Page 19 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
As soon as I drop my legs, Conrad wrenches his hips back with a pained groan, cum spurting from his glistening tip to trail up from my mound to my lower belly. He grinds the underside of his shaft against my clit, his arms shaking with exertion to keep from collapsing on top of me. When he’s done, he drops his forehead onto my chest, his heavy breaths skating across my overheated skin and down the top of my dress.
“Thank you, princess,” he says, twisting his head to rest his cheek over my heart. “How did I get so lucky to be assigned a wife like you?”
I hum with delight at his praise and slip my fingers into his hair, combing it back as we both come down from the highs of our orgasms. Once he’s caught his breath, he straightens, and my hands fall to my sides.
“What a mess we made,” he says with a wicked smile, swirling the tip of his index finger in the puddle of his cum below my belly button.
I squirm at the ticklish sensation. “You pulled out in time, right?”
“Yeah.” His eyes trail down my body with a strange, pensive look on his face.
“Good,” I say, straightening my legs since my hips ache.
“Mmhmm,” he agrees, though his brows furrow.
As the outside world pushes in, his cum cooling on my skin, I say, “That was too close. Can you find something to clean me up?” I’d use the now rumpled, fluffy blue comforter I’m lying on, but then I’d have to figure out how to discreetly carry it through to wherever the laundry room is to wash it.
A slow smirk tugs at Conrad’s lips as he starts rubbing his cum into my skin.
I bat his hands away. “Ew, stop that. Go get a towel or something.”
“I will…in a minute.” He continues to spread it, lowering his hands until he’s rubbing it into my inner thighs, even pushing his fingers into me to gather my arousal and spread that as well.
“So not cool, bro,” I say breathily when he takes my hand and helps me off the bed. “Now I’m all sticky and smelly, and Istillhave to clean up.”
Conrad grins, and I scuttle behind him when he clears a path to the hall bathroom so I can wash up with a hand towel that hefetches for me from the linen closet. I shoo him away when he doesn’t leave.
“Can’t a girl get a little privacy?” I ask, soaping up the cloth and starting to hike my severely wrinkled dress up.
He shakes his head, crossing his arms as he leans his butt against the vanity, watching me wipe my thighs.
“Dude, seriously. You promised me steak. I want my steak.”
He finally relents and leans in to kiss the edge of my jaw. “Fine, but only because you’ve been such a good girl,” he whispers in my ear, my stomach fluttering.
An orgasm and a sexy man about to serve me up a juicy steak? I think I could get used to this kind of princess treatment.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
CONRAD
Two things compete for my attention—my wife, moaning with each bite of steak, seated beside me at one of the picnic tables; and my nephew, laughing as he chases Mom’s corgi around and around the new playground set Mom and Dad installed recently. My heartstrings tug at the thought of watching my future children playing in this yard. Merlin would never tolerate them running after him, though. In fact, he’d be the one doing the chasing.
I laugh to myself at the mental image, though it quickly fizzles out when I remember that Merlin won’t be in the picture if I ever am blessed enough to have children. I sneak a peek at Mirabeth, wondering what her children will look like, my thoughts turning sour as I imagine what kind of man she would actually want to be with, once I’m out of her way.
“He looks just like Andrew, doesn’t he?” Brad asks from across the table and chuckles, smiling from ear to ear as he watches his son play. “He’s a little terror, too, like his uncle, when he wants to be.”
“He is not. He’s an angel,” Alisa says, speaking for the first time since she and Brad joined us at the table. She stares at her plate as she cuts her chicken into smaller and smaller pieces, not really eating anything.
Brad gives her acome on, nowlook, disagreeing, and leans back in his metal folding chair.
“Why’d you name him Drew?” Mirabeth asks, cleaning some of the juice from the corner of her lips with the cloth napkin she has tucked into the front of her dress like a bib.
“After our younger brother,” Brad says, cutting his eyes to me and quickly away. “Hasn’t Conrad mentioned him yet?”
“Yeah. He also mentioned that he told you he wanted to name his first son after Andrew, which is why I want to know whyyounamed your son Drew.”
