voice was quiet, almost a murmur, but carried an undeniable weight of certainty.

Nelly chewed on her lip, processing this new piece of information. "You know where he's living?" she asked, her voice softer now, the earlier agitation replaced by a hesitant curiosity.

Stella nodded, a slight dip of her chin. "Chidi told me."

The two young women walked in silence, the campus slowly giving way to the quieter, residential streets surrounding it.

They navigated a labyrinth of narrow lanes, past houses with corrugated iron roofs and vibrant bougainvillea spilling over fences. Finally, Stella stopped before a low, unassuming gate, painted a peeling green.

"This is his apartment," Stella murmured, her voice barely a whisper. She pushed open the gate, its hinges groaning in protest, and stepped inside. Nelly followed, her eyes scanning the quiet compound. It felt like a world away from the bustling campus, a place where grief could settle heavy and undisturbed.

They approached the first door on the right, a simple wooden panel with a faded number '3' tacked crookedly above the frame. She raised her hand, her knuckles brushing lightly against the wood. *Knock, knock, knock.* The sound was soft, almost tentative.

They waited but there was no response. Stella tried again, a little louder this time, still nothing. No movement, no rustle from within, no faint murmur of a voice.

Nelly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze drifting towards the other doors in the compound. "Maybe he's not here," she whispered, her voice tinged with disappointment. "Maybe he went home after all."

Stella noded in agreement. They was about to turn away when a voice broke the silence.

"Are you looking for someone?"

They both spun around. An older woman, her face etched with the wisdom of years, stood in the doorway of the apartment opposite Kingsley's.

She wore a vibrant wrapper, tied snugly around her waist, and a colorful headscarf that framed her kind eyes.

Nelly stepped forward, a polite smile gracing her lips. "Good afternoon, ma. We're looking for Kingsley. He's our schoolmate."

The woman's eyes, bright and knowing, flickered towards Kingsley's door. "Ah, Kingsley. Yes, he's inside. He's been sleeping most of the day, poor boy." Her voice was soft, laced with sympathy. "Just push it open, my dears. He probably didn't hear you knock."

Nelly and Stella exchanged a glance, a mix of surprise and relief. The woman's casual instruction to simply push the door open spoke volumes about the communal nature of the compound, and perhaps, Kingsley's current state of detachment.

Stella nodded her thanks to the woman, then turned back to the door. She reached out with a gentle push, the door swung inward with a faint creak, revealing a dimly lit interior.

They stepped inside, the sudden quiet of the small apartment enveloping them.

The apartment was sparsely furnished: a worn armchair in one corner, a small, rickety table piled with books, and a single bed against the far wall.

On the bed, Kingsley was laying there, his breathing was slow and even, the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders the only sign of life in the still room.

Nelly and Stella stood just inside the doorway, rooted to the spot. The sight of Kingsley, so vulnerable in his sleep, struck them with an unexpected force.

"Stella," Nelly whispered, her voice barely a breath, "wait here for me." Her eyes, wide and earnest, met Stella's. "I need to go to the international market. I need to… to buy something for Kingsley. I'll meet you back here soon."

Stella's brow furrowed, a silent question in her gaze. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but Nelly was already turning, her movements swift and decisive. Before Stella could utter a word, Nelly had slipped back out the door, leaving Stella alone in the quiet, dim room with the sleeping Kingsley. The door swung shut with a soft click, plunging the room back into a deeper stillness.

Stella sat at the corner of the bed, a strange mix of bewilderment and resignation washing over her.

The shadows deepened, transforming familiar objects into indistinct shapes. Stella felt a strange sense of timelessness settle over her, she drifted her gaze back to Kingsley, the thin blanket, barely a whisper of fabric, clung to the contours of his sleeping form.

The blanket had slipped, revealing the faint outline beneath, his breath hitched, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, as his body responded to the warmth of the room, or perhaps, to a dream.

Stella's eyes widened, a slow heat blooming in her chest as she looked down to his boxers.

A profound erection, standing proud even in sleep. A strange fascination pulled her closer, an almost primal curiosity.

She hadn't considered Kingsley in this way, not truly. A bold thought bloomed in her mind, a temptation.

Her fingers, almost without conscious command, twitched as she leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat.

Her hand, hesitant at first, then reached above the rising preek beneath the fabric. Her fingers brushed against the soft cotton of his boxers, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt up her arm.

She felt the warmth, the undeniable hardness, beneath her palm. A soft gasp escaped her lips, swallowed by the quiet room. She rubbed, a slow, deliberate caress, her palm pressing against the burgeoning length.

The fabric shifted, creating a subtle friction against his skin. He stirred, a low groan rumbling in his chest, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing deep and even.

He was still lost in the depths of sleep.

A bolder impulse seized her. Her hand slid inside, her palm cupping the heavy weight, fingers wrapping around his p***s. It was hot, slick with pre-c*m, pulsing with a life of its own.

She pulled his pen!s out, slowly, carefully, she rubbed her hand on it, ensuring not to disturb his sleep.

Her mission, clear and urgent, solidified in her mind. Even if her Virgina won't have a text of him, she would at least sock his p***s till her satisfaction.

Stella lowered herself, her knees bending closer, her lips, soft and slightly parted, hovered above the swollen p***s.

A soft, wet kiss enveloped the tip. She drew his p***s slowly, carefully, her tongue tracing the rim, exploring the slickness.

A low hum vibrated in her throat as the taste of the salty and primal filled her mouth.

She began to suck it slowly, her cheeks hollowing, her throat working. The tip of her tongue flicked, teasing, circling, before she took more of him in, deeper, her l!ps sealing around the shaft.

A deep thrum began in her core, a coil of desire tightening, winding. The gentle sucking intensified, becoming more confident, more demanding. Her h!ps swayed, a subtle, unconscious rhythm, as she socks it.

A hunger and desire of s*x she hadn't known existed. She wanted more, she wanted all of him. She wanted to feel his p***s inside her, to be filled by this raw, potent mascul!nity.

The thought, shocking and exhilarating, sent a rush of heat through her veins.

A low, guttural groan, distinct from the sounds of sleep. Stella froze, her lips still clamped around his p***s.

Kingsley's body tensed beneath her, a tremor ran through him. His eyes slowly opened, they focused, slowly, on Stella's dark mass of hair, so close to his p***s, then, on her.

His breath caught, a strangled sound escaped his throat. He tried to move, a futile twitch of his legs, but a profound weakness held him captive. His body, heavy with grief and sleep, refused to obey.

He simply stared, his eyes widening, a mixture of shock, confusion, and a dawning understanding.

A slow smile, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch, touched the corners of his lips. A sigh, deep and contented, escaped him. He submitted. His body relaxed, a silent surrender to the unbelievable pleasure. He closed his eyes again, not in sleep, but in pure, unadulterated enjoyment. His h!ps lifted, a subtle, unconscious push into her mouth, a silent invitation for more.

Stella felt the subtle shift, the change in his breathing, her eyes, still wide, met his. They were open. He was awake.

And he was enjoying it. A rush of power, of heady triumph, surged through her. He was hers, completely. The last vestiges of hesitation vanished, replaced by a fierce, driving hunger.

She pulled her mouth away as she released him, the head of his p***s glistening, wet with her saliva. She looked at him, her eyes dark with desire.

Her fingers went to the hem of her loose top, pulling it up, over her head, discarding it onto the floor. Her bra followed, unhooking with a quick flick of her fingers, revealing her breasts.

They were full, firm, her n*****s already taut, erect with anticipation. She watched his eyes, saw them widen, fixated on her exposed flesh. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

His hand, surprisingly strong despite his earlier lethargy, found her breast, his fingers closing around it, squeezing it hard. A sharp gasp tore from Stella's throat, a mixture of pain and pure, exquisite pleasure.

He began to rub his fingers against her n****e, eliciting a sharp, delightful ache. He pulled her closer, his grip tightening, his eyes burning into hers.

Stella couldn't hold back. The last threads of modesty, of reserve, snapped. She tore at her jeans, the zipper rasping loudly in the quiet room. Her underwear followed, discarded with a single, swift motion.

She was naked. Fully exposed. Her p***y, wet and throbbing, pulsed with an insistent need. She straddled him, her knees landing on either side of his hips, the soft hair of her mound brushing against his inner thigh.

Her weight settled on him, her wet p***y hovering over his hard c**k, a silent promise of what was to come. She looked down at him, her eyes blazing, a silent question in their depths. He reached up, his hands finding her ass, pulling her down, hard, onto him. A sharp, guttural cry tore from her throat as she impaled herself on his c**k.