Callused palms gently shake me awake. My eyes flutter open, my brows crease as I stare into amber eyes. He blinks, his lips curl into a smile that jogs my memory and I giggle.

“Brandon.”

Pressing my lips to his in a chaste kiss, I pull back, almost shy under his scrutiny and he chuckles. Propped up by a throw pillow, he stares down at me like he wants to uncover all my layers and take care of me forever. A feeling settles in my tummy. I like it. My lips pucker, he pecks me and I cup his face, giggling at the feel of his beards on my palms.

We revel in the comfort of each other’s presence until I ask, “How was your meeting?”

His arm snakes around my waist, he pulls me closer so our knees are touching. “Fine.”

Curious to know more, I pester him. “Just fine?” My eyes wander to the window, the night sky is illuminated by the lights coming from other skyscrapers. “I want details.”

Under the watchful gaze of the moon, Brandon launches into a talk about the investors, his current projects and estimated costs. I hit his chest when he, in his usual aloofness, describes one of them as nymph-like with a masculine face. Hit him again when he lists weapons, machines with similar names, certain I will never be able to distinguish them.

Satisfied with his answer, my lips curl into a smile. We maintain our position in silence. With his hand on my waist, mine on his cheek and our heartbeats for company, I feel closer to heaven. He shifts, his breath fans my face and I struggle to keep his gaze.

“What changed?” I ask.

This man is different. Brandon has always been nice, kind but there is an unexplainable gentleness around him. As if he is holding back from saying or doing the wrong things, making more efforts to please me. I should be glad but I know good things don’t come easy. Is this atonement for sins committed in Paris? But he didn’t cheat, I believe him.

He shrugs, his smothering gaze has my words drying up. His finger runs along my lips, so gentle, so sensual it leaves me with a strange satisfaction. That look is back again.

“Nothing changed. I was thinking about what you said.” I pull the blanket up to my nose as if to replace his touch when he rolls to his back, mortified at the jealousy that singes my insides when his gaze remains on the ceiling. It’s just a ceiling but I want him to feast his eyes on me. “I shouldn’t have cut my hair without asking you.” He shouldn’t have.

His hand finds mine, he gives it a gentle squeeze and I join him to stare at the ceiling. I wait to know if he will mention Clarissa and the calls, his new bio, he says, “El.” A hush falls over his office, I gulp. “I didn’t do it to hurt you or your feelings. I cherish you.”

The line between thoughtlessness and insensitivity blurs when Brandon is involved, I can’t tell which his actions are borne out of in some cases. Maybe it is a mix of both. I nod and give his hand another squeeze. “I know,” I say. I think I do. Since we are still in the honest zone, I inch close to him and fold my leg below his waist. My cheek connects with his chest, I trace random shapes on his stomach and he chuckles. “Do you love me?”

It’s the quietude that prompts me to change the question. I swallow the bile, clear my throat and draw aggressive circles on his chest. “Do you think you will ever love me?”

Unsure if his rejection would have stung as much as his hesitation, I press a finger to his lips when five seconds painfully crawl by without a response. Brandon’s head dips, our gazes lock and an emotion crawls into his eyes. His mouth parts open but I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. I don’t need an explanation, that is all he has to offer me.

If I jerk awake right before an earthquake and I am asked about my feelings for him, I won’t mince words or hesitate to remind anyone who cares to hear how much I love him. Even on the days it hurts the most. On the days he read my texts and didn’t reply.

“El.” My eyes open, I shrug his hand off and my legs go on each side to straddle him. Playtime is over. “Elna.” He tries to protest but the slow grind of my waist on his swell shuts him up. A moan escapes him, I discard my jacket and trail wet kisses on his neck.

No kissing, just light touches before you get down on him. Then leave him high and dry.

As I repeat the instructions in my head, a lump forms in my throat. He could have lied or pretended to think about his reply. I swallow hard, plastering a smile when his hands still on my breasts. I need him to be invested in this, as much as I am so I crush my pelvis on the bulge under me. He lets out a hiss and his fingers dig into my hips. Perfect.

The first button comes undone, the second and third too until I have rid him of his shirt. I trail a finger on his chest down to his buckle, he lifts his hands and I help him out of his singlet. I pinch his nipples, harder than I should have and it seems to turn him on. I scoff.

His pale skin contrasts with my hands flat on his chest, I hesitate, we are too different. My head lowers, my tongue circles his areola and my teeth tickle his nipple. I lift my eyes to his face, flash him a grin and he offers me a seductive smile. The back of his hand caresses my cheek, inching close to the corner of my lips and my tongue darts out to skim his knuckles. My mouth opens, I suck his finger to the middle knuckle and moan.

A glint crawls into his eyes which never leave mine, spit drips down the side of my lips when he inserts another finger into my mouth. My moans are muffled, I shut my mind and he withdraws his fingers to run the wet, pointy tips above the swell of my breasts.

No kissing but when he pulls my head down to claim my lips, I am helpless in his arms.

Brandon’s tongue collides with mine, I moan into his lips taking me to another world, a world where my control is almost slipping. His scent invades my senses, his lips pepper kisses on my jaw, leaving tingles in its wake. I let him kiss me, so hard, so fast, so rough.

The spanking of my ass releases a flood of emotions, my chest constricts. He doesn’t love me. He can’t love me. He will never love me. I hold his hands above his head, my breasts bounce as my hips start a slow, torturous dance on his member. Maybe it is a twerk or a bounce, I don’t know but I continue, sometimes, slowing my pace for a few seconds as he trembles underneath me. Moaning, giving control to me, the unlovable.

Brandon stares at me wordlessly when I fail to unbuckle his belt for the second time, he helps me out, throwing the irritating item out of our sight. I am quiet as he stands to yank his trouser off, leaving him in only a boxer that barely conceals his erection.

“Come,” he says and I return to straddling him.

His hands relocate to my ass, squeezing my buttcheeks with a softness that has my crotch rubbing against his pulsing member. Heat rips through me like electric charges, I arch my back and my nails dig into the bed as his kneading becomes more hostile.

Sparks linger where his fingers trail, I whisper-shout, “No,” when he attempts to unhook my bra. He arches a brow, the irritation visible in his face and I will myself to remember.

High and dry.

“You first,” I say and tug on his nipple, “I want to take care of you.”

Giving him no chance to reply, I pull his boxers down his legs, almost choking on my confidence when his cock springs out, standing erect and proud for me to worship it. Brandon’s eyes meet mine over his dick, to be certain I can handle this and I lick my lips.

Pretend it’s a lollipop, your favourite brand. Even better, banana. Clarissa’s voice echoes in my head, I cringe and let Brandon’s fingers run along my cheek in comforting circles. You like bananas, right? This banana belongs to your husband. Don’t gag. Take all of it.

And then, my mouth closes over Brandon’s shaft. I am slow at first, flicking my tongue over the salty liquid glistening on top. It tastes nothing like bananas or lollipops but much better than his sperm did the last time or maybe that’s my imagination. I don’t know, I don’t care right now and I let my anger tainted with lust lead me into sucking him off.

Brandon’s hand moves to my hair, lowers to the back of my neck without extra pressure and for a fleeting moment, I feel like those porn stars blowing off their fellow actors, on their knees and at the mercy of the man. The rising disgust recedes when his moans bounce off the wall, I lap on his shaft, take all of his precum before my mouth closes over more than half of his pulsing length which hits the base of my throat and I freeze.

Breathe.

I try to as tears rush up to my eyes, his hand guides my head back down when I make to adjust and I grab fistfuls of the blanket lying carelessly by his waist until the wave of nausea passes. Taking him in slow, my spit baths his cock, my tongue circles the tip and my palms cup his balls, feeling, giving them a light squeeze. I spare Brandon a glance, only to see his eyes hooded and face contorted as strangled moans spill from his lips.

Excitement unfurls inside me, I suck on his balls and he groans. I must be doing it right.

Placing one hand on his chest, my unsteady fingers alternate between his nipples while my mouth continues the amateur work on his dick. I gasp when he yanks me by my hair, a yelp escapes me when he shoves me gently. Shocked and still on my knees, I gape at him, eyes brimming with confusion and uncertainty. I thought he was enjoying it.

We stare at each other, one of us kneeling and the other lying prostrate on the bed. For fear of his rejection, I sit and pull my knees to my chin, forgetting about my need for revenge. Brandon eyes me, a mirthless chuckle escapes him and I feel myself shrinking.

My eyes dart to the window, the sky glowing with lights from neighbouring skyscrapers and white bulbs of the ceiling reflecting on the tiled floors. “No one can see us,” he says as if he can read my mind and I nod. Next time, I’ll do a proper tour of his office.

In silence, he walks around the bed and offers me a hand which I accept. Seconds after he returns the bed to its original design as a sofa, he calls out my name. I swallow, shy. He is the naked one between us, yet he stands tall and proud, commanding attention.

His disconcerting gaze follows me when he lowers himself to sit on the couch. My knees wobble, I stagger to kneel between his legs as instructed. I can’t ruin this. High and dry.

He doesn’t love me, I try to remember that. To picture his hesitance when I asked.

“Are you sure?” The glance he spares me has my reply drying in my throat, I nod, I am certain. He pinches my nipples, my lips part, moans spill from me and he shoves his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them with more enthusiasm than I should, my head bobs and his hand closes around my neck, cutting off my air supply. “I’ll be rough.”

Something dark flashes in his eyes, he trails a wet finger down my throat to the contour of my neck, setting my body aflame with his touches. I lick my lips and my hands on his knees tremble, he smirks. I am not sure who is before me, my husband or my dominant.

“Elna, are you sure?” His voice holds promises of a lot of things. Wicked and seductive.

To answer him, I place his hand on the back of my head and let him control the pace at which his dick assaults my mouth. Tears sting my eyes at the speed he pushes my head down, I fight my gag reflex when his dick hits the roof of my mouth and I start choking. My vision blurs, his smell, his taste overwhelms me and I try not to think. To breathe.

Spit trickles down my jaw, trail a messy path to my chest, Brandon grabs my ponytail and a sharp pain travels through my skull. I don’t protest, I cannot with the thickness in my mouth but my nails sink into his thigh, the couch. The groan that tears through his lips is followed by a furious jerking of his hips forward before he goes momentarily stiff.

Sperm shoots down my throat, warm and salty, I reiterate Clarissa’s words over in my head like a mantra. His grip on my hair loosens, he traces a path on my back as if to encourage me and I finally swallow his cum. Meeting his gaze, my mouth opens for him to see I left no evidence and he rewards me with a smile like I did more than a blowjob.

Brandon pulls me to his laps to straddle him, stares at my nipples that are hard and sore from starvation. The friction caused by his fingers attacking my vagina through my panties has my legs buckling and my body vibrating to an unknown frequency. My nails dig into the couch, I arch my back and rotate my hips, urging him to quicken his pace.

Beads of sweat coat his chest, turning the thin hairs scattered on his solid body a dark brown. Desperate for more, I grind on his erection, nibbling on the skin behind his ear.

“What do you want, El?” he whispers. I move on his dick, so slow it elicits a grunt from both of us but I want more. His hands circle my waist to keep me in place, he pinches my ass so hard my breath hitches and I pause to stare into those eyes. “What do you want?”

“You.” His hand palms my belly, he flashes me a panty-dropping smile. “Only you.”

I suck in a sharp breath and bury my face in the crook of his neck briefly when he shifts my panties to one side to fill my warmth with his slender digits. I moan, it is harder to remember the mission, so easy to take all he is offering, the thorough, senseless fucking that is sure to follow. My juices leak to his palm, trail down my thighs and a whimper slips from me when his tongue trails on his fingers without breaking eye contact.

The sound of material tearing fills the air, I realise he has ripped my lingerie when he holds it up to sniff. “You smell nice,” he says and my head bobs, causing him to chuckle.

Tossing the lingerie, he cups my butt, gives me a moment to reconsider before ramming into me and a scream tumbles out of my lips. The natural lubricant dripping down my legs aids our carnal connection, I bounce on his dick once and electricity rips though me.

“God, El, I’ve missed this,” he says and his eyes roll to the back of his head. His hands hang from my waist, the urgency from earlier missing. “I missed this, I missed you.”

Me too. I missed this.

I missed him, the smell of his morning coffee, random kisses and breakfasts in bed. I bounce once more on his dick, then again and again before sliding off him. His eyes fly open, his gaze wanders between me and his creamy cock gleaming with my essence.

“Why did you stop?” he asks, shocked at my audacity to stop the heavenly ministrations we were both enjoying. A vein makes an appearance on his forehead from his attempt at suppressing his anger, he barks out a short, fake laugh, I look away. “El, get back here.”

The skin between my legs seems to disagree with my decision to leave Brandon high and dry, a throbbing starts down there and I have to bite my lips hard, focus on counting the tiles. I shake my head and take another step back when he stands, holding the jacket out in front of me like it will protect me. He pauses, hands akimbo as he observes me.

“What are you doing?” he asks when I shrug the jacket on. “Elna. What is going on?”

Still afraid to meet his gaze, I say, “I want to go home.” I scamper to the door to pick my belongings and shriek when he appears in front of me, naked and unbothered. The air between us sizzles with unspoken words and I wrap my arms around myself, drawing strength from the praises Clarissa will shower on me when I tell her about the outcome of her ingenious plan. My eyes lift to his face, I breathe out, “Take me home, please.”

Our eyes engage in a battle of wills, if he could, he would have burned me down with his stare. His erection pokes at my stomach as if to question me for making it rise again.

“You want to go home?” he whispers and I nod, ignoring the anger simmering beneath those eyes that have grown unusually brown. “Elna, you want to go home now?” I gulp.

Rage is the only emotion I identify when he blinks and it fills me with inexplicable fear.

“Brandon,” I say in a shaky voice, pushing my words out slowly. “Please, take me home.” But he is no longer listening. His jaw ticks, I take one step back and he matches it with one of his. Our prey-predator dance continues until I am backed up against the wall. His eyes narrow, stripping me of the last of my confidence. “I want to go home. Please.”

His hands come on each side of my head, his heavy breathing fans my face and I close my eyes. “Look at me.” My eyes flutter open, I gulp audibly, he is so close to me I can see his skin pores. He mutters through gritted teeth, “We will continue this at home.”

It is not a request, it is an order I am willing to disobey. “No.” His brow shoots up. “I am tired.” Lowering his hands to fold them on his chest, he nods, I say, “I am on my period.”

We know I am lying. It is there in the way my eyes refuse to close, the absurdity of my claim but it is too late to take it back. I maintain his gaze, dying inside at his thinly veiled hurt and anger. His lips curve into a frown, he takes a step back and I release my breath.

“Okay,” he says with an apologetic smile and guilt claws at my throat. “No sex.” I nod, no sex but it sounds like a death sentence, I am not so sure anymore. “I’ll take you home.”

Tempted to apologise when he cups my jaw to stare into my eyes which pool with tears I refuse to shed, I push him away when he caresses my jaw and places a kiss on my forehead with gentleness like I didn’t hurt him. This isn’t how he’s supposed to react.