Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
CONRAD
It’s as if I never left, already feeling right at home at the new warehouse on my first day back at work.
So far, the guys haven’t treated me all that differently, other than a few sidelong glances.
I know they want to ask about my time in prison, but they won’t until after they’ve had a few drinks, when Mirabeth and I go out with them and their spouses tonight as a little celebration.
I hope Mirabeth lets me pick what she’s going to wear again. Definitely not the dress she wore to my welcome home party. That one is for me and me alone from now on.
“Is the client some kind of celebrity?” I ask Sam as I use the jig to drill pocket holes into the gorgeous maple board for the custom crib I’m building to match the dresser, bookshelf, rocking chair, rocking horse, bassinet, toy box, and high chair.
A set this large would be expensive if purchased from a regular department store, but with Sam’s—justified—prices?
It likely costs a third of my contractual annual salary.
With my experience, I’ll be able to build a custom set like this one myself once I have children.
The more I think about all the “accidents” Mirabeth and I have had before her birth control pills can take effect, the more excited I get about the future, my thoughts straying to the potential tow-or-red-headed baby lying within a crib as beautiful as this one.
“Believe it or not, no. They’re a local,” Sam says, measuring and marking the holes on the next board. “Though I had a few big-name clients while you were…away.”
“Nice euphemism,” I mutter, moving the jig. “So who’s the client?”
He clicks his tongue, taking off his navy blue ball cap with a silver star to smooth back his thick, silvery locs from his sweaty forehead, giving me a curious look. “Let’s say she’s a friend of a friend.”
“All right…” I guess his client would rather remain anonymous, so I don’t push for an answer.
“So, how’s married life treating you?” he asks, taking the board I’m finished with and passing me the next.
“Not too shabby.” I cut Sam a grin that grows stronger as I think of Mirabeth and her adorable little snores when I left her in bed this morning.
If I weren’t a better man, I’d have pulled her panties aside and gifted her pussy a little wet present when she climbed on top of me in her sleep last night.
As it was, I only left it on her thighs, then rubbed it into her skin. She’s used to it by now.
I drop my drill with a clatter on the concrete floor and suck back a pained bellow, shaking out my left hand that throbs harder than my cock has for the past three days, now that Mirabeth has locked her pussy down with a figurative chastity belt.
“Let me see it.” Sam takes me by the wrist and carefully inspects the spot where I had missed the jig completely and drilled a shallow hole straight through the side of my hand. “Got yourself good. Need to get you to urgent care for a stitch or two.”
“Dammit. I’m sorry.” Injuring myself on the first day back on the job is a rookie move. I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted.
“Don’t be. Bound to happen sooner or later to everyone. Count yourself lucky it wasn’t worse.” Sam wiggles the fingers of his left hand, where he’s missing the top half of his middle finger from an accident he had some thirty years ago with a table saw.
At his desk in the corner of the warehouse, Sam does a quick wrap job with a sterile bandage around my wound and offers me the company credit card, trusting me with it just as Mirabeth has trusted me to drive her car.
“We’ll fill out the paperwork later,” he says without a hint of grievance that my accident is going to cost him, since it happened on company time and property.
Though he offers to drive me, I insist on going by myself, still stewing over the stupid mistake I made by the time the urgent care nurse finishes patching me up, putting my hand out of commission for at least a week.
At checkout, the receptionist not only slides a copy of my receipt across the counter but also a pink Post-it note with her name and phone number.
“I’m married,” I say with the curl of my upper lip, flicking the Post-it back toward her.
“That’s too bad,” she says, giving me a coy smile that might work on another man, but certainly doesn’t on me.
“No, it’s not.” Turns out, I quite enjoy being tied down to my randomly-assigned wife, regardless of the faithfulness that is mandated by the marriage program, even if Mirabeth is so distracting that I end up maiming myself at work.
The receptionist’s smile falls flat when I turn to walk out, and I do a double-take when I catch sight of a pamphlet stack at the edge of the counter with an advertisement for birth control options.
I’m grumpy on the drive home, covered in sweat and sawdust. My resentment towards the pharmaceutical industry at large builds when I think of Mirabeth’s damn birth control pills and the lengths Andrew had to go to find pain relief.
Might as well throw in the whole medical-industrial complex, too, since my visit to the clinic hadn’t come cheap.
I take a detour on the way home to pick up my prescribed antibiotics and a few other essentials, catching up with an old friend from college who works at the pharmacy.
When I step inside the apartment, Mirabeth is sitting at her drafting table, her fingers flying over her laptop’s keyboard as she responds to a customer.
“Honey, you’re home,” she singsongs.
Ok, so that does lift my mood. A little.
“Hey, princess,” I say softly, dropping a kiss on top of her head, and I squeeze her shoulder with my working hand.
“How was your first day back? Did you make any new friends?”
I chuckle. “It was pretty great, ‘til I fucked it up.” I show her my bandaged hand, giving her the short version of the day’s events, though I hold back on telling her about the flirtatious receptionist.
Mirabeth gasps. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come right away and sat with you.” She takes my hand and lightly places a kiss in the middle, like she can kiss the pain away.
“I had your car.”
“So? I would have found a ride.”
“Thanks,” I say, fully meaning it, touched that she’s so concerned. “I’m gonna take a shower, then get dinner ready before we go out.”
“With your hand all banged up? No, I’ll take care of that.
” She quickly types out a message, then shuts her laptop.
Stepping ahead of me into the bathroom, she gets the shower started, then helps me undress.
Of course my cock is hard and aching for her at the first touch of her fingertips on my belt buckle.
She’s well aware of it, too, though she avoids looking at it when she surprises me by stripping out of her clothes, stretching languidly for my viewing pleasure as she twists her long hair up into a messy bun.
When I try to back her against the vanity, though, cupping her breast with my good hand, stroking my thumb across her hardened nipple, she spins me around with a smirk.
“Keep your hand out of the water,” she says, climbing into the tub after me and lathering a washcloth with her body wash.
I stand stock still, watching her with rapt attention as she efficiently washes my body for me, even my cock, though she only gives it a brief tug before she tells me to turn around and starts on my back.
I roll up on my tiptoes with a girlish squeal when she cleans between my cheeks, and I whirl on her.
“Sorry, princess, I’m not into that. But if you are…” I catch her around the waist, slipping my fingers between her asscheeks. “I’d be happy to oblige.”
She laughs at my expression and pushes me away, then says, “Get on your knees.”
“Your wish is my command, princess.” I immediately kneel, rest my left hand on the white square tiles so it doesn’t get wet, then bury my nose in my wife’s royal pussy.
“Oh my god, Conrad! I only meant so I could wash your hair!”
“You wash, I lick.” I push my tongue between her thighs, searching for her clit when she starts sliding her fingers into my hair, sudsing it with shampoo.
Mirabeth moans and doesn’t resist when I prop her left foot on the lip of the tub, giving me better access.
I’m practically sitting between her legs, head tipped back all the way as I plunge in and out of her, fucking her from below.
The pain in my hand is overshadowed by the ache in my cock, the veins running the length of my thick shaft bulging.
The cum that’s been collecting in my balls begs to be spilled deep within her, precum leaking from my dark, swollen tip.
A few more weeks, I remind myself, and then I’ll be able to do just that whenever I want without her putting up a fuss.
And believe me, I will as often as she’ll let me.
By the time Mirabeth has finished shampooing and conditioning my hair, rinsing the last of the suds away, I have two fingers on my right hand pumping in and out of her while I massage her clit with my tongue, making her scream my name with her climax, her inner walls clamping around my fingers like they’re trying to suck them deeper.
I’d eaten her pussy just about every day until she locked me out, and she tastes even better than before.
Wetter, too, and I don’t think it’s from the shower.
It’s a subtle difference that drives me wild.
Fuck the doctor’s instructions. I don’t care if I end up back in urgent care with an infection too gnarly for the antibiotics to fight.
Grabbing Mirabeth’s hips, I kiss my way up her stomach, giving her belly button a little extra love to make her giggle, then turn her around to position her on her hands and knees.
“It’s been too long, hasn’t it, princess?” I ask as I part her lower lips with the head of my cock, her pussy warmer than I remembered.
“Y-yes,” she says breathily, turning to watch me over her shoulder, her messy bun wet and hanging limply to the side, water droplets racing along her smooth skin. “But we’re supposed to wait.”
I hide my grin and groan instead. “I know, but I’m desperate here…and so are you.” I lift my brows, and her cheeks pinken. Yeah, she is. “How ‘bout the tip of the tip of the tip?” I ask, dragging my cock head up and down her slit, spreading my precum all over her.
She gives me a knowing look. “It’s never just the tip.”
She’s so right.
Scrubbing the water from my face, I say, “Then you’ll have to stay like that while we take care of ourselves.
Can you do that?” When she nods, her eyes hooded with desire, I choke my dick in my grip and say, “Thank fuck.” I didn’t have to use my bossy voice, as she calls it, to get her to give in, though I would have if I needed to—and she would have secretly loved it.
Mirabeth goes a step further as she watches me jerk my cock when she lowers her upper half, walking her knees out to the sides of the tub so I have a better view.
“That’s it, princess. I love it when you show me what’s mine. Such a good girl.”
Mirabeth whimpers, tilting her hips higher with a deeper arch of her back.
“Look how pretty and swollen you are after I fucked you with my tongue.”
“Conrad,” she moans, blinking the water out of her eyes when she slips a hand between her thighs, massaging her clit with the pads of her first two fingers.
“You’re feeling good, aren’t you? Spread that pussy for me.”
Mirabeth shivers, her mouth open as she moans long and loud for me.
My eyes are locked on the bull’s eye target of her pussy when she switches between spreading her lower lips, pausing so I can look my fill, before dipping her fingers inside herself, then bringing them back to her clit.
She does so over and over again until her hips are jerking with another climax, her pussy swallowing her slender fingers.
The moment her eyes flutter shut and her fingers slip out, I finally let go of the orgasm I’d been fighting back.
I don’t thrust inside her to the back of her channel and cum deep within her like I want to, but I do the next best thing—I inch closer on my knees, take aim when I angle my cock down, and paint her open pussy with my cum.
I square my jaw, forcing my eyes to remain open instead of letting them roll back in my head with each spurt, ensuring all of my cum lands where I’ve intended.
Frowning when I see it begin to drip down, I pull Mirabeth up to sit on her knees with her back to my chest, caging her legs between mine so her thighs are pressed tight together.
I kiss the corner of her jaw as I stroke her belly and then her breasts, tugging on her nipples, getting her worked up again.
She’s begging for a third climax, grinding her ass against my cock when I force my fingers between her thighs, trying to subtly push my cum into her channel while I play with her clit.
It’s a no-go unless I let her spread her knees again, which I won’t in case any more leaks down her inner thighs, but I give it my best effort.
So does she, working a second, smaller release out of me once she orgasms, making a mess when I come on my stomach and her lower back.
“Conrad,” she murmurs, pushing her hands up to slip her fingers into my hair.
“Hmm?”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but…I’m so glad my mom tricked me.” She opens her eyes, smiling softly at me over her shoulder.
“Me too, princess,” I say with warmth in my chest, my lips brushing her ear as the water begins to cool. “Me too.” I give her one last, lingering kiss on her cheek before pulling away, needing to towel her off before she gets too cold.