Twenty-five
Brandon’s hand travels up my thighs, I stifle a moan and place my palm over his to stop him from going further. He snakes an arm around my waist, pulls me to himself and I let out a small yelp at how easy it is for him to carry me. I pout as my butt connects with his laps and he steals a kiss from me.
“Did you like it?” His eyes dart to the empty but stained plates on the dining table and I nod. My husband is the best chef in town. “Do you want to show your appreciation?”
He tugs on the hem of my blue T-shirt, my arm goes around his neck and we stare into each other’s eyes until his hands find their way inside my shirt. His cold palms against my belly as they begin a slow climb up to the perky mounds protected by my bra has shivers trickling down my spine.
Giggles escape me when Brandon squeezes my breasts and retracts his hands almost immediately at the look that crosses my face when his fingertips skim the surface of my protruded nipples. They don’t hurt as much but his reaction is cute. I pinch his cheek, wiggle my butt on his groin and sigh, he is cute in a masculine way, whatever that means.
Bunching my shirt above my breasts to give him a better view of this part of my body he is secretly obsessed with, I straddle him and place his hands on my chest. The grin on his face has my lips curling into a shy smile and the fluttering in the pits of my stomach has my heart swelling with love for him. I run my fingers through his hair, letting a few strands fall over his face and the slight furrowing of his brows has me palming his cheeks.
My lips melt onto his pink, succulent ones, I pull his lower lip between my teeth, sucking and tasting every bit of him until he takes charge of the kiss. Unlike previous times, this kiss is slow, sensual, we pay attention to each other lips, kissing with a delicacy that has me moaning into my husband’s lips.
His hands are glued to my waist as his tongue thrusts into my mouth and my senses nearly explode from the mix of spices and coffee that fill my lips. I moan again. He tastes like everything good and bitter. The coffee he took before we started on the delicious lamb chops he prepared and I want more of it, more of him. This is the only way I want to take his strong, bitter coffee. From his lips.
I grind my pelvis against his crotch, suck on his lower lip some more before settling for teasing, open-mouthed kisses. We break it off to catch our breaths, I trace a line along his chest and smile at him. He is also the best kisser in town. I stifle a giggle at the thought. Yes, I have kissed a few guys but none of them counts or compares to Brandon’s heart-melting, panty-dropping kisses.
Touching my forehead to his, I stare into his amber eyes, my heart overflowing with love for him and my chest threatening to burst with the need to tell him how I feel. I love him. My lips part open and close without a word coming out, he offers me a small smile at my obvious discomfort and the butterflies in my stomach start a wild dance. His willingness to stay at home today is the best thing that has happened to both of us and I don’t know why but I have a gut feeling things will only get better from here.
“I love-” I catch myself before the words are completely out of my lips and the creasing of his forehead has me swallowing. “I loved it. The lamb chops, it’s the best I have ever had.”
The only response I get is a pat on my butt and the tucking of a strand of hair behind my ear. My arms wound around his neck, my legs circle his waist when he lifts himself off the chair. He tries to set me on my feet but I refuse by tucking my head into the crook of his neck and it earns me a chuckle. I like being carried by him. His shoulders are broad, he is big and warm. He has the best body for cuddles and hugs and for carrying me.
“What do you want us to do?” Brandon murmurs against my neck and goosebumps cover that part of my skin.
His promise of us spending all day doing whatever I like comes to mind, I raise my head slowly to stare at his face and he is already looking at me with a hint of curiosity. I blink, my eyes move to his chest but the clearing of his throat has them returning to his face.
“A tour, give me a tour of the house, there are so many rooms and it’s quite confusing.” My lower lip juts out, he lets out a small laugh. “Why do you—we have so many rooms when we are the only ones who live here? Why do we even need a big house?”
The ideal house for me doesn’t have to be big and empty like this one. I am much more interested in the love and warmth that will be in the air, those true feelings his money can’t buy. At the same time, I want to live okay, be comfortable and a three-bedroom apartment which can be extended as our little family grows is more than enough for us to start our life together. If this house were to be a person, it will be a sad human.
“Because I like space,” he replies and I fail to mention we can get that in a smaller house.
“How many kids do you want?” I ask.
Brandon sets my butt on the dining table and shrugs. “None? You are the one who wants kids not me.” There’s a prickle in my chest like the quick insertion of a needle into my heart at his utterance, I slap him on the arm and he chuckles.
“But we will have to raise them together.” He nods but his facial expression shows he is doing that to avoid a squabble not because he agrees with me. I don’t want a fight too.
A sigh escapes my lips, I want him to be as excited as I am about having kids, our kids, mini versions of Elna and Brandon who will carry on his—our legacy running around the house. I cast a tentative look at him while hugging myself and my chest falls, I will always maintain my stance on kids but I am more than happy for us to discuss this later.
Two of us need to be on-board on this topic of children. I know he agreed to it in France but I realise now he said that to shut me up and a bigger part of me also understands that leaving him because of that will be hard. I am not sure I can leave him and I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives together being miserable or hating him for this.
Plastering a fake smile on my lips, I pull him to stand between my legs. “Do you think you will ever change your mind? Maybe in a few years? Kids are a gift from God.”
He responds with a noncommittal, “Maybe.”
I take that to mean the conversation is over and if it is not, I am done, I don’t want any part of it, at least for now. Today is going too well, I can’t afford to let this ruin our moods when we have the rest of today to frolic. I want more of his kisses too, his plump, expert mouth on mine and his hands back inside my shirt.
Besides, we have been fucking, having sex without protection. If he doesn’t want kids, he would have used condoms or tried to get me on the pills. I scoff at the thought of me taking any form of contraceptives, the only way that will happen is if I am forced and I don’t see that happening anytime soon. A genuine smile takes over my feature and my arms circle his waist, he can keep believing whatever he wants until our baby shows up.
“Why do you need so much space?” I ask. His eyes narrow at the switch in subject and it causes me to laugh. He doesn’t need to understand what’s going on until much later and I can’t wait to surprise him. “This house is too big.”
“I don’t know,” he says with a casual shrug. I nod, pout and stretch my hands for him to pick me up but he brings them down to place a finger against my lips. “If you want a tour, you will have to walk.”
“Bad husband,” I mutter and jump to my feet. He chuckles. “You cease to be my baby.”
He sweeps me off my feet before I can take another step forward. “What about now? Am I still your baby?” I hide my face in his shirt and nod, he will always be my baby.
“You are the best husband too,” I add to stop him from feeling bad or overthinking my playful retort, I know how sensitive he can be under that almost impenetrable mask.
Our tour starts in the kitchen, I let out a low laugh as Brandon points out the utensils to me, going on about their functions like I have no idea what they are. We spend little time in some of the rooms downstairs with me being carried around like a princess. Well, I am his princess or baby or whatever pet name he refuses to call me and I deserve to be treated like one.
None of the rooms holds my interest for long, except for the huge library which I promise to come explore later on my own. If his arms are numb from carrying me, he doesn’t say or act like it. I stifle a yawn, he chuckles and I direct him to the door of the ballroom I came upon the last time Sophia was here. I need answers to the questions bugging my mind and he’s the only one who can offer me that.
Embarrassment crawls up my spine when I recall my reaction at seeing both of them in that position. The accusations I shamelessly levelled against him, the anger with which I threw my shoe and my horny self on Sophia. What if it had hit him? Those heels were pointy. I chuckle, they can serve as a weapon in a different scenario.
Brandon set me to my feet, I pout and he gives me a quick peck on my lips. The room is illuminated by natural sunlight filtering in through the windows and I make straight for what I hope is the door behind one of these curtains. I find the door in no time but the lack of music has me confused for a bit, I look to Brandon for help but he stares at me with perplexity. Maybe hunger made me hear things that day and there was no music.
“Where’s the music?” The question is more to convince myself I heard right the last time. Stabbing the door with my index finger, I say, “There was music playing inside here.”
The look of incredulity that crosses his face has me swallowing. “What music?”
“Opera,” I answer without thinking and I start humming the tune under my breath until I can identify the song. A switch goes off in my head, I bounce on my toes to shout, “I know it, I know it.” He arches a brow, crosses his arms and my shoulders sag. “Okay, I don’t know it. But you played it at the hotel.”
“I played a lot of songs at the hotel.”
That’s right, he listens to all genres, he has no favourites like he once said but he played the opera, I am certain. He must have played it other times I was asleep but I caught the sound at least once. I edge closer to him, I know I didn’t hear things, he has the answers. A part of me feels like he’s acting dumb, this is his—our house, he has lived here longer.
“What room does the door lead to?” I ask while thinking up other questions to make him slip. He starts shaking his head, my finger lowers. “It has to lead to somewhere.”
“It leads to nowhere,” he replies. My fingers itch to wipe the look off his face, I am sure what I heard so he can stop giving me the pitiful look. “El, maybe you heard wrong.”
I let out a sigh of exasperation. Okay. If the music wasn’t real, the ugly painting was. I make a show of turning to the front and my eyes bulge at the sight of the space where the portrait used to be. The pillars, sculptures are intact but the fucking portrait. How?
My fingers move in front of me. “There... There used to be a painting there, I know it.” His hands wrap around me from behind, his chin sits on my head and I jerk from his embrace to face him. “Brandon, where’s it?” He frowns. “Or wait, did I see wrong too?”
“Maybe.” He tries to take my hands but I am not having any of that, I am convinced more than ever he is keeping a secret from me and it hurts to know that. My chest tightens, I exhale and glare at him. “Too much sex can have you thinking you saw or heard things.”
Raising my chin to call him out for that stupid statement, I scoff and say, “I love you so very much, Brandon Stark but don’t play with me like that. I am not dumb.”
We are sexually active, maybe more than the average couples but it’s not enough to affect my memory. I know what I heard, what I saw and he is hiding something.
Brandon stiffens, I hiss and eye him from head to toe, my irritation barely concealed, if this is an excuse to avoid my question, it won’t work today. I glare at him when his eyes widen for the briefest moment and I finally realise what set him off when he speaks up.
In a voice that sounds like he’s having trouble breathing, he says, “You love me?”
My heart skips a beat when he backs away from me and I let out a string of curse words. Shit. Now, I have ruined the day for us. “Wait. I didn’t mean that,” I say and close the gap to circle his wrists before he can leave. “I didn’t mean to say that, I wasn’t thinking.”
His lips pull into a straight line, he frees himself from my grasp. “What part?”
“All of it.”
Arching a brow, he taps his index finger against a corner of his lips. “You didn’t mean to say you love me?” I forget how to breathe for a moment and nod. “You don’t love me?”
I freeze.
This is a trick question and this smartass knows that. Of course, I meant it; I love him with all my heart. But I don’t think we are at the point in our relationship where he is ready to hear how I feel about him. For God’s sake, this handsome, annoying husband of mine can’t even hold a discussion about kids with me. I don’t want his reply to be forced or half-hearted when I tell him how I feel so I stare wide-eyed at his eager face and nod.
“I didn’t mean it,” I mutter though it kills me to lie about my feelings for him. I’ll tell him sooner than later when I am sure he is willing to admit he feels the same way. I know he loves me, he might not realise it but he does, in his weird way. “Forget I said anything.”
Brandon hooks a finger under my jaw, his lips curl into a sinful smirk that has my mind conjuring dirty images of what we would have been doing if he didn’t decide my body needed a break from our rough sex. I rub my legs together, I want him, I always do.
“You’re lying,” he remarks and I shake my head. Tears well in my eyes for staring too long without blinking. His voice is a whisper when he says, “Blink.” As those words depart his lips, I blink multiple times and push back the tears. Brandon chuckles like he’s in on a secret privy to him alone. His hand moves to the nape of my neck, I wipe the tears leaking from the corner of my eyes. “You don’t blink when you are lying.”
To prove him wrong, I blink morosely like a doll. “I don’t tell lies,” I start and avoid his gaze to stop my eyes from betraying me a second time. He is right but he doesn’t have to know that. “People stop blinking when they are under duress and it doesn’t mean they are lying. They can be doing it out of so many things, like tiredness and... and stress-“
His finger trailing my lower lip cuts me off, my breath catches in my throat as our eyes meet and his other hand moves to my lower back. “Doctor El, you ramble when you are nervous,” he says with a confidence that has me nodding. In truth, I was talking trash.
“I’m not a doctor,” I say and slap his hand from my face, I need self-control around him.
He eyes me briefly, his gaze coming to rest on my lips. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
The request comes as a shock to me, I blink twice and my head angles to the side to get a better view of his face. I appreciate his thoughtfulness but I want to be sure I heard him right. Since when does he require permission to kiss me? I love his surprise kisses more.
Cupping his face, I say, “Baby, you don’t need permission to kiss me. I’m all yours.”
On tiptoes, I take his lower lip between mine and moan. He cups my butt and deepens the kiss before I have a chance to step away. If I am being honest, I wouldn’t have left, I would have kissed him again and again until he took the hint to kiss me back feverishly.
My hands move to his firm buttocks, I knead them and moan his name into our kiss. I know my moans turn him on, he loves the sound. His fingers caress the back of my thighs, I hook one leg on his hip and he hoists me up. My arms circle his neck, my legs lock around his waist and we make our way out of the ballroom without breaking the kiss. We are on the staircase when I realise he successfully dodged my questions about the music and the picture.
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