The ten-minute wait for Brandon soon extends to thirty, my feet drum into the floor and I clench my phone in sweaty palms, waiting for a message to explain his lateness. Tree branches hang above me, providing relief from the heat but my underarm still perspires.

Curly hair’s card is still on the bench, the name written in Calligraphic letters at the top is David. After much contemplation, I snatch it and put it into my bag. I can rip it later.

A Google search of the name David whispered to me reveals nothing but an image of Brandon and a girl who looks less than five years old. Tapping on the link leads me to a site temporarily down, I hiss. Okay, this David guy is an unserious hustler. He will need to give me more than a name the almighty Google can not identify if he wants my help.

Brandon’s car, a black BMW, slows to a stop in front of me, I slide to the passenger side before he has the chance to get out, closing the door with more force than necessary.

“Elna.”

Throwing my bag on the backseat, I fasten my seatbelt. “Just drive.”

He doesn’t. I turn on the radio, he shuts it off. Still, I don’t glance his way. Folding my arms, my fingers sink into my palms and I hiss. The time on the dashboard sends new waves of anger rippling through me, I dig my nails into my palms and chew my lips.

Arriving one hour after our phone call, no explanations and he expects me to smile or throw myself at him. I scoff. Removing my sandals, I dump them in the back. For a brief moment, I toy with the idea of using the short heel to make a dent on his forehead. That way, he will know never to arrive late again. The thoughts send shivers down my spine, I rebuke myself for thinking that way. What is wrong with me and this recent violence?

“I told you I will be late,” he mutters when I continue staring out the window like there’s anything more interesting than the bunch of students coming out of the library. “Elna.”

To prove him wrong, I reach for my phone and he seizes that chance to uproot me from my seat to his laps. And all hell breaks loose. I slap, try to claw his eyes out but he grabs my wrists and my body vibrates with anger. He levels me a stern glare, I yank my hands from his grip to slap him. How dare him? After keeping me waiting, he still feigns anger.

“Elna,” he says, eyes locked with mine. The barely concealed anger in his eyes doesn’t leak to his voice, I try to slap him again but his grip on my wrists stops me. Holding my hands behind me, he frowns. “Why are you so mad at me? Did something happen?”

Pain travels to my shoulders, my mouth opens and closes before I can form a reasonable reply. “Yes, something happened.” I wince. “You. You happened. You kept me waiting here without...” I never finish my statement because tears roll from my eyes. “You.”

A look of panic crosses Brandon’s face, he releases my hands to wipe the tears leaking to my cheeks, launching into an explanation I don’t care for. Who keeps their wife waiting?

“You didn’t send me any text,” I cut him off and plug my fingers into my ears to avoid hearing his sorry excuses. My eyes follow his movement to his phone. “It didn’t deliver.”

Pointing at the messages on his phone, I say, “It didn’t deliver. See it. You should have checked.” His eyes linger on the screen, understanding dawns on him and he flashes me a contrite smile. I rub the spot I hit, massaging his reddened cheek. “Does it hurt?”

He chuckles, covers my small hand with his. “No. You hit like a lady.”

My head snaps to his face. “I’m a lady.” He nods with a pensive look like I said something profound and I can’t help giggling. “Sorry for hitting you. I was upset, I thought you forgot.”

Pushing his seat back to create more legroom for us, I pinch his cheek when he says, “Of course not.” My shoulders deflate, that’s right, he will never forget to pick me up. “What happened today?” His finger stroking my ear causes me to lift my head. “Talk to me.”

Josh’s face flashes behind my closed eyelids. His anger, disgust at me, I shiver. Brandon taps me, my eyes fly open and I push myself up so our mouths are a few inches away.

“I threw up on Joshua,” I say. His movements on my lower back cease, eyebrows crease.

Confusion spreads all over his face. “What?”

The smile I try so hard to maintain disappears, I tuck my head into the space between his neck and shoulder to avoid seeing his disappointment. “I threw up on Joshua. Sorry.”

“Please don’t be sorry.” I sniff, wetting his shirt with my tears. “Are you okay?”

Sitting up so our foreheads are touching, I mutter, “I don’t know. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” he says with a smile that warms my heart and eases the guilt. I should call Josh but he won’t pick. His eyes moisten with unidentifiable emotions, my breath hitches and I have to clear my throat. “Is it your period?” I shake my head, I have two weeks until it shows up. Besides, I barely throw up on my period. “We need to get you to the doctor.”

I loop my arms around his neck to stop him from switching positions. “After our date.”

Emotions contest on his face as he ponders his reply, I poke his cheek and pout. Our last date was in Paris. The reminder sends warring reactions erupting inside me. I want our first date in Manchester to go smoothly, at the same time, I want a repeat of that night.

“Okay. Tomorrow morning?” Brandon is asking when he stops to inspect my face. I want him. My lips part to let out a soft moan, I palm his face. “Elna, what time works for you?”

Though his lips are moving, his eyes convey another message. One that deeply interests me. They blaze with need, hunger and I dip my head to claim his lips. Our kiss is languid but hot. Soft but exploring. Pulling away to press a kiss on his nose, my eyelids flutter, lips tingle, I find his mouth and claim it again, pouring my horniness into our kiss.

“Morning is fine,” I whisper against his lips and he nods his agreement. He trails the skin of my back visible in my dress, I arch my back and my hips jerk forward. I let the delicious sensations take over me. A little breathless, I say, “Baby, how was work?”

“Fine.” His finger touches my lip, I make to bite it but he is faster and my mouth closes over thin air. We laugh. “Same old boring stuff.” I make a disgruntled sound, weapons and electric cars are far from boring. “I didn’t know the texts didn’t deliver, couldn’t leave the meeting.” He chuckles. “I was thinking you had left when I got no replies.”

Pushing myself up, my nose brushes his. “I couldn’t leave, I was waiting for you. But I was upset,” I say the last part with a face and it earns me a chaste kiss. “Next time check to see the texts delivers.” With a nod, he squeezes my butt. “Who’s Brendan Stark?”

He squints. “Who?” His hands slip under my gown, slides up to my butt and I position my crotch directly on his growing erection. “Where did you get that name?”

“Some guy, I don’t know him well enough.” I gasp when he shifts, although by accident, it sends jolts of electricity through me and I cream my panties. “Talking about Brendan Stark, do you know him?” I moan, trying to repeat the move, to feel the sensations again.

Responding with kisses along my neck, he grunts, my head falls back and I start moving on his bulge.

“El, don’t do that.” But I bounce harder on his groin, sink my teeth into a corner of my lips and breathe out his name. He turns on the radio to drown out my sounds, I moan. “Elna.”

Clutching the seat, I bat my eyelashes and ask, “Have you had sex in a car?” His frown deepens into a scowl, he turns his face away and I continue talking, “I haven’t. I want to.”

Brandon’s silence has my excitement fading, I pout. “Baby?” He looks at me with a blank expression, I can’t decipher his thoughts. I close my eyes, when I’m sure enough tears have gathered in them, they flutter open. “Baby.” I sniff and jut my lower lip. “Brandon.”

“People can see us.” I look behind to see a student couple nearing the bench I vacated.

“I don’t care,” I say. “The windows are tinted.” The windshield isn’t but we can manage. My breath comes in short rasps, I let a tear roll down my cheek and sniff. My lips quiver, I hug myself. The couple leaves the bench, I point that out to him but he remains rigid, eyes set on my teary face. “Why are you doing this to your wife?” I hiccup. “Brandon.”

“You are blackmailing me,” he says with a disbelieving sigh, I blink fast. The pad of his thumb brushes my cheek, I lean into his touch. “You are blackmailing your husband.”

“Yes.” I sniff and exhale. “Is it working?”

* * *

Dusk sets when we are at the hotel’s rooftop for our date. I throw a glance at a frowning Brandon, a smile forms on my lips, he is not exactly pleased with the delay I caused. He had to make calls, change plans and venues for our late lunch date to an early dinner.

Box lamps cast soft orange glows on the floor, helping the evening sky illuminate our path. My hand slips from Brandon’s, he grunts and I let out a nervous chuckle. A colony of ants march in my belly, nerves light my body as we near the low table they set for us.

I tug on his arm when we reach the end of the rug, he tilts his head in my direction, still glowering and my smile vanishes. On my toes, I press my mouth to his, no kissing, no moving, a simple wordless plea. His hand slips to my back, he pulls my lip between his teeth and my legs wobble when he spanks my ass. My fingers weave into his scalp, breasts squash his chest and I kiss him hard enough to wipe the scowl off his face.

“Elna,” he breathes out. My head rears back to get a good look at his face. The scowl is gone, replaced with a tiny smile that sends sparks dancing all over my skin. I take his hands, give them a small squeeze and he brings my palms to his lips. “Naughty girl.”

His lips connect with my forehead, I palm his face to place a kiss on the top of his head, sliding down to his nose and eventually his eager mouth which I claim briefly. We stand there in content silence with the starless sky for company, noses touching, smiling with one of my hands splayed on his chest until we remember we have a dinner to attend to.

At Brandon’s request, I sit opposite him so he can get the best view of me and bless him with the sight of my tongue. My hand goes over my mouth to stifle a giggle, his lips pucker and I am tempted to lean over to kiss him. I can never get tired of kissing him.

“How’s your appetite now?” he asks, pushing his knees down in a butterfly pose. A small round table full of covered dishes separates us, I pout, I want to be closer to him. “Elna?”

Swallowing to wet my parched throat, I say, “Fine.” He gives me a pointed look, I shrug. I am okay but I won’t mind sitting between his legs or kissing him. “What’s on the menu?”

Opening a tray filled with chocolate-coated strawberries, he extends one of them to me and my mouth closes over the tip. Wiping the chocolate with my tongue, I chew the fruit slowly, my eyes never once leaving his. I notice his small intake of air, his rigidity and the mild dilation of his pupils before I snatch the half-eaten strawberry to finish it off.

“Close it,” I scream when he opens a new tray, placing a hand over my mouth and nose. I don’t know what’s in there but I want nothing to do with it. Maybe it’s just me but a putrid smell came out of it. His forehead wrinkles, I offer him a smile. “I don’t like it.”

The silence stretches as he sets the tray far from my reach, I nod when he points to the strawberries and gratefully accept the one he offers me. Done chewing, my palm runs up and down my arm, I watch him set two chinaware on the table, dish out lobster tail and steamed vegetables in one and roasted lamb dipped in red sauce on the other.

Without a word from him, I point at the tail and he chuckles, pushing the plate closer to me. I squeal when he pops open a bottle of champagne, he smiles. One sip from the glass and some of the knots in my belly dissolve, I shouldn’t feel this shy around him but I do.

The thought of ruining our date stops me from leaning back to enjoy his presence and the gift of nature. I take another sip to calm my nerves. It feels like we are celebrating more than a casual date but my mind draws blank when I try to remember the occasion.

“Are you okay?” he asks. We are on one of the four grey ottomans forming a mini square around the table, plates on our laps and knees touching. I nod, pushing the food on my plate before taking a bite. He feeds me at intervals from his plate, a larger portion of his meal goes to me. “Smile.” I manage to do that and he winks. “Did you read the letters?”

My fork freezes on my plate, I take another bite and nod.

To avoid him catching me on my instant lie, my eyes lower to my plate, I purse my lips. I know he is waiting for my response but my brain chooses this moment to go blank.

“Well,” he finally says and my nervousness heightens at his smile, it is as shaky as my inside. We are both nervous. “What did you think?” He clears his throat. “Did I do okay?”

“Awesome,” I blurt out. “Very nice,” I add to erase the sad look that crosses his face. “I liked it, I will read it every day.” The crossing of his arms is my cue to stop talking but I can’t stop rambling. “I didn’t know you could piece words together like that.” Patting his arm in an awkward gesture, I say, “Nice. I love it. I really do.” I swallow, begging my lips to shut but the words keep spilling out. “Well done, baby. Write me more letters, okay?”

The penetrating gaze he levels me speaks volume, I gulp, I am an awful liar. I open my mouth to defend myself and apologise but he cuts me off. “You didn’t read the letters.”

I am not sure which it is. If it’s the flatness of his voice or pained smile that frightens me. Gauging his reaction is futile, his face gives nothing away and I lick my lips, dropping my plate to the floor. He does the same, our unattended flutes long forgotten on the table.

“Baby, I was going to read them.” Straddling him, I rub the back of my hand against my eyes, bat my eyelashes and sniff. It doesn’t work. “Baby, I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

The apology falls on deaf ears. And I resort to the next best thing I know. Kissing. Well, I try to kiss him but the stubborn man ducks his lips. “Baby, I said I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

Brandon’s reply never comes because as soon as he turns to me, my lips blanket his. I don’t give him a chance to talk and he has to hold me at an arm’s length for me to stop. His eyes blaze with anger, feigning innocence, I blink and let my fingers caress his cheek.

With my panties lying somewhere in his car, a savage need crawls up my spine when my clit rubs against his groin through the silky material of his trouser. I hiss. Lust clouds my mind, I fiddle with his belt but he stops me with a scowl that further turns me on. I flash him a wicked grin, touch a finger to my tingling lips, our kiss was too brief. I want more.

My eyes are hooded when I reach for his buckle again, he grabs my hands. “No.”

Exasperated, I ask, “No, what?”

“I don’t want to have sex.” Saying this, he plugs me out of his laps and onto the ottoman.

“With me.”

Confusion is evident in his handsome face but he makes no move to bridge the fucking distance between us and my heart sinks to my stomach. I don’t like him now. “What?”

Shuffling to him, I plant myself back on his lap and whisper, “You don’t want to have sex with me.” The nod which follows has me closing my eyes to take a deep breath. “Why?”

Though his arms loop around my waist, his facial expression shows his disapproval and my chest constricts. Tears sting my eyes, I sniff, his frown deepens and I whimper. I am horny and that’s not a crime. “We had sex in the car, Elna. We were late because of that.”

Anger scorches my insides, I cross my arms under my breasts. “So now it’s my fault?”

“I just want us to talk.”

We can always talk with our bodies but whatever the great Brandon wants. Getting off his lap with huffs and puffs, I make sure there is an ottoman between us, fold my legs under me and narrow my eyes to slit. “If you want us to talk, then talk. Start talking.”

Unamused by my childishness, he plops himself in front of me and chuckles. I glare at him, letting out a long hiss. “Why do you love me?” he asks. I roll my eyes, he takes my hands and kisses my knuckles with a smile. “What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Without thinking twice, I say, “Your stupidity.”

He throws his hands in the air, his facade quickly cracking. Jumping to his feet, he says, “You complain I don’t communicate, then I write you letters and you fail to read them.”

Maybe I am at fault but it was an honest mistake. “I forgot okay? People forget things.”

“Okay.”

Instead of returning to his seat, he moves far away from me to lean on the railing with his hands running through his hair and I scoff. “Who even asked for a bloody letter?” He takes one step forward. “If you want to say something, say it. Don’t hide behind letters.”

Silence greets my outburst, pricking my skin like needles, the sound of plates getting stacked cuts through the air and I frown. “We should leave, I’m ready to go. Are you?”

Twiddling my hands, eyes downcast with tears pooling in them. I ruined it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I say, looking up. “I was wrong and I’m sorry.” Taking his seat, he nods, I pout. “I don’t want to go home yet. I’m just so horny and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Okay,” is all he says and my mouth dries up again. My eyes scan his face, he tilts his head and gives me his hand, I accept it and he carries me. Unzipping my gown causes my breasts to spill out, his finger circles the pink nipple pasties. “Your breasts are bigger.”

“Yes,” I say and cup my breasts. “They are sore too.” I wince when he yanks the pasties off, his mouth closes over a nipple and the pain disappears. “Are you still mad at me?”

“A bit.” He inserts his fingers into my mouth before I can plead for forgiveness, I suck on them gently. “Stop talking.” I nod and he lowers me to the ottoman, orders me to get on my knees. Baring my ass to him, I shiver at the warning in his voice. “I’ll be rough.”