Mr Reluctant Billionaire

"You will be fine, El," Pa starts. "After all, your ma and I never married out of love, but look at us now." His brown eyes take on a dreamy look and my lips curve into a small smile that disappears as soon as his gaze returns to my face. "So in love."

He takes my left hand in his, squeezes it as his way of reassuring me but I am far from reassured. A foreign emotion claws at my throat, tears burn the back of my eyes and I make a sound between a choke and a sob.

Why me? Why us?

I steal a glance at Pa's face, there's no sign of laughter. Instead, I'm met with lines that have etched deep into his forehead, sunken eyes from lack of sleep and cracked lips.

The tiny mole on his nose seems to have grown bigger, maybe it is my imagination. His shoulders are hunched, eyes hold great wisdom like they have seen things he must not voice out. His movements are slower than they should be as if he has thought long and hard before deciding to move.

When did Pa grow this old? He looks to be somewhere around his mid-seventies when he is ten years younger and I wonder if they lied when they said, Black don't crack. Maybe they did. Because Pa has cracked or will crack soon unless I agree to his offer.

A weight settles on my shoulder, the idea in itself makes me shudder involuntarily. This request he asks of me will change my life forever but I know I will do it. I will do anything for my parents to be happy again.

"I'm doing this because I love you." I place a kiss on my father's forehead, towering over him with my 5'11 height, one of the qualities that earned me modelling gigs before I quit. "I hope this works out well."

"I love you too and it will. I won't set you up for this if I wasn't so sure." His eyes water a bit but he doesn't cry. "You know this, El."

Do I? This is a set up, the only option is yes.

For his sake.

Sighing, I sink into the worn-down chair in this dilapidated office with chipping paints and rat-infested ceilings. If I look closely, the mould on the ceiling will have a more definite form. Sometimes, it's a map, other times, it's any shape my mind eye conjures.

"Say hello to ma for me," I say as he stands with a groan, "I'll swing by next week."

He sweeps his coat to one side so he can place a hand on his waist. We stare at each other long enough for me to glimpse the disappointment and hurt brimming in his eyes but he doesn't say anything. I have not been home in days, weeks; it reminds me too much of all we have lost. They might act like all is fine but it isn't and I can't pretend.

Pa finally sighs in defeat, he can already tell they will not be seeing me at home this weekend or next. He blows a kiss in my direction and I return it without looking him in the eyes. I am a bit angry at him, Ma and myself for the things I cannot change.

His fragile footsteps are slow and calculated but the wooden floor still creaks under his weight. Some of the nails of the floorboards are missing, a little misstep and you will be slapped into oblivion by the unforgiving wood. The whole place needs renovations but it guarantees privacy for talks like this.

At the door, Pa turns around to face me, waving lovingly at me as if to say he knows he has asked too much from me already. And I send him a smile that is the opposite of what I feel on the inside. I have to do this for them. They have already done enough.

When he is gone, I locate my black handbag on the floor, the hand-me-down from Ma I have owned for more than three years. My fingers brush the brown envelope and I withdraw them sharply as though it burns. I shove the file deeper into my bag, wishing this is a dream so I can wake up and declare this a nightmare. But it is not; this is real.

I make my way out to the front of this single-storey building, stopping to stare long and hard at what used to be our favourite place in the world. The letters, N PAR hangs precariously from the building, I step back. It used to be ANN PHARMA written in gold letters but the other letters have fallen off.

Pa claims it was named after Ma whose full name is Annika; she is his good luck charm. When Ma got tired of correcting people for mispronouncing her name, she decided to go by Ann instead. Only Pa can pronounce her name correctly, it means grace unlike my name, Elna which means beloved.

I shiver a bit as the cold evening air lashes angrily at everything in sight, pulling my coat tighter to my chest. Ignoring the catcalls that are thrown in my direction, I start the short journey to my apartment.

The wedding is a small one, held in the backyard of my new home with my handsome husband. He is white, British to be exact. Pa must have left out those part or if I had gone through the file like Pa asked me to do, I would have known. But it's a welcome surprise-a young husband.

I steal more glances at him as he saunters to greet one of the many unfamiliar faces present for the reception, doing my best to be subtle. His brown locks are swept back, staying in place with the amount of gel he must have applied and I feel a warm sensation spread through my chest.

He's a beautiful man to look at and I don't mind spending the rest of our reception staring at him. His lips are not as thin as you will expect from a British man, they are pouty, full and I want another taste. My cheeks heat up at the thought, I cough and his amber eyes narrow slightly in my direction before returning to his guests. Keeping to the shadows to get a better glance at his stiff profile, I pout. His nose is crooked like it has been broken and fixed one too many times.

All these features sit on a face that tells a story-a dangerous one at that and I find myself getting attracted to him. To uncover the secrets that lies behind those eyes searching for me.

Pa did try to set us up many times, I never showed up. I wonder now if that will put me in my husband's bad book, he looks like one who never forgets. My husband? The word tastes like sour grape, I'm unsure if I like it. Is he as uncomfortable as I am about this whole arrangement?

I frown when his head falls back with laughter at something his guest-a female says, my heart clenches and a corner of my lip twitches until I give into the small smile. I love the sound of his laughter. Snapping out of these weird thoughts, I move to stand behind an empty seat. I must have looked stupid, standing a few feet from the main event, smiling alone. His guest places a hand on his shoulder, I force down the urge to stomp over and slap her tiny hands off him or throttle her with her bleached weave. That is my man. Is he? I swipe the strand of hair that keeps falling over my forehead with aggression, he is my husband so that makes him my man.

"You look so beautiful, El," Ma is saying. My head snaps in her direction, I offer her a smile. She takes a sip from the flute of champagne perched between her fingertips with an elegance that surprises even me. My smile widens, I squeeze her in a brief hug, she cleans up real good.

Her fingers brush my hair, keeping in place that stubborn strand that has come undone from the high puff I managed to make from my wild curls. My hair has a mind of its own, today, it will have to deal with the style I want.

"Thank you. You look wonderful yourself," I repay the compliment and she smiles as she does a little twirl.

She is dressed in a black off-shoulder gown that stops just above her knees to reveal her toned legs. Her skin glistens in the sun, she has truly been sun-kissed and her dimples are prominent when she smiles. Ma no longer has those hollow spaces in between her collar bone and I am glad I decided to marry this man, Brandon.

The name is foreign like many of those rich kids I attend school with but I don't scoff at hearing it. Instead, I like the way it settles on my tongue like it's my favourite candy and I bite down on my lip to keep from staring in his direction. He is still with that lady, why can't they talk later?

Speaking of the devil, Brandon walks up to us with a glass containing similar content as Ma then whispers into my ear, "Your mother is right, Elna, you look beautiful." I want to be angry at him but the proximity wipes off all reasonable thoughts and I freeze. "You make a beautiful bride."

Brandon's voice takes a few seconds to settle in, when it does, my heart gallops and my nipples harden behind my armless gown. I suck in a sharp breath, the mirthless giggles escaping him tells me he noticed my little disorientation in his presence. He places a kiss on the back of Ma's hand and she excuses herself with a sly wink, something about giving the new couple privacy.

Without Ma, the atmosphere grows awkward real quick. I clear my throat, he shoves a hand into the pocket of his pant and I turn away under his smothering gaze. I can't stop myself from glancing in the direction he came from, his guest is gone and my body relaxes at the knowledge.

"Are you enjoying..." he trails off at the speed my eyes return to his face and that mischievous smirk returns to his lips at my failed attempt to raise a brow. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Yes." My voice is raspy, the nerves have seeped into it so I clear my throat and say, "Yes, are you?"

The distance between us diminishes, Brandon arches an eyebrow like he knows I am lying. Does he expect me to say otherwise? It is my-our wedding, I am supposed to be happy. I have to be happy. Sparing a glance at our seated guests, he offers me his hand but I am hesitant to take it.

"Can you dance?"

Dancing has never been my forte but I don't want him to know that. More than anything, I want to impress him and I have no idea why. He's the one who wanted the marriage, not me. His smile fades, hand lowers and I smoothen the front of my gown. "I don't feel up for dancing."

Brandon nods, I bite the inside of my lip when he strokes my cheek, trying and failing to meet his gaze. His breath fans my face, our eyes finally meet and I lean into his touch when his thumb caresses my lip. Shivers trickle down my spine, my tongue runs over my lips in anticipation and his eyes tail the move. I forget everything around me and wait, wait for a kiss that never comes.

"You had this on your face," he says, his eyes darting to the almost invisible speck of dirt on his index finger. My disappointment is palpable, I grunt in reply, murmuring a barely audible gratitude and he lets out a chuckle that has me rolling my eyes. I did not even want to kiss him.

Seconds after he steps away from me, my eyes follow his to a couple. They are watching us and I can't help feeling the show of affection was solely for their sake. He raises his glass to them and they do the same, observing each other in terse silence that makes me clear my throat.

"Cheers," he says, standing beside me. Maybe it is just me but I detect sarcasm in that word.

The band on the makeshift stage continues with their soulful rendition, they play all kind of songs, the type I would have wanted at my wedding and my head bobs to the rhythm. I do not consider this wedding mine, it's too flashy and the only people I know here are my parents.

Brandon dumps his glass into the tray of a passing server, wraps his hand around my waist from behind. He tucks his head into the space between my neck and shoulders. "Relax, El." The knots in my joints loosen, I nod and his arms tighten around me. "Relax and enjoy the moment."

There's a strange sense of comfort I feel at having him in such close contact with me as we watch different couples dance in the space we created at the centre of the small field like it is their wedding. I feel it then; I know we'll get along.

"We should bath together," Brandon says for the third time. I can tell his temper is hanging by a thread with the way his jaw clenches but it doesn't stop me from shaking my head in the negative. I feel shy.

I am standing in nothing but a yellow lace bra with matching panties. Ma gifted it to me for my honeymoon night. She claims the colour brings out my beautiful melanin skin in a way no other colour can and I need to look my best for my husband. I cringe. I hope I can get used to saying that word.

My breasts threaten to spill over in this-this barely-there lingerie and I cover my chest with my arms. Brandon is standing naked by the bathroom door, unashamed as he strokes his dick lazily and I avert my eyes.

"I will say this one more time, as long as we are a couple, we will bath together." There is an edge to his voice that I do not dare disobey and my head bobs up and down of its own accord. This man scares me.

His lips twitch like he is fighting a smile and he leads the way for me to follow behind.

The interior of the bathroom leaves me gaping in awe. It is bigger than my living room, tastefully furnished than his master's bedroom that looks like a bachelor's crib. When Brandon settles into the bathtub, I tell myself that the floor to ceiling windows are made with one-way glasses or he simply doesn't care. I hope it is the former.

"Come."

I quickly dispose of my underwear, joining him in the large tub. My teeth chatter at the contact of cold water against my skin and he pulls me closer to himself, letting me go when the water becomes warm.

Taking a look at the window that shows our reflection, I catch him staring at me. I turn to face him and my breasts rise above the water. My nipples harden under his gaze and without a thought, I push myself up till we are locked in a passionate kiss.

He breaks away from the kiss first, mutters inaudible words under his breath and reaches for the body wash. I bite my lips to stifle a moan when he runs the loofah over my nipples and sticks a finger into my vagina but it edges him on to add one more finger and another till I'm crying out.

When my eyes finally open, he is staring at me with an arrogant smirk and his hands are no longer inside me. I feel empty and angry at his withdrawal, the need to pay him back pushing me to roughly caress his balls. He doesn't flinch or act like anyone is touching him and I retract my hand.

We finish bathing without any more drama, both of us keep to ourselves. As soon as we step into the room, I hurry to change into a new set of lingerie which is also all thanks to Ma. She filled my bag with them.

"No. Don't do that."

Brandon attempts to grab the lingerie from my hunched frame; when I don't give it immediately, he sends me a glare which earns him an eye roll from me.

"Stay here," he commands, leading me by the hand to the foot of the king-size bed.

"You have a beautiful body, you should flaunt it," he adds when he sees me trying to cover my breast and feminine area.

I'm not one to take orders from people but hearing them from Brandon makes me excited, wet even. When he asks me to lay on the bed with my legs spread open, hands above my head, I willingly oblige him.

He lowers himself to the floor until his face is directly in front of my vagina, blowing air into it. His fingers lightly graze my clit, making me shiver in anticipation of what is to come. He inserts two tiny balls into my wetness, motions for me to stop squirming when the thing begins to vibrate. But I cannot stay still. How can I?

The sensation that courses through me has my legs vibrating and tingles running up to my erect nipples. Goosebumps, the good kind, crawls up my skin and I forget everything for a moment except the feel of his expert fingers running in circles around the entrance of my core, doing me justice.

"You can't come until I say so," he mutters and I nod, unable to form any words.

Brandon leaves but the tiny balls continue their work. Without looking, I know that I have thoroughly soaked the sheet with the liquid I can feel running down my thighs. He returns later with a bowl and retrieves a strawberry from it, his tongue swirls over it as he watches me. He bites into it, coming to kiss me as he inserts that bit into my mouth. I chew it and transfer it back to him, my gaze set on his lips as he does the same.

We go at it for a few more times till he decides it's enough and I close my eyes in heavenly bliss at the contact of something cold on my nipples, navel and the line down my stomach. My vision returns when he removes the balls without notice, clamping my legs shut to place ice cubes on my clit.

I buck from under him, the pleasures too much for me to bear. My legs tremble and my nails dig into the sheets, there is a tightening in my stomach, the urge to let go.

"Stop moving."

His voice is hoarse as he pushes my legs apart and the ice cube slides into my vagina. I nearly jump out of the bed in surprise and shock at the desire that floods my body when that happens but his hands keep-or try to keep me in place.

When I don't stop moving, he bites down on my nipple, making me groan in sweet pain. His tongue comes to stay between my breasts, licking their way down to my navel while eating up the sliced bits of strawberry he had put there. I shudder, his touch is fire.

"If you move, I'll stop," he murmurs and pushes my hand that has come to rest on his back away as I struggle to remain still.

He comes back up to my nipples, taking turns to suck on them, while his fingers worked my dripping vagina. Inserting one, then another finger, he goes on till he has three fingers thrusting in and out of me.

I squirm under him, doing my best not to close my legs as the waves of pleasure take over me. There is no way I can stop moving, I'm too hot, my body is on fire, this, I need it to go on and on. Why did I ever stay away?

Brandon must have hated my constant movements because he turns me over, spanks me and keeps his hands to himself.

"Please." I don't know what I am begging for but I want him back. I need him to continue.

He takes a long look at me, sighs and leaves the room. A cry of frustration escapes my lips as I rub my legs against each other, going on to touch myself like he would in an attempt to ease the ache that only he can take away when he returns with handcuffs.

"Will you stop moving now?"

The nod I give isn't convincing enough for him, he goes on to cuff both of my hands and one of my legs to the bedpost. He trails kisses down my neck till his lip is hovering above my entrance, his hands massaging my breasts. His breath tickles me down there. I shiver, a moan slips from my lips. Without warning, he pushes my leg apart till they form a triangle without a base.

He dips his tongue inside me and retracts it almost immediately, he moans, his eyes close briefly before he flashes me a smile of approval and I am hot all over again. The tongue work resumes, this time, there's no gentleness and the only reason my body remains on the bed as he eats me out like a midnight snack is because of the cuff.

I try to wrap my free leg around his neck, to bring back some sort of control but he pushes it down and bites on my clit to show his displeasure. His tongue continues the good work, causing me to scream his name over and over again. This is a taste of heaven and my husband has successfully branded me with his seraphic touch.

He enters me abruptly, making me freeze at the size of the dick I had to accommodate. He thrusts into me sharply again and I cry out in pain as my vaginal walls clench tightly against his penis; he is gigantic.

"Is...is this your first time?" I nod my head shakily, jerking my hips forward so he can continue; this is a beautiful kind of pain.

His eyes cloud over in anger, his jaw tenses and he backs away from me like I have Ebola. "Why didn't you say something?"

"We were not doing any talking," I defend. My voice is barely above a whisper; I'm surprised he can even hear me.

I try to reach for him with my free leg but he backs further away from me. It sends a pang through my chest, confusion washing over me. I don't understand his reaction, shouldn't he be glad his wife is pure? I'd been tempted to sleep with a random guy after finding out I would be getting married but my conscience had not let me. I am a firm believer of no sex until marriage.

"I don't fuck virgins," he says with anger tainting his voice. He walks out of the room, leaving me with an ache in between my thighs, emptiness and sadness in my heart.