“You quit what?” Brandon asks in a voice that is so low I am surprised I can hear him. I wrap my arms around myself, shiver and sink my teeth into my lips as the distance between us disappears. “Quit what, El?”

“Being your sub,” I reply without meeting his gaze, afraid to see the disappointment swimming in them. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”

Water from my hair streams down my back and I shiver again. I make sure to keep my eyes on the floor; I don’t want to see that part of him that’s responsible for this embarrassing situation. I tried, I did try to swallow but I could not. This is not a movie where the female lead swallows the man’s cum like it is her favourite flavour of ice-cream. His sperm is salty, warm, tastes like a raw egg. I don’t want any part of it, I can get my proteins elsewhere, from a healthier source too.

Brandon’s feet appear in front of me, his toenails are short and trimmed like he visited a pedicure shop before our trip. A small smile tugs at my lips, I like that he pays attention to his whole appearance. My chin raises, an apologetic smile decorates my lips, I should never have asked to be his sub.

“You can’t do it?” he asks and I nod, our eyes not leaving each other. I shudder under his intense gaze, my arms wrapped around my shoulders doing little to protect me. “So what? You quit after the first bad attempt?”

The tone of his voice makes the word to defend myself evaporate, my eyes lower to his feet once more and I shake my head. When he says it like it that, it makes me seem like a spineless coward. I am not one to run from my battles, I stay and fight but I have the good sense to know there’s no winning for me in this case. This is a lost battle, I can’t do it, I’m not ready for it.

“I can’t do it, Brand,” I beg. One of my hands wraps around his wrist and I place his open palm above my galloping heart for him to see how much today’s experience scared me. I almost choked. “Please understand.”

“Okay, quitter.”

My hand drops his wrist like his skin is on fire, I take a step back then poke a finger at his rock-solid chest. “Take that back.”

“Or what, quitter?” Brandon swats my index finger with an amused chuckle, grabs both of my wrists behind me. I sniff and gulp.

With his other hand around my waist, he pulls my body flush against his wet, naked self. His erection pokes my tummy and I suck on my lower lip. I know I don’t want his dick in my mouth but there are other parts of me that will gladly welcome him.

“How are you the first female student body president with this quitter attitude?” he whispers in my ear and I shudder. “Did you touch some women to get their votes?”

His words are like shards of glass piercing through my skin, I struggle out of his grip and my palm reaches for his face but he grabs it before it can connect with his cheek for the second time today. He brings my hand to his side and I wince at his death-like grip on my wrist. A shadow crosses his face, the shower quietens and my blood grows cold. I disobeyed him. I almost slapped him.

“This is your last warning, El.” His voice is low and dangerous; it sends an unpleasant chill down my spine. “Don’t you ever raise your hand on me. I won’t take that from you or anyone else. I’ll not be disrespected.”

I inhale sharply as Brandon’s breath fans my face with his gaze keeping me rooted to the spot. His hair is plastered all over his forehead, up close, his wet, brown tresses are almost a black colour. Drops of water roll from the tip of his nose to his upper lip, I suck in a sharp breath and shiver. He’s smoking hot, sexy, like a model you will find on the front page of a fashion magazine. But he’s annoying. He called me a quitter. That’s not who I am.

Jerking my hand from his grip, I step out of the stall, without looking in his direction, I scream, “I am not a quitter.” His mocking laughter leads me to add, “I hate you!”

“You wish you did. Quitter.”

My movements cease when I am halfway across the bathroom, I spin to face him. He is right, I wish I hate him but I don’t, I don’t even want to. I quite like him, more than I have liked any other male but it won’t stop me from giving him as much hard time as he gives me. He will get a double dose of whatever ill-treatment he metes out to me.

“Asshole. Jerk face. Prick. Cocksucker!” I yell all the slurs I can remember at this point at him and he grins. He is being a child, a fucking adult child who is bent on getting under my skin. “I hate you, Brandon Stark, you are a terrible husband. Cocksucker!”

All my insults fly over his thick skull, he stands under the shower, hands akimbo with a smirk playing on his lips. I badly want to wipe that smug look off his face, he is not allowed to be this calm after riling me up. Making it a point of duty to keep my eyes on his face, I growl at him. He’s an asshole, a sexy, handsome asshole that I am supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

“El,” Brandon starts in a gentle voice and my ears perk, a part of me half-expecting him to call me back into the shower so he can apologise. “You are the cocksucker, a terrible cocksucker at that. And a quitter.”

My ears burn at his jab and I don’t speak to him until I am standing at the entrance of the bathroom. “Pompous prick. Damn you.”

His chuckles follow me as I run to our bedroom and I jog back to the entrance of the bathroom almost immediately to shout, “I hope you trip on your way out of there.”

Plugging my fingers into my ears to avoid hearing his comeback, I stomp back to the bedroom, ignoring the trail of water I leave behind. A growl slips from my lips at the sight of the empty room, our luggage is not here yet; my body and hair are still wet.

I grab my robe, pick our clothes scattered all over the place and use Brandon’s shirt to dry my body before putting on my robe.

Seconds roll by, Brandon is still not here to order for our bags and my annoyance increases. I peel the bedding off the bed, use one of the pillowcases as a towel for my wet hair then hide the rest of the pillows, except for one, under the bed. I match to the living area with the heavy bedding materials wrapped around my slim frame and a content smile on my lips. He can sleep on the bare mattress without any pillows. I chuckle at my ingenuity, take that Brandon!

The long couch in the living area welcomes my tired body and I sink into it with the quilts providing me with warmth.

A knock sounds on the door, Brandon shouts from inside the bathroom for me to get it but I twist and turn on the sofa, making myself even more comfortable. The knock sounds again, he requests for my help a second time and I smile to myself, next time, he will be extra careful what he says to the person who might be his helper.

His footsteps echo in the room as he pads out to the parlour, I pull the blanket under my chin to get a glimpse of him and my eyes widen when I see him standing in front of the door. He is standing there butt naked.

A voice speaks from outside the door and Brandon asks, “El, are you hungry?” I huff and turn away from him, I don’t want to eat with him present. The room grows quiet until I hear him say, “Our luggage is here.”

Water seeps through my makeshift bonnet, the robe I am cladded in barely protects me from the chill air but the combination of the duvet and bedsheet I wrap around myself offers me an odd form of comfort. I will change later but for now, I feel warm and relaxed, nothing like Brandon’s angry voice which rings out later.

“There are no pillows here, El,” he screams from inside the bedroom. Silence reigns once again and I chuckle. “Where the fuck is the bedsheet? Even the duvet. El. Elna.”

Giggles spill from my lips at the distress in his voice, my eyes shut and I pull the duvet over my head. He owes me an apology, after that, I might let him in on the location of the pillows, maybe give him the beddings and join him on the bed. A tug on the material causes me to pull it down and my lips move into a scowl when I see Brandon standing by the side with a similar scowl on his face.

He says, “I need the pillows and bedsheet.”

“Say sorry, apologise first,” I reply.

His nostrils flare and he crosses his arms over his chest. The muscle of his biceps ripple, I am tempted to touch them, see if they are as firm as they look. Light brown hairs are scattered all over his chest haphazardly, trailing a line down to his stomach where they disappear into the waistband of his boxer briefs. I swallow.

Brandon is a walking edible. I blink twice and shake my head to clear those thoughts while waiting with a pout to hear his apology. I won’t let him get away with calling me a quitter or insinuating I don’t deserve my position. I worked hard for it.

“Apologise, Brandon,” I say and the corner of his lips twitches so much, I am tempted to run and hide from him. I don’t. “Apologise.”

“For what?” His arms drop to his sides. “For calling you what you are? You’re a quitter, El. You don’t even want to try; you quitted.”

Now he is back to calling me El? I scoff and narrow my eyes. Fine, I quit being his sub, so what? Sometimes it’s okay to quit. But that’s not what I need him to apologise for, it’s for his other statement. Sophia is the first woman I touched, I haven’t touched Clarissa, my roommate and best friend, if he doesn’t believe me, that’s fine. I am done trying to convince him, he’s an asshole.

“I am not a quitter and I have earned my spot as the first female president of my school in thirty years,” I start. “Thirty fucking years, Brandon! I am a legend.” His lips twitch again. “Now apologise to me, say you are sorry or you won’t get any pillows.”

The part about me being a legend is stupid, I should not have added it but I don’t care, I want him to see me for who I am. I don’t know if my position on the couch is the reason he starts chuckling but it irks me to no end. Knowing him, he will pull the bedding off me once I get up, I don’t want that so I lie there and stew in my anger.

“El, I need the bedsheet, I need a pillow.”

“Fuck you. Go to hell.”

A look crosses his eyes, he walks out of the living room without a pillow or bedsheet and my heart thuds behind my ribcage. I think I may have hurt his feelings with my last remark. Hell is a bit harsh, I should have told him to go somewhere nicer like, like where? Purgatory? I groan and turn.

The light in the room goes off, courtesy of Brandon and a yawn escapes me. I toss in the couch, trying to find the best sleeping position. The sofa is big enough for me and him to cuddle but it’s not as soft as the bed. Suppressing all thoughts about him and the guilt I feel for hoarding the bedsheet, I close my eyes and let sleep take over me.

* * *

I wake up to the smell of bacon and coffee, freshly brewed coffee. My stomach growls, I place a hand over my belly to soothe the raging hunger, I am starving. Opera music floats into my ears and my eyelids finally flutter open. I blink to clear my vision and the tune of the song playing becomes clearer. It’s the same song, the one I heard in the house.

Brandon is bent over a tray on a stool by the bed, the bed! Why am I on the bed? My frown deepens into a scowl when Brandon’s gaze meets mine only to have him laugh at my look of confusion. Asshole of a husband.

“You missed dinner,” he starts like we have been having a conversation about food and I roll my eyes. “Brunch is served.”

My stomach growls on cue and he chuckles. I wrap the robe around myself, taking note of the fact that I am completely naked underneath and the bedsheet has been laid on the bed, pillows back to their position.

A jug of coffee sits on the tray and Brandon empties some of the content into his mug. From the amount of coffee left in the jug, I can tell it’s not his first cup. He comes to join me on the bed, places my legs on his laps then takes a sip of his steaming coffee. I make a gagging sound, he didn’t add sugar or cream, just plain, black coffee, disgusting!

“I’m going swimming, want to join me?”

My stomach growls again and I place a hand over it but make no move to touch the food on the plate. Brandon eyes me for a moment, sets his mug on the tray and sighs.

“You are a good president, El, I should never have said that. I was wrong,” he murmurs and I offer him a tight-lipped smile. Since this is the only form of apology I will get from him, I might as well accept it. Besides, I’m hungry. “Now, do you want to swim?”

I shake my head and he frowns, I cannot swim to save my life. It’s the one thing I am not good at, asides cocksucking like he kindly pointed out. I am surprised he doesn’t know about my inability to swim, he seems to know every single thing about me and I can’t help but want to know just how much information Pa gave him about me.

“El,” he drawls out, “are you still upset?”

My head moves left and right to show him I am far from upset. He nods and stands from the bed, taking a towel with him as he steps out. Once the door shuts behind him, I pick up a slice of warm toast, insert it into my mouth and moan at the crunchiness. I stab the bacon, chew and pick another slice of toast. A belch escapes my lips after I down the juice and before long, the plate is empty.

A strange feeling of loneliness hits me after I set the plate to the tray, I miss Clarissa. She is usually the first one I come to with my problems and now I need her. I retrieve my phone, take deep breaths and hit the call button. Waiting with my lip between my teeth for her face to appear on my screen, I pull the duvet up to my chest.

“Hey,” I greet when her face appears, taking note of her appearance. “Did I wake you?”

Clary rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, she blinks morosely and in a groggy voice says, “Hey... No, you didn’t. What’s up?”

No sooner do those words leave her lips when a yawn escapes her. I chuckle, that’s so like her, she won’t go back to bed until she’s sure I’m okay. “We can talk later.”

“No. I’m up, I’m up,” she murmurs as she moves from the bed to the door of the bathroom. “What’s up? Where are you?”

“Paris.”

Her hand stills on the door and her eyes squint. “There’s a Paris in South Africa?”

“What? No.” I angle my head to glare softly at her. “I’m in Paris, with Brandon.” She stares at me in confusion which leads me to add in an exasperated tone, “My husband, Brandon. We got married last week.”

Clary blinks at me once, twice, her jaw drops, then it hits me. I haven’t told her yet.

“Clary,” I start to say to my best friend in the world who’s staring at me like I have stabbed her in the heart. “I can explain.”

She begins to shake her head and before I get a chance to voice out my reasons, the screen of my phone goes black, she cut the call. I dial her number a couple of times but she fails to pick, I sigh and drop the phone on the bedside drawer. I messed this up. This one is on me, I can’t even blame it on Brandon.