23. Nero
23
NERO
Six weeks later…
M iranda screams my name in a mangled roar when I flip her over without removing my cock from her tight, wet cunt. Her flexibility and the bounce of her sexy thighs as they skim over my sweat-drenched chest harden me further.
I love taking her hard and fast from behind, but this… having every inch of her glorious body displayed in front of me is the stuff dreams are made of.
I love the way her tits clap when I fuck her without remorse, and the jiggles of her ass when my balls slap against them for each brutal pound.
The sex has been relentless for the past six weeks, but I still can’t get enough.
Every time I have her, I become more addicted.
I’m a full-blown fucking addict.
Not even giving her the title of my wife subdued my wish to have this beautiful woman beneath me, on top of me, and covering every fucking inch of me.
Don’t act surprised by how fast I moved. I wasn’t lying when I said I would have given Miranda my last name the week we met if she weren’t already married.
As Rico Popov would say, “ You don’t wait when an angel falls into your lap. You grant her every wish. ”
You also shouldn’t misconstrue the strength of my butterfly. I haven’t forced Miranda to do anything against her wishes. I helped crack her cocoon and fan her wings, but the freedom that comes from a weightless flight is limitless.
She was a willing participant in our Vegas quickie wedding two weeks ago where my mother and Tempy were our witnesses, and she’s put as many hours into the event we will host for our family and friends in the spring to announce our marriage as Shiloh has.
My woman is as snowed under as I am, and I can’t wait to tick off every item on her wish list.
There are only two wishes I’ve yet to fulfill.
One I’m working on now.
Two will have to wait until I’ve finished fucking my wife to oblivion.
Nothing comes before Miranda’s pleasure.
Not a single fucking thing.
I shift the tilt of Miranda’s hips, bringing them up and forward, before I add a roll to my pumps. Her eyes roll into the back of her head when the rim of my cock rubs at the sensitive spot inside her.
I strive for no color to be seen by reaching between us and rolling her clit with my thumb.
“I need you to come for me again, printsessa . Give my sperm clear passage to your egg like a good little wifey.”
Miranda’s grip of the bedding is so rigid her knuckles go white. She moans through every thrust and accepts me without protest.
She feels so good.
Tight.
Wet.
About to be carrying my kin.
We dumped her birth control the day we wed, and although Miranda said it might take a few weeks to leave her system, we’ve been acting as if its ineffectiveness is immediate.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I pushed my sperm back inside her before it gets close to smudging the pillow I stuff under her ass to heighten the chances of conception.
That’s how fucking obsessed I am of the idea of her stomach being swollen with my child.
I love her curves, but wondering how they’ll develop while she’s growing my child… fuck.
I fuck her harder. Faster. I drive into her so ruefully the emasculating pink bed frame she bought to stick it to Roy bounces across the wooden floorboards of her bedroom.
The same word falls from my mouth with every skid.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
The possessiveness of my pumps and the swivels of my thumb on her clit bring Miranda’s screams up to an ear-piercing level.
Beads of sweat roll off my cheeks and dot the mound of her pussy, adding to the slickness coating my shaft.
She’s so close to release again that I can taste her arousal on the tip of my tongue.
“Oh…” Her back arches as her head thrusts back. “I’m… I’m…”
“Give it to me, printsessa . Come on my dick. Strangle it with the greedy sucks of your pussy.”
Miranda stills, then moans, her expression both beautiful and destroyed.
I’ve lost count to the number of orgasms she’s faced today, but each one is more powerful than the one before it.
Her climax lasts for an eternity and zaps the last of her energy.
She’s floppy and pliable by the time she finishes shaking, exactly how I want her.
I continue pumping into her, admiring the heavy rise and fall of her chest, before I bury myself deep inside her and then grunt through a brutal release.
Her beautiful eyes snap open when my hot, salty sperm pumps inside her, filling her already brimming pussy.
Moaning, she massages my twitching shaft, milking me of every drop of cum while maintaining eye contact.
It is intimate as fuck and proves what I have always known.
She has me by both the balls and my heart.
* * *
“I’ll forget how to use my wings if you forever carry me everywhere.”
I grunt like I’m not opposed to the idea before I continue moving through her home, dodging Tempy’s excited twirls and begs. We fucked on the couch downstairs because we were too impatient to climb the stairs, and then Miranda rested while my sperm hopefully worked its magic.
I wouldn’t have moved her if it weren’t important.
“Do you want to shower before getting dressed? Or are you happy getting around smelling like my cum?”
I’m hard enough to drill the Antarctic when the lusty gleam in her eyes answers my question on her behalf.
I set her down in front of her walk-in closet before returning to the living room to collect Tempy. The deck outside catches as much sun as the one on the second-floor balcony, but the sun is dropping quicker now that Christmas has passed.
It’s colder than a witch’s tit—another strong point as to why I needed to wake Miranda.
“Where are we going, again?” Miranda asks from inside her closet, aware of my return from Tempy whining when I place her down. She’s as obsessed with licking my face as I am of licking her owner’s delicious pussy.
When I growl, Miranda pops her head out of the closet. “I was just asking so I can coordinate the perfect outfit. I don’t want to look frumpy.” Her last sentence is a whisper, but not even a tornado siren could have me missing it.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
She’d usually reevaluate her words when it puts me on the warpath to restore the confidence a worthless prick stole from her, but this time, she repeats them. “I don’t want to look frumpy.”
As I join her in the closet, I run the short list of people she interacted with today through my head. I don’t care that they’re a member of Nikolai’s crew. I’ll kill them without a second thought if they’re responsible for her dip in confidence.
“What was the name of that punk with the buck teeth who opened the door for you today? The valet.”
Miranda shrugs. “I don’t know.”
She’s lying. I know this, and so does she.
“Acting daft won’t save him from my wrath, butterfly. If he said something bad to you, he’s dead.”
“He didn’t say anything bad.”
“So he said something?”
“Yes, but it isn’t what you’re thinking.”
I pfft like I don’t believe her, and it makes her giggle.
I’m glad she’s amused. I am about to go on a fucking rampage, and she’s laughing.
What the fuck am I missing?
“He said that I was glowing.”
“Flirting with my wife is just as bad as insulting her.”
Miranda fans her hand across my chest, loving my jealousy, before she balances on her tippy-toes to brush her mouth against mine. She doesn’t kiss me. She simply hammers the final nail in the valet’s coffin. “Then he congratulated me. I assumed he was talking about our recent nuptials… until his eyes lowered to my stomach.”
I pull away, ready and willing to kill him. Insinuating that a woman is pregnant because she’s put on a couple of pounds is bullshit. Miranda has put on a little weight in the past six weeks, but that’s because she is eating three solid meals a day instead of sneaking downstairs after dark to consume something other than lettuce leaves.
Roy starved her—of both affection and food.
I refuse to be anything like that prick.
“Pack a coat. It is cold in the woods where I’ll bury him.”
Miranda laughs as if I am joking. I’m not. My stories about the numerous unmarked graves in the woodlands between the Popov mansion and Clark’s were one hundred percent factual.
“I was about to give him the serving of his life.” Miranda has to shout to ensure I can hear her over my stomps, and her next words force my eyes back on the prize. “Then I realized his assessment of the situation could be on point.” She nervously chews on her bottom lip while confessing, “I’m late.”
It shouldn’t take almost a minute to work out that two plus two equals four, but that’s how long it takes for me to do the math.
We’ve fucked every day, multiple times a day, for the past six weeks.
She’s not bled once.
“If I am pregnant, I swear to God it’s yours. Roy and I?—”
I stuff her worry into the back of her throat along with the remainder of her words when I storm across the room, rake my fingers through her hair, and then kiss her with everything I have.
I kiss her until the sun disappears with her worry.
I kiss her until her happiness matches mine.
And I kiss her until I wonder what the fuck I’m going to do with the little bakery I purchased three blocks over, and the millions of dollars I invested to make it everything Miranda dreamed of when she was a child with a record-breaking rebuild schedule.