Brandon is clingy. No, I am clingy. I don’t want my husband to leave me for work. My grip on his arm tightens, he groans into my ear, kissing away my resistance until I let go.

“You are leaving me,” I say.

Another kiss lands behind my ear, trailing to my neck, my jaw and my lips. “To work, wifey.” Rolling to my back, my robe opens, he cups one of my overly sensitive breasts and kneads the nipple. I suck in a ragged breath. “So I can have enough money to spoil you.” I snicker.

Unable to resist him, my eyes fly open and I thrust my tongue into his mouth. I pour my emotions into the kiss, kissing him fast and then slow until he pulls back to stare into my eyes. Shrugging off my robe, I fold my legs at the knees while my fingers move to the waistband of his boxers which I tug on until he grabs my hands above my head. My legs lock around his waist, my hips jerk forward and my crotch brushes his bulge. He hisses.

“I’ll be late,” he murmurs, eyes set on mine.

Focused on my face, he doesn’t spare a look at my naked body and I squirm under him. “You’re the boss, you are allowed to be late.” Touching him, I say, “Your wife needs you.”

“No, she doesn’t, she’s just horny.” I pout. It is not my fault I get so horny in the morning. It’s safe to blame him for that since it’s our baby that’s causing my raging need for sex.

Sensing my hesitance, he releases my hands and his ear rests on my stomach. I suck in a breath and wait. The doctor said we can hear the baby move as early as four months. No day passes without Brandon listening for that movement since I entered my second trimester.

“Nothing,” he says.

Disappointment leaks into his voice, my fingers brush his cheek until his breathing falls into a steady rhythm. Knowing he will be late to work should spur me into rousing him but this is one of the few times he is fully at rest. This is his best part of his mornings, after our lovemaking. We have too many great parts for me to pick a favourite.

His stubble tickles my skin, I grumble when he flicks a finger over a nipple. A look at his face reveals his closed eyes but that slight curving of his delicious lips is enough confirmation that my naughty husband is awake. And I want what he has to offer.

“You are not allowed to do that,” I whisper in a husky voice when he rolls my taut bud between his fingers, closing my eyes to savour the mini-explosion going on inside me at the delicate contact. “Or, it might lead to something more. And you will be late.”

I yelp when his fingers slide in and out of my wetness, my core clenches around them. I swear I am always wet around him. A shadow falls over my face, my breath quickens and my eyes open to see him smiling down at me. He loves watching what he does to me. I make kissy faces at him, he shoves his fingers deeper into my core, I arch my back and he sticks his tongue out as my face contorts with pleasure, bending to suck my lips.

Breathing on my neck, he says, “Maybe I have time for a quickie.” The pressure of his fingers moving inside me causes a growl to escape me. His boxers vanish, he licks his wet digits clean. Dipping his head to kiss me, he shoves his tongue into my mouth.

Our tongues are still locked when he slides into me, I gasp, my fingers scrape his back as his hips rock slowly. He trails kisses all over my body, my neck, my chest, every part of me his mouth can reach and I match his pace with each jerk of my hips. Pumping into me, he thrusts harder and deeper into my core and my vision blurs. My mouth parts, I breathe out his name, trembling through my release as he pumps into me one last time.

A phone pings, his phone, I set a ringtone for me. I roll away before he has a chance to pull me to his chest. I miss being inside him after sex but my bump won’t permit us.

“That you, El?” he asks. I place a pillow over my face to hide my shyness, it disappears and Brandon’s handsome face hovers above me. “You sent another text?” I nod, his brows crease in confusion but I know he enjoys reading the messages I have made a daily habit of sending him since that morning in Brianna’s room. “How do you do that?”

The stickiness between my legs reminds me we need to clean up but I want to relish his presence, feel his body on mine a bit longer until he has to leave for work. He comes home late these days. I don’t want to be the nagging wife who demands his presence every hour knowing how much he tries to be here for me. I pinch his cheeks and smile.

“I schedule them. No,” I scream when he rolls onto his back to reach for his phone on the drawer. I send the texts to ease some of the guilt weighing him down, to remind him he deserves the best things but I don’t want to be around him when he reads them. They are too cheesy and Google helped me with this one. I don’t want to reveal my source.

“Did I do something?” he asks.

Worry laces his voice, I shake my head and plant a kiss on his cheek, he hasn’t done anything except being the perfect spouse. But I hate how quick he is to assume he has done the worse. Slipping my arms around his chest, I tuck my head into his shoulder.

Photographs of us from our honeymoon comes into view. Even the one where I had a thumb in my mouth. A few selfies he framed also grace the wall. Most of the pictures are of only me or us and I hope to change that. As soon as my secret collection grows. It is difficult to convince him to take a picture alone so I have resorted to snapping him unaware.

Joy rips through me at the picture covered wall like I’m seeing them anew. My hand sinks into his hair, I place a kiss on his temple. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a logical voice screams for me to chase him out of the bed. The text was scheduled to deliver by eight when I am certain he is at work. But he is still here.

I feel myself getting lifted, I wound my legs around him as we saunter to the bathroom. Relief floods me when we get into the shower without a mention of the message, jets of water descends on us and we take turns to scrub ourselves. Laughing between scrubs.

“Your antenatal is today,” he murmurs. I nod, spinning so he can rinse me. I forgot about it, I forget a lot these days. The doctor calls it pregnancy brain. I hope it ends soon, I have started my thesis and I need to remember everything I study, more like, cram.

“Are you coming?” I ask, it’s my turn to rinse him. He doesn’t turn around like I did, a sad look creeps into his eyes and my lips turn down in a frown. “You are not coming.”

We stand naked under the shower with glistening bodies, staring at each other while waiting for the first person to break the ice. This is my second antenatal visit, I don’t want to go alone even if the women I have seen attend it without their spouses.

“I’m not sure I can get off early,” he says.

The guilt in his eyes intensifies, I try to maintain my smile but my eyes water. He pulls me into a hug, I return his embrace. I am such a cry baby. Drawn back to the present by his finger stroking my spine, I remind myself of his affection for me and our baby.

“Okay,” I say into his chest. “You can’t help it,” I add before he has a chance to blame himself. “I understand, okay?” On my toes, I place a kiss on his forehead, nose and lips.

His megawatt smile could have lighted up a room, I slap his chest when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and pulls my nipples like it’s not an attachment of my body. He winks, I press my lips into a thin line to stop the smile from forming. Behind his thick skin is a naughty and mischievous man, I love having him around but he has to work.

“You’ll be late,” I say with a smile. On the inside, I am a mess, I want him to stay. “If you don’t leave now, I will lock you inside so we can labour over my boring thesis together.”

He frowns. “Do you need help with that?”

If I get a pound for every time he offers to help me with my little, impractical problems, I might be richer than him. I take in a deep breath, my smile grows wider and his fades.

“Sorry, buddy, you can’t help me. Your head isn’t made for that kind of stuff.” He scowls, I pat his chest, putting on my most serious expression. “Stick to being a CEO, I got this.”

Already used to my subtle jabs, Brandon snickers and scoops me into his arms. At least I don’t make expensive jokes like him. “I take no offence to that, wifey. Try again.” I giggle, maybe I will, but another day. “Guess what shoes I’m wearing today?” My lips purse while I pretend to think. We never discuss his shoes, only his choice of outfits. “Guess.”

“My flip-flops?”

Brandon almost drops me, his body quakes with laughter and I latch onto him. “Terrible guess, El. Jesus, your shoes don’t even come in my size.” I shrug, he told me to guess and I did. “My boots, I’m wearing my boots. You know, the one my beautiful wife got me.”

Heat floods my cheek, I hide my face and he snorts. The black Chelsea boots are made for his feet and I am proud to be the one who gifted him his first pair of fancy shoes. His shoe collection consists of brogues, leather shoes and more complicated footwears only found on men who wear suits all day. He wears the boots every Friday but today is Monday.

I love this man.

Setting me on the bed gently, he kneels between my leg and I anticipate a question at his fleeting smile. “I’ve rubbed off on you with the writing. What did you write this time?”

My nervousness returns. “Find out yourself.”

“I can but I want to hear it from you.” Oh, boy. He will laugh at me. “Please? No, keep your eyes open.” I retract my hands from my face, I should have scheduled the message later. “Look at me.” My head lifts to his face, thoughts swarm my head. “Thank you.”

Though ingrained in my head, I still have trouble voicing the content. I cough. “Will you be my beginning, my middle, my end? Will you be mine because I am already yours,” I whisper.

A long, painful pause ensues. He stares at me, mouth opening and closing. I force a smile to my lips. I knew that was stupid, I should stick to my cheesy one-liners instead of taking and tweaking love notes from Google.

Brandon’s finger caresses my jaw, I look up. He smiles. “Yes.” He nods vehemently. “Yes, wifey.”