“Stop that.”

“No.”

“Please.” I huff in faux anger while Brandon holds his phone above his head, making me unable to reach the evil device that keeps producing moan sounds. “Please,” I try again, this time with a pout and puppy eyes.

He takes one long look at me, chuckles and pauses the recording. Leaving me alone on the bed, he retrieves a small box from his suitcase. I groan in protest as what he is about to do hits me, soon enough my moans reverberate through the speaker in his hand. Goosebumps cover my skin when he chuckles again and I scowl, so annoying.

“I hate you,” I say with my eyes downcast.

My response earns a laugh from Brandon and the corner of my lips twitch as I fight back my laughter. Hate is far from the word I will use to describe my feelings for him and he knows that. I have no idea if it is love either because I have never had a boyfriend but my attraction to him is stronger than when we first arrived here. It’s a strange feeling but I like it.

He is always on my mind. When I wake before him which has only happened twice, I spend those few minutes studying his face, trying to understand this man I am married to. I want him to be happy, he deserves it.

The bed dips with his weight, he palms my cheeks and I ask, “When did you record it?”

“Last night.”

My forehead crinkles in confusion, I could barely move by the time he was done ravishing my body. “Turn it off. Delete it.”

I fold my arms across my chest, drawing attention to my nakedness and his eyes linger on my breasts long enough for me to feel shy. Clearing of my throat brings him to order and I take that chance to cover up with the duvet. He tugs on the duvet, I try to swat his hand but his hold doesn’t relax, in the end, I give up and the mounds on my chest are back under his intense scrutiny.

His voice goes a few octaves lower and his breath fans my face. “Dance for me, El.”

“I can’t...” The look on his face stops the rest of my protest. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Come.” Brandon palms my buttocks as I straddle him and my fingers run through his scalp. “I want a lap dance from you.”

Looking down at his chest, I say, “I... I don’t know how to give a lap dance. I can’t dance.”

Brandon picks the box speaker and nods as if in agreement. “Fine. I won’t delete this.” When he sees the look of horror on my face he returns the speaker and says, “It’s easy, move your body the way you did last night.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks at the reminder of my midnight freakishness and I cover my eyes in embarrassment. Sometime in the night, I had woken up to his hardness poking my naked backside. There was no talking, only our wandering hands, heavy breathing and moans as I gave him the ride of his life. I don’t know what came over me, where I got the stamina from but I didn’t stop riding him until he was crying out my name and his sperm mixed with my juices dripped down my thighs. It was magical.

I smile and look down at our bodies, those memories washing over me, he called my actions hot. Our foreheads touch, I bite the inside of my lips and my hands go around his neck, I don’t know how to lap dance. His hands on my buttock try to guide me in the direction I should move but the shyness takes over and I can barely rotate my hips.

“If you don’t do it, I’ll play this audio when your parents come around.” I glare at him but he remains unfazed, his eyes fix on mine, the side of his lip goes up till it’s a full-blown smile and he winks. “I am kidding.”

“Haha... Not funny.” My fist meets his ribs; I smile as he lets out an exaggerated cry.

Brandon bursts into laughter, I frown. “It was funny. You should have seen the look on your face.” He palms my breasts after handing his phone to me, giving me a glimpse of his inexistent music playlist. “Delete it.”

A moan slips past my lips as he plays with my nipples, I delete the recording and ask, “Any pictures?” If his—our house is bare of my pictures, I expect the same on his phone and he proves me right by shaking his head.

Pictures are more of Clary’s thing but with Brandon, I want plenty of memories of us stored in his phone. I urge him to pose so I can take some selfies of us but he turns his face away right as his camera comes on.

A frown replaces my smile, my reflection stares back at me and I run a hand through my bedroom hair. My cheeks are fuller, my dark skin which contrasts with Brandon’s pale one seems to be glowing. Based on our skin colour, we are made for each other, he is the cream and I am the coffee, the best combo for a perfect breakfast beverage.

The analysis makes me giggle and I slap his hands off my chest when he continues playing with my breasts instead of taking a look at his camera. I want our pictures splashed all over his phone and our home.

“I can take some pictures of you,” he offers and I scowl. I want pictures of us.

All the places we visited within the week, he was quick to volunteer his photography service. His face appeared in a couple of them but they were all on my phone. It had been a tug of war convincing him to join me in the few selfies we took, he never agreed to have me take a single photo of him alone.

“I don’t like pictures,” he mutters and I nod, trying to get off him. I am not in the mood to beg him to take pictures with me today.

“That’s alright, it’s okay to not-“

“El.”

“-like pictures. It’s fine if you don’t want to take any with your wife. I understand.”

A yelp escapes my lips as Brandon pulls me under him, his fingers trail a line across my cheek and his knee rubs the entrance of my core. I try to push him but he grabs his phone and places my hands above my head. He kneads my nipple, I squirm, hating how much my body reacts to him, this is the time for action, to act indifferent not get horny.

“Pose.” With an eye roll, I stop struggling and cover my breasts in what I hope is a seductive pose. I change styles, he takes a few more shots, peppers kisses all over my nose and says, “You look beautiful.”

“Not beautiful enough for my husband to take pictures with me,” I say and look away.

“El.” I turn to him with a pout, his eyes dart between my lips and body and he sighs.

The smile that takes over my face when he hands me his phone has him chuckling, I edge closer to him to take enough selfies of both of us and a few pictures of only him, not a care for the fact that my breasts are visible in some of them. It’s my husband’s phone and I might not get another shot.

Halfway through the pictures of himself, he starts touching my legs, I giggle, willing myself to stay focused as I know he’s trying to distract me. His arms begin to crawl up my thighs, I hiss and swat his hands but he is not willing to let go. I collapse on top of him, he snatches his phone and covers my mouth with his before I can let out a protest.

“El, I have a lot of things planned for us,” he mutters in between kisses, “and you looking this sexy isn’t helping. We need to bath.”

Palming his balls through his shorts, I giggle when he moans into my lips and withdraw to avoid him kissing me. He is right, we have four days left, we should use it wisely.

In my best interpretation of a sultry voice, I caress my breasts and say, “You taught me to flaunt my body.” His eyes darken with lust, I smile. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

He attempts to spank my ass as I get off the bed but I’m quick to move out of his way, I stick my tongue out at him, he chuckles and I smile. Something has changed between us, I can’t identify it but our relationship has improved, we act like real married couples. My shoulder deflates as a thought sweeps through my mind, I can only hope this isn’t a honeymoon phase, I have fallen for him.

* * *

“I inherited this when I was twenty-three,” Brandon tells me when I come to stand beside him outside the hotel we are lodged in and I find myself gulping in disbelief. At this age, I have nothing to my name. “I added my spin on it but I still want an expansion. I can give you a tour tomorrow, maybe you will share a few ideas with me?”

My mouth opens and closes, I take a long look at the skyscraper like it’s my first time here. It is amazing. I know Brandon is rich, his mannerisms tell of his background but I have resisted the urge of googling him to find out his net worth. My eyes locate his handsome face, he’s gazing in adoration at the hotel and I can’t help but smile in awe.

The way Adrienne and the other staff act around him led me to assume he is one of their rich guests who frequent here. He has never raised his voice on the staff who brings our meals on the days he doesn’t cook even when they are late. Instead, they would converse like old-time friends. My smile widens, every day I am convinced that his mean guy attitude is all a front.

Pulling my coat around myself, I tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow and toy with the idea of doing proper research on him. The thought evaporates as soon as it comes, I want to keep seeing Brandon as my annoyingly sweet husband, not as some rich man with a crazy amount of money, I don’t want my perspective of him to change. Besides, I want any information I learn about him to be gotten from the main source, not Google or some lame magazines.

“Yes, I would love to help. You did a great job.” He turns to me with a smile and I look down at my feet. “How old are you now?”

“Thirty-two.”

I wait for him to repeat my question and when he doesn’t, I say, “I will be twenty-three.”

“I know.” A long pause ensues and he asks, “You don’t mind the age difference?” I shake my head and a small smile finds its way to his lips. He is so handsome without trying.

The soft purring of a car interrupts me from my thought and my jaw drops at the sight of the black matte Ferrari in front of me. The valet hands over the keys to Brandon who gives me a few more seconds to stare before ushering me inside the car. My back is stiff, I sit straight, not wanting to desecrate the interior of the car that looks like it is meant to be admired not driven.

The car is posh.

“Relax,” Brandon says, rubbing small circles on the back of my hand until he sees me lean back into the car seat. I moan in contentment which causes Brand to laugh. “Keep up with that and I’ll be fucking you senseless soon.”

My eyes dart to the bulge of his trouser, I shrug my coat off and shake my head. The thought thrills me but our dinner date excites me more. “You will get your chance.”

I shriek as the car comes to life, a roaring sound that has me relaxing and falling in love all over again and Brandon chuckles at my excitement. We drive on in silence with me clapping at the sight of anything spectacular while he does his best to match my enthusiasm by offering explanations behind the names, meanings of buildings we pass.

French music plays from the radio but the voices are so low I can barely make out a thing they are saying, not like I understand the language. I wave at strangers walking down the street from inside the car, laughing at their expression when they stare at me in confusion. They must think me insane.

Something drops to my laps, I jerk and my eyes narrow in suspicion when Brandon keeps staring straight ahead like he didn’t put the parcel on my legs. I hit his upper arm, he chuckles and spares me a glance.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

My fingers reach for the white envelope, I rip the seal and a card tumbles out. I scrunch my face, hold the card up to my eyes while waiting for an explanation from Brandon but none is forthcoming. Running my fingers over it, realisation dawns on me and I gulp, this can’t be what I think it is.

“What’s this?” I reiterate. “Brandon, what’s this?”

The car grows silent, my fingers find their way to my hair and I tug on the ends. I let Brandon help me, his interest in my hair is unusual but he did a great job with the twists. There’s a feeling in my gut that he’s doing all of these for Brianna and it warms my heart, our daughters will have a father who cares enough to help them style their hair. He has not mentioned her and I’m yet to ask, I intend to but when we get home.

Home, the word sounds pleasing this time and I am looking forward to our departure, the sex we will have on our matrimonial bed. My smile fades a little as I remember Clarissa, I still have to call her to apologise. Calling might not work, we will have to sit and talk, she will demand strong reasons that I don’t seem to have at this point.

School resumes in a few days but as the President, I have to be there earlier. I sigh, we have not talked about it or my living arrangements and I am afraid we might have a fight when we do. The distance from the school and our house is scary, I will have to go back to staying with Clarissa.

“It’s your gift,” he starts. “You gifted me a necklace, this is my wedding gift to you.”

My head moves left and right, we didn’t gift him the necklace so he can give us something in return, he has done more than enough. “Brandon, you don’t have to.”

“I have to; you are my wife.” The tone of his voice has me smiling. “The card is yours.”

Joy floods my veins, I let out a small scream and he chuckles, I have a black card. My hands ball into a fist, I place them in front of me and perform a funny dance while sitting. This causes Brandon to laugh out loud and my hands come down to my laps, I have never had a black card. No one in my family has and I cannot wait to get them all a gift, including him, I don’t care about his dislike for gifts. I won’t get him anything related to jewellery though. Maybe different brands of coffee or an abstract painting.

A thought occurs to me, the excitement dwindles and I angle my head in Brandon’s direction. What if this is his way of funding my business? I have been refusing his offer to help. A sigh leaves my lips; it is normal for spouses to help each other but I am tired of not making any financial contributions. He cooks, he pets me, all I do is give him trouble and demand sex. I stop myself before the negative thoughts get a hold of me, trying to remind myself that I bring him peace. He told me once. Peace and calm.

“Brandon,” I say, the tone of my voice has his head turning briefly to me. “I know you married me to save my family and you promised to take care of me but you don’t have to do this. I am not with you for the money,” I pause and take a deep breath. Our marriage happened because of money, we have nothing. “I am not after your money.”

His hand squeezes my thigh; I watch him from the corner of my eyes. Our agreement says I am entitled to an allowance every month; the amount is to be discussed between both of us but I haven’t broached the topic and I know I will never. The idea of my husband paying me doesn’t sit well with me, I want to earn the money I spend.

“I know that already, El.” He takes my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. “I know.”

“We should put a limit on the card,” I state.

“Why?” he asks. “My money has no limit.” I hit his arm again and he chuckles. “You are mine, El, my wife, you deserve the best and a black card is the least I can do.”