Chapter 9 #2
A woman inside whoops as a guard I recognize from the prison spins her around and around the U-shaped dance floor inside.
I lean this way and that until the crowd parts briefly enough for me to get a good look at the couple, and then I see it—the big, ashy-blonde blowout waves that fly up around the woman’s face.
I shove up onto my feet and yell, “Mom!”
Mom and the guard, Garth, halt abruptly, dressed to the nines in coordinating black-and-turquoise western attire. So cute!
I point my finger at Mom as I step over the bench and yell, “You’ve got some explaining—Hey!
Get back here!” I take off running as soon as Mom grabs Garth’s hand, and they sprint toward the exit at the front of the barn-turned-dance-hall.
I make it through the hall and out the front just in time to see Mom at the wheel, gunning the engine of her bright yellow 1970 Ford Mustang.
“See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!” Mom yells with her hand thrown out the car window to wave. She flies by so fast that it ruffles the bottom of my short, floral sundress.
I spin around when Conrad asks from behind, “That the woman who bought the custom maple furniture?”
“Yup,” Sam answers from beside him. “That your new mother-in-law?”
“Yessiree,” my husband says, looking stupid sexy in his backwards baseball cap.
“What furniture?” I ask Sam with my hands on my hips. “How do you know my mom?”
Sam laughs instead of answering, and I turn on my heel, stomping my boots the whole way to the Beetle. When I get there, I throw my hands up with a growl and turn right back around, stomping even harder. “Keys,” I say to Conrad, holding my hand palm up.
Instead of giving them to me, he scoops me up and shouts a goodbye to his coworkers when we pass them on the way to my car.
No one steps forward to intervene, the Granny’s Girls breaking out into raucous laughter.
Apparently, Conrad thinking he can tell me what I can or cannot drink crosses their line, but when it comes to him kidnapping me, it’s totally fine, and no one bats an eye. Just great.
Conrad doesn’t hand my keys over until we’re both buckled in, with me in the driver’s seat, and I jam my key in the ignition.
I pull out of the parking lot just as fast as Mom, speeding through the gears, headed toward her house.
I mutter curses and grievances down the narrow, pitch-black, two-lane county roads until we get to one of only a few matchbox-sized suburbs in town.
And of course she isn’t there. This I confirm by knocking on and trying to lift every dark window of the one-story white clapboard house since my key to the front and back doors no longer works, and the spare is missing from under the welcome door mat.
“Where does Garth live?” I ask Conrad, having called Mom thirty-two times, all of which have gone straight to her voicemail box.
“They don’t exactly give out that information upon release,” he says, sitting on Mom’s front porch swing, pushing it back and forth with the toes of his new boots.
Duh.
“We’d have a perfect view of the sunset out here,” Conrad says wistfully, staring off into the distance.
My frustration ebbs slightly as I picture the two of us out here with a blanket draped over our laps come winter, sipping non-alcoholic mulled cider. He’d wrap his arm around my waist, curling me into his side, his large, warm hand resting on my rounded baby bump.
Gah!
I jump off the porch and drop down into my driver’s side seat, hanging my head in my hands with exhaustion. I really wish I could have had that margarita.
Conrad slides his hand up my thigh, startling me, and he crouches before my open door. “It’s not so bad being married to me, is it?” he asks, his brows creased in the middle, all his smug attitude from earlier wiped from his handsome face.
I swing my legs out of the car and cup his cheeks, lightly scratching his beard. “No, of course not.”
“Even if I’m a bossy, royal pain in your ass?”
“You’re worse than that,” I grumble, looking back and forth between his intense green eyes in the warm, low light cast by the street lamps. “But…yes, even so. Sometimes. Just a little bit. Like, the teeniest, tiniest fraction of a fraction.”
Conrad chuckles. “Same.”
I pout and cross my arms.
Conrad stands and gently tugs at the end of my hair. “You can dish it out, but can’t take it, huh?”
I slip my hands under his new Henley, low over his stomach, and tease, “Oh, but I thought I was so good at taking it.”
A bulge grows larger behind his zipper, and he swipes his thumb across my bottom lip.
“That you do, princess.” He cuts his eyes to the left when a car’s headlights grow brighter with their approach.
When it’s clear it’s not my mom’s car, he says, “We need to go before I end up begging you to suck me off out here where anyone could see.”
“Classy,” I say sarcastically, swiveling fast in my seat and starting the engine.
Although…my core heats at the thought of Conrad getting so hot for me that he’d fuck me anywhere he wanted, whenever he wanted.
Up until right this very second, I’ve been too intimidated by the size of his cock to take him in my mouth, but I don’t think I would mind all that much trying to now, even out in the open.
Wait. Where did that thought come from? I’m a good girl. I shouldn’t want that. But it’s still on my mind when we get home fifteen minutes later. Before Conrad has a chance to unbuckle his seat belt, I lean over the middle console and work on unfastening his button and the zipper of his jeans.
“Right now?” he asks, his fingers fumbling to help me finish pulling his hard cock out. His hips jerk up, his head flying back against his headrest when I grip his thick shaft and attempt to take his crown in my mouth.
Fucking ow. The corners of my lips burn with the stretch, yet that doesn’t deter me. Neither does the fact that I’m mooning the parking lot, kneeling sideways on my seat with my face in my husband’s lap. So hot.
Conrad gathers my hair in his fist so he can see my face, and his mouth drops open with a little choked sound when I draw back enough to spit in my palm so his cock will be slick enough to jack.
I circle his crown with my tongue before I pop it into my mouth and suck it like a straw.
On and on, I squeeze and suck him while wiggling my ass with my own arousal growing stronger.
“Fuck, princess, just like that,” Conrad rasps. “I’m so close. Almost never felt anything so good.”
I snap upright before he climaxes. “Almost? Did you seriously just tell me you’ve had a better blow job while I’m actively blowing you?” The freaking nerve!
Conrad’s eyes flash dangerously in the glow from the parking lot’s new light poles, and he grips the nape of my neck, yanking me so close that our noses bump.
“I said ‘almost’ because the only thing I’ve ever had better is your little princess pussy.
No one comes close to you, Mirabeth,” he growls. “And no one ever will.”
Time stands still when Conrad drops his gaze to my lips, his right hand tangling in my hair, and he tilts his head. I wait…and wait…and wait for him to kiss me for the first time. He doesn’t.
Instead, he says in a deep, rumbling voice, “Now open your little mouth and finish giving me the best head of my life so I can return the favor.”
Geez. What a let down…almost. I’m still looking forward to him eating my pussy, preferably before we go inside the apartment, but I’m not as enthusiastic now. I doubt he can tell, though, since it only takes approximately thirteen seconds for him to cum.
As soon as he does—my god, there’s so much of it—he pulls me off his dick and commands, “Do not swallow.”
I screw up my face in question, even though I do what he wants, kinda grossed out the longer his cum lingers in my mouth.
The taste isn’t bad, but I can’t say I’m a big fan of the feel of it.
I almost choke on it, though, when he crowds me back against the driver’s side door, lifts my hips to arrange my ass on the console, and pulls down my panties.
Kneeling between my spread knees, he cups his right palm beneath my chin and says, “Spit it out.”
Gladly.
Oops, spoke too soon.
I should’ve seen it coming, but I’m too late to stop him from feeding his sticky, cum coated fingers into my pussy.
“Dammit, Conrad!” I yell, though my eyes roll back in my head, my hips swiveling as he pumps in and out of me while tonguing my clit. “Why did you do that?” I flex my hips, urging him to push his fingers deeper. “Are you trying to get me pregnant?” I ask breathily with a long, drawn-out moan.
He doesn’t answer because he’s too busy alternating between massaging my clit with the tip of his tongue and suctioning his lips around it.
I’m too busy to care as I concentrate on the heat that’s building in my core, my pussy deliciously sore as he finger fucks me harder, trying to find the magical spot within me that makes my head spin.
With my hands on the backs of my thighs, I lift my knees toward my shoulders, changing the angle enough that he finally finds his target.
“Conrad, oh god, yes!” I pant for him, my eyes rolled back in my head with the intense pleasure.
“That’s it. Cum for me like a good girl,” he says with a low growl that makes me shiver.
Another two pumps of his fingers and his praise about what a good princess I am for him is all it takes for me to go hurtling into bliss, colors flashing behind my eyelids.
“That was amazing,” I say, trying to catch my breath when I let my legs drop.
“Mmhmm,” Conrad says. “You’re amazing.” He turns his cheek to kiss my inner thigh, murmuring that I’m his princess and such a good girl and the best wife.
As the aftershocks of pleasure fade, my heart drops, now that I’m back in my right mind. I push his head away, then climb out of the car with my keys, somehow managing not to collapse with my legs so unsteady. Tugging the hem of my dress down, I round the car to Conrad’s side.
“Did my mom put you up to this?” I ask, tipping my head all the way back when Conrad stands.
“Put me up to going down on you in the parking lot?” His chuckle is deep and oh so sexy, and he wipes his mouth, then circles my waist, his lips hovering over mine. “No. That was my—well, your—idea.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” I sniffle and push him away when he turns his head and kisses the edge of my jaw instead. “I thought we agreed—no babies with randomly assigned spouses.”
“You’re not so random anymore, princess,” Conrad says, suddenly dropping to push his shoulder into my hips, lifting me in a fireman’s carry as he takes the stairs two at a time to our apartment.
“Doesn’t matter!” I yell to his back, slapping his firm butt, then squeezing it to apologize for slapping it, then slapping it again because I’m miffed at myself for even having the urge to apologize. “I’m not having kids with someone I’ve just met and who’s going to disappear in three years.”
“See, now I’ve been thinking…this whole three-years thing—”
The world turns topsy-turvy when Conrad drops me to my feet on the landing, and I do a double-take after seeing who’s sitting on my wicker couch. With surprise tinged with annoyance, I ask, “What are you doing here?”