Silence is our best friend as Brandon carries me up the stairs. He lowers me to the bed, I latch on to him, afraid to let go for fear of him leaving the room. Panic sinks its claws into my heart when he retracts my hands from his body, I gulp, he hasn’t said a word since my confession downstairs. I should have kept my mouth shut, kept kissing him.

“Brandon,” I say. His face is unreadable, my heart skips. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

He kneels between my legs, smiles. “Don’t be.”

My fingers reach for his beards, they are shinier like he took extra time with them today but he turns his face away and my hand drops to my legs. I try to remind myself it has nothing to do with me, that this is not revenge and he still finds me attractive. Pulling the cover to my chest, tears coat my lashes, I take in a deep breath and exhale slowly.

“I am sorry.” Brandon squeezes my knees, I clutch the bedcover, staring down at his hands which my fingers itch to caress but I can’t, he doesn’t want me to. If he’s not upset why can’t I touch him? My lips quiver, I don’t owe him an apology, yet I say, “I am sorry.”

A sigh escapes him, he cups my face. “Elna, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

But he doesn’t pull me close, even when my tongue runs over my lip, when I moan and stare unabashedly at his plump lip tucked between his teeth, he doesn’t kiss me. It hurts, his withdrawal, deliberate effort to keep his eyes on my face, to keep me at bay.

I don’t want that. I want to kiss him, to touch him everywhere. Brandon’s hand lowers when I lean forward to press my lips on his, I panic at the loss of contact. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he snaps.

Then I lost it, I start weeping. “Stop shouting at me,” I manage to say between my tears.

His voice is too close, I jerk back at the light touches on my knuckles. “I didn’t mean to.”

Trying to pry my hands away from my face, I push him and get into the bed with a heavy heart. “Whatever,” I say and sniff, wiping the useless tears quick to make an appearance, I am tired of crying. “I don’t like you again. You can go back to your Paris girlfriends.”

His chuckles elicit a long hiss from me, my comeback sounds childish to me but I am too heartbroken to care. Joining me on the bed in his boxers and singlet, I try to turn away from him but he is having none of that. In the end, he succeeds in pulling me up so my head can rest on his chest and a growl from him stops my wiggling. I gulp, clearing my throat to cover up the sound of my thumping heart which he doesn’t seem to notice. 

The silence stretches into something more uncomfortable, hangs over us like an apple dangling precariously from its tree. When I can’t take it any longer, I pinch his nipple, tug on the hairs of his chest. He winces but doesn’t stop me, I pull harder from the roots until his palm closes over my hand. And I giggle. Ironman does have the ability to feel.

“That day at the office,” Brandon starts. I freeze, I don’t want to remember that day, his pause, the words unsaid and questions unanswered. But he wants to. “I was going to say love is a process.” On this, I can agree with him. My head bobs, I start tracing circles on his solid abs, trailing the line between his firm chest to his belly button. “It takes time.”

“I think I am getting there with your help,” he continues. We share a look at this, I cough and he smiles. “I know I am not there yet and I need you to be more patient with me. But you got upset, wife.” There is no malice in his voice yet it stings and maybe that was his intention. “It’s unfair of you to punish me for not loving you the same way you love me.”

The hurt laced in his words stabs my heart in multiple places but I am hurt too, he did this to us with his insensitivity. We are not the best couple but we do our best, we tried to take it slow, do it our way and it worked. Until he decided to walk away. There are still questions that need to be answered and I am scared to hear his replies to them.

In a barely audible voice, I say, “It’s unfair of you to not love me the same way I love you.”

An apology, a remark, I don’t know, words are already working their way out of my lips at the prolonged silence but he beats me to it. And my shoulders deflate in relief. I pinch his nipple, his hand slides to the small of my back, slips into my shorts and cups my ass.

“I know that and I’m trying, it’s a process.”

With Brandon’s eyes fixated on the ceiling, I can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling and I want to. Sometimes, I think he is ashamed of me seeing him being vulnerable. But I don’t mind. I don’t care. I am his wife, wifey, I will love him on his good and bad days without hesitation. No second thoughts. It is what I signed up for by agreeing to marry him.

“Try harder. Say it until you believe it,” I reply.

“I want to say it when I believe it.” I turn sharply like another look at his face will burn me. His tone is patronising. “Elna, I promise to try harder. Please be patient with me.”

The hand inside my short kneads my butt, trails my buttcrack to the material covering my vagina and I hold my breath. I wiggle out of my shorts and underwear to allow him more access, he laughs and I welcome the melodious sound, smiling sheepishly at him.

Throwing my legs on each side of him, I litter wet kisses on his throat, kiss my way up to his lips which I claim with a feverish need he reciprocates. Moans spill from my pulsing lips, I grind on him when he tries to break off our kiss, lace our fingers above his head.

I don’t want this to end, not until my needs are satisfied. My hand reaches into his boxers to free his throbbing member, I slide onto it effortlessly and Brandon goes stiff.

It takes a few minutes for the events from the office to rush back to me, this feels like a repeat of that day and my lips pucker into a pout. Batting my lashes at him, I whisper, “I promise I won’t stop, I want this too.” Amber eyes bore into mine, he shakes his head as my hand goes behind to unhook my bra. “Brandon, please don’t stop me. I want this.”

To buttress my point, I move again with his dick buried inside my warmth but he is still rigid. Jutting my lower lip, I raise my head to his face and he sighs, bringing his finger to bop my nose. I push his finger into my mouth, run my tongue over the tip and moan.

“Elna, I want this too but we have to talk first.”

“But I’m horny,” I mutter, “you are too.” I motion to the lower part of our bodies merged in unity. He nods, I remove my bra and start moving slowly again, letting moans spill from my lips. I need him to quench this intense need, I know he wants to but only needs a little push. When he spanks my ass, I giggle and bounce on him so fast I lose my breath. “I’m becoming like you. You are the one who always picks sex over talk.”

The satisfaction in his eyes when he kneads my nipples has my hips jerking in a rhythm that has both of us moaning. Feeling powerful, I bounce slower on his dick. My fingers dig into the pillows, he spreads my ass and pounds into me. I breathe out his name, whisper it like a holy chant and my breasts bounce with the impact of his thrusting.

He flips me so I am under him, his mouth closes over one taut nipple, he pulls it between his teeth, flicking his tongue over it and my nails sink into his back. The combination of his dick buried inside me and his tongue circling my nipple has heat spreading through me. I gasp, my hip jerks forward in a horny frenzy but he refuses to quicken his pace.

“No,” he says, letting go of one nipple with a pop to focus on the other one. His beards against my skin tickle, I moan. “You are not becoming like me, you are better than me.”

Palming his cheeks before he can bury his face between my swells, I say, “Not really. I think we are both flawed. Imperfect but perfect in our imperfections.” Thrusting my hips, I splay my fingers on his chest, slide my arms around his neck. “Stop punishing me.”

But he continues the torture, gyrates his hips so slow, continuously hits the right spot with a lazy smile that shows he knows how much his actions are driving me crazy. Crazy to the point I almost switch our positions. I arch my back when my legs begin vibrating, my lower belly tightens and I clutch the sheet, screaming through my orgasm.

Brandon’s mouth swallows my screams, his fingers tickle my anus briefly and my head spins from the combination, an overload of pleasure. Disconcerted, I push him off me and cry out in protest when he retracts his finger. I want it. I want everything he offers.

“Do you like it?” he asks with a wicked smile. His finger hovers above my anus, he rotates his waist, reminding me of that part of his body that’s one with mine. “Do you?”

Unable to form a reply, I nod. “Do it again.”

And he does.

Over and over again, pumping into me until his sperm fills my inside and I am a moaning, writhing mess under him. Supporting his weight with his hands, he pecks my lips, I stare morosely at him, breathing heavily and he rolls to the side to lie beside me.

Our chests rise and fall, sweat drips down our faces with the smell of sex thick in the air. I breathe in. His cum trickles to my thighs, his hand finds mine and he squeezes it.

“Brandon, we didn’t talk,” I say in a high pitch voice devoid of remorse or regrets, eyes on the ceiling. A contented yawn leaves my lips, I giggle, sated. “We can talk now.”

On cue, we burst out laughing and I snuggle close to my husband, accepting his warmth. His arm loops around my waist, we lay there in our mess and sweat, basking in the euphoria of love, the aftereffect of an overdue conjugacy and unspoken understanding.

* * *

A faint voice filters into my ear, my eyelids flutter open and I am blessed with a vision of Brandon leaning over me with pouted lips. His hand stroking a side of my face freezes, he smiles when I stretch like a cat and my mouth parts wide open to release a yawn.

I swipe the hair falling into my eyes, he gawks at me like I did something extraordinary. I giggle, feeling shy and my hands search for the duvet to cover my nakedness but I can’t find it. One look at the bed and I see he has changed the sheet and cleaned me up.

My gaze fixates on his bare chest, lowers to his biker shorts and I purse my lips. Okay, I might have overslept but it’s on him. My teeth sink into my lip at the reminder of our lovemaking, fucking—whatever best describes it—and shyness creeps up on me. A brush of his fingers on my nipples, I feel them standing at attention again, wanting for more.

His head dips to my neck, he whispers against my skin, “Good morning wifey.” I place a hand on his shoulders, his head raises and he wiggles his brows. “Did you sleep well?”

Stunned into silence by how long I slept, I can only manage a nod. If I slept that long, I shouldn’t feel this tired. “I did, Brandon. I did.” He palms my belly, I gulp and he flashes me a seductive smile before his hand inches closer to my vagina. “How about you?”

“I did too.” He rolls to his back, taking the warmth of his fingers and I pout, he should have continued. “No, don’t cover up,” he adds when I find the duvet crumpled at my feet.

Letting go with a frown, I sit up and use a pillow to hide my chest. “But you’re covered.”

No sooner do those words depart my lips when he rips off his shorts, leaving both of us in the same state of undress. “How about now?” I chuckle and hobble to sit on his laps.

“Now is fine,” I say, pulling his head down for a kiss. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Emboldened by our nudity, I wiggle on his laps, stroke his dick. He moans his approval, his hand on my waist keeps me from falling off him in my excitement. I feel like a baby in the arms of her protector with the way he gently rocks me. Safe, relaxed and content.

Resting his weight on the headboard, his eyes fleet to my face, my arms wrap around his torso and he smiles. “I should but you were asleep,” he replies. “I couldn’t leave.”

My lips pucker into a pout, I shake my head and tsk. “Brandon. You should have woken me,” I say though I am glad he didn’t. Through the unusual weakness of my limbs and caving of my stomach in hunger, I add, “I would have continued sleeping after you left.”

“It’s alright, I wanted to be here.” I stiffen when his hand lingers on my breast, does he also notice the size? He pinches a nipple, I wince at the painful pleasure that follows.

“I sleep so much now,” I say after a moment of silence passes. The seductive rhythm of his heart has another yawn escaping me, the third since I switched to his laps. His eyes narrow but he keeps mute. Feeling like I owe him an explanation, I continue, “I don’t know why.”

Sophia’s words float to the surface of my mind, the possibility of a pregnancy and I shove it down. Anybody can sleep as much as I do, it’s the stress. Of a new semester, of being alone for a month. It has to be. I will have to confront my fear soon, I can’t avoid it any longer. Since when did pregnancy scare me? I am a baby lover, I think. I love kids.

“Maybe you need to see a doctor.”

The vibration of Brandon’s voice against my skin adds to my growing need to relive yesterday’s actions, I place a kiss on his chest and say, “Not if the doctor is Sophia.”

He chuckles. “Fine, no Sophia.”

Sitting in front of him with my legs crossed, I reward him with a smile. My fingers run in circles on his scalp, through his fast-growing hair. He flashes me a half-smile, watching my face for any sign of repulsion but I stick my tongue out. I am over it. Staring at him through the eyes of a stranger, I see what Clarissa meant by the haircut suits him.

“Now I don’t hate you so much, it’s easy to see the haircut looks good on you,” I blurt out and my hand goes over my mouth. I swear that was not what I meant to say. “Sorry.”

To my pleasant surprise, Brandon finds humour in my statement and he tickles me so much I fall to the bed with a laugh. Hovering above me, he pecks my lips and I massage his shoulders. “Elna, so you hate your husband?” he teases, peppering kisses on my jaw.

Moving my head left and right, I say, “Nope.” I should also tell him how much I love him but for strange reasons, I can’t bring myself to do that. “I don’t. I can never hate you.”

Returning to his former position, he says, “I like your hair.” I sit up slowly with my heart pounding as my hand moves across my scalp. The scarf is gone. I grimace, he winks.

The sight of Brandon smoothening the creases on the pillow he drops to his laps should have made me laugh. It’s so unnatural. I should have yanked the wig off but I stay put.

“It’s a wig,” I simply say and watch his face for any reaction but he gives none away. I have to call Clarissa to tell her this too, I was trying to do that but she wouldn’t pick. With my hands covering his, I pout. I need him to say something. “I was so mad at you.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

Propping my elbows on his pillow, my lips pucker and I mutter a small, “No.” Brandon chuckles. He traces a line up and down my forearm, leaving tiny sparks in its wake and sighs. The throbbing between my legs recedes, my stomach knots and I pinch his cheeks, hoping for his half-smile to grace his face. It doesn’t.

“You haven’t told me you loved me or called me baby in a few days,” he says in a voice I might have missed if I wasn’t seated close to him. I must have scared him with my facial expression because forced laugher slips from him. In my defence, it came as a shock to me. The neutrality he tried to adopt when admitting this didn’t escape me. It hurt him.

“Elna, I’m not complaining, I’m just saying. More like an observation.” I nod, he sighs while running his hand over his face and I slide the pillow out of the way. “I miss it.”

Taking a seat on his laps, his penis pokes my butt and my hands move to the back of his head. His eyes follow me as my hands lower to massage his shoulders until he relaxes and I lift my head to kiss him. Kneading my butt softly, he allows me to kiss him how I want, rough and bruised, then slowly as if to make up for being rugged the first time.

We pull away to catch our breaths, I press my forehead to his, appreciating his beauty and his eyes darken with affection. “I thought you didn’t like being called baby.”

Fear sneaks up on me when his eyes lower to my breasts, maybe he didn’t stare at them for too long but it feels that way to me. I clear my throat to call his attention, he offers me a sheepish smile I fail to reciprocate. Will he smile this much if the pregnancy is real? I roll my lip between my teeth. Damn Sophia for putting that thought into my head.

“I didn’t.” He pouts, I squeeze his lips. “But I got used to it and I don’t want you to stop.”

To be honest, I didn’t realise I stopped doing that, it felt right to call him by his name as the awkwardness progressed. I pinch his cheeks, his lips pucker. He is still my baby.

“Alright, baby Brandon,” I mutter against his lips, punctuating each word with a kiss to stop his protests. “I love you. Even on the days you frustrate me and you do that a lot.”

That earns me a laugh before a serious look takes over his features. “I cherish you, I do. I don’t want to lose you, Elna.” His eyes close, he exhales and I slick his brows. “When your line was unreachable and I could not get to you, I thought you...” I freeze when his eyelids part, at the emotions flooding his eyes. “I thought you left me and I remember thinking I deserved it. You’re right, I’m so stupid sometimes,” he says with a laugh.

That feels like my line, something I should have said because that was how I felt. I hit his chest, once, twice, until I am pummelling him softly. He grabs my hands when it doesn’t seem like I intend stopping, our noses touch, lips are only inches away. My eyes water.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry wifey. I don’t like it when you cry.” My shoulders shake, I let out a pained sound. “I think I should stop talking,” he says and I almost choke on my laughter. Tears roll down my cheek, I shake my head, men are clueless sometimes. I like listening to him, I like, no, I love open, willing-to-communicate Brandon. “Wifey, smile.”

And I do just that, I smile and let him cradle me in his arms. Another day we will discuss the source of his pain and fears but for now, I let him comfort me with his words.