Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
ALEXANDER
Imogen squirting may be the singular most erotic moment of my life, but when she did it again, I felt like a fucking king. Knowing her inexperience, and that she’d felt comfortable and relaxed enough with me to have her body let go like that is proof that my go softly approach was the right one to take. Restraining myself long enough to ensure her first time wasn’t horrific and painful wasn’t easy, but the payoff… the payoff is one I’ll remember forever.
The sheets are soaked, but the bed is large enough that I’ve laid her down somewhere dry. As I part her legs, my cum drips out of her. My dick twitches. Give it another minute, and I’ll be ready to go again. I haven’t gotten hard this fast since I was in my early twenties.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
I palm her thighs, keeping her wide open for me, and grin. “Cleaning up my mess and yours.”
Her entire body flushes. It’s adorable how easily she embarrasses in the bedroom, yet outside, she’d hold her own with the most challenging men in The Consortium. In fact, I’d bet on her to win in any straight-shooting contest that involves using her wit rather than physical strength.
She tries to close her legs, but I’m too strong for her. I run my tongue over the soft skin of her inner thigh, scooping up my semen.
“Alexander… it’s okay. I can do it.”
“No.” I could use a cloth, but this is far more sensual. Besides, I’m enjoying how mortified she is far too much to stop. After I’m done cleaning her, I crawl up her body and kiss her, letting her taste our mingled scents. Bodily fluids don’t bother me at all. The sooner she realizes that, the better, because I don’t intend to change. I’d happily lick my cum from her every fucking time. Even if she’d bled from me fucking her, I’d have cleaned her up the same way. I guess she didn’t because her hymen probably snapped years ago from horse riding or from tampons.
I roll to the side and tuck her into my chest. “Do you want something to eat?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.” Yawning, she adds, “I am tired, though.”
A weight settles on my chest. Have I pushed her too soon? She did crack her head earlier today. Am I such a heartless beast that I put my own desires before her health and wellbeing? “Any nausea?”
Her palm cradles my cheek, and I lean into it like a cat seeking affection. “I’m fine. I know what you’re thinking. I’m not tired because of the accident. I’m tired because of…”
“Sex?”
She nods. “Sex.”
“Regardless, you should eat something.”
“So should you.”
Grinning, I kiss her hair. “Touché. ”
“I just want to sleep.”
“Then, sleep.”
I tighten my hold around her. I’ve never had this with a woman, this closeness after sex. My style is fuck and leave. Except this isn’t one of my flings. It’s my wife. I could still fuck and leave if I wanted to, but I don’t want to, and that is both staggering and thrilling to me.
She’s changed me, and I didn’t even see it coming.
“What if we made a baby?”
I stiffen. It’s highly unlikely, I’ve made sure of that, although there’s no such thing as a hundred percent certainty. But if I’d worn a condom, she’d have questioned it, leaving me few options if I wanted to fuck her, which I did. Still, the chances of her getting pregnant are extraordinarily slim—enough that I’m not concerned.
“Shh. Go to sleep.”
“It’s what you want, isn’t it? Your father, too.”
No . “And what do you want?”
Her eyes soften. “I’d love a family one day, but I’d like a career first. You will talk to Christian, won’t you?”
“I said I would, and I will.” Kissing her hair again, I tuck her against my body. “Sleep, now.”
A few minutes later, her breathing changes.
I lie there for a few minutes, my mind running over potential solutions to the problem I’ve created. She wants children, even if she’s not looking at having them right away, and I don’t. I’m not sure there is a solution to that.
It’s a problem for another day, though. Right now, I’m going to enjoy what we have and, who knows, if I stop thinking about it, the answer might come to me.
Once I’m sure she’s asleep, I extricate myself and pull the covers over her. Grabbing my clothes, I dress in the living room so not to disturb her, then head downstairs to find my father.
He’s not in his study, nor in the drawing room. I eventually find him in the main commercial kitchen on the ground floor chatting to Danny, our head chef, about Nicholas’s wedding on October 4th, around eleven weeks from now. Elizabeth isn’t twenty-one until the third week of September, and although marriage is legal from age eighteen, her parents wanted to wait, and my father and Nicholas were happy to agree.
Two weddings in one year. It won’t be long before it’s Christian’s turn.
“Ah, there you are, Alexander.” Dad strolls over to me, motioning for me to walk with him. We enter the drawing room, and he gestures to the couch. “How did the trip go?”
“Fine.” I rub my eyes. “Tiring, though.”
“Why do you think I asked you to go?” He winks at me. “How is Imogen after her fall?”
“She’s fine. No concussion, just a few stitches and a bruised chin where the horse whacked her.”
“I’m glad it’s no worse. She’s lucky.” His eyes meet mine. “And how are you and Imogen getting along?”
I hold his gaze. “We’re doing better.”
“She needed to settle in, that’s all. She’ll make a fine wife for you, as well as head of this household one day.”
“I’m sure,” I murmur.
“Do I have a grandchild on the way yet?” His eyes sparkle, and my heart twists. Lying to my father isn’t something I’m proud of, but even the debt I owe him for losing Annabel and Mum isn’t enough to force me to father a child. The world we live in is too dangerous, and no one will ever convince me otherwise. My siblings don’t feel the same as I do about procreation, which means our family name is safe. Nicholas will probably impregnate Elizabeth while the guests are still eating the wedding cake.
“We’re working on it.”
Working, yes. Fulfilling… no.
“Good. Good. ”
We fall into silence, which isn’t unusual for my father and me. It’s something we’re comfortable with, but on this occasion, the weight of it is heavy on my shoulders, and I have an overwhelming urge to leave. To return to my sleeping wife and curl up in her arms until morning.
“I should…”—I jerk my thumb at the door—“I should get back to Imogen.”
My father can’t hide his happiness. Beaming, he gets to his feet and shakes my hand. “Go, go. Give her my love.”
Imogen is still fast asleep when I slip back into her bedroom. I get undressed and peel back the covers. She rolls over, makes this adorable, contented sigh, then wraps an arm around my waist.
“Sleep well, my pretty little pawn.” I kiss her forehead and promptly fall asleep.
Getting an uninterrupted night’s sleep isn’t something that happens to me unless it’s a crash after several nights of insomnia, which is why my first thought when I open my eyes the next morning is one of shock.
Hours ago, I climbed into bed beside my wife, but after that, I don’t remember a thing until this moment right here .
Even more surprising is the time. Nine thirty-five. I never sleep this late.
“You’re awake.”
I turn my head. Imogen is beaming at me like I solved world hunger and fixed the climate all before breakfast.
“I’ve been lying here waiting for you to open your eyes. Your snoring is so loud, you could fill in as a trombonist in an orchestra.”
“I do not snore.”
“Oh, Mr. De Vil, I’m sorry to tell you that you do. It must be your advancing years.”
Her teasing lights the dark corners that all too often consume me. Pinning her to the bed, I tickle her. She shrieks and begs for mercy, but I don’t stop. I’m having far too much fun. More fun, in fact, than I have ever had with a lover.
Come to think of it, I’ve never once tickled a bedmate, or laughed with them, or been engulfed by the most miraculous feelings. What if they’re temporary, and tomorrow, I return to the same empty husk I’ve been since I lost my sister and mother within the space of two weeks?
Imogen hiccoughs, her hands flailing as she desperately tries to stop the tickling. “Mercy, please!”
“Beg for it.”
“I’m begging, I’m begging.”
I dive for her waist again.
She squeals. “If you let me go, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Hmm.” I stop tickling, grabbing her wrists instead and pinning her arms above her head. She can’t move her legs because I’m sitting on them. “Anything?”
“Yes.”
“Will you let me come on your tits? ”
She blushes again. It’s adorable. Will that fade as she gets more comfortable with sex? I hope not.
“Yes.”
“And lick it off?”
She writhes beneath me, thrusting her chest up. “Yes.” Her gaze lowers to my mouth. “Yes,” she says again, breathier this time.
Raising myself up, I yank the covers off her. She’s still naked from last night, and the place where she squirted has dried, leaving a stain on the sheets. I almost come from the memory alone. My dick is already rock solid, the slit weeping, the head purple, my balls so heavy that they hang low between my legs.
She shuffles up the bed and rests against the headboard. “I’ve never seen a man masturbate before.”
“I should fucking hope not,” I growl.
“I mean, not even online.”
I take hold of my dick, tugging once. “You watch porn online?”
She shakes her head. “No. That’s what I mean. I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, you’re going to see it now.” I take her hand, wrapping it around mine. “Want to help?”
After a few strokes, I slide my hand from beneath hers, leaving her rubbing me by herself. I shuffle forward and cup her tits, squeezing them together.
“You have gorgeous breasts. I can’t wait to see them splattered with my cum.”
Her grip tightens in response to my dirty talk. She might look embarrassed, but she’s loving every filthy word that comes out of my mouth.
“Look what you’re doing to me.” I inhale a sharp breath as she runs her thumb over my slit, gathering the beads of precum. “Taste it.”
I hiss as she swaps hands without breaking her stride and tongues my precum off her thumb.
“Cup my balls.” I never thought I’d find giving instruction a turn on, but I do, and my wife is such a perfect student. “One day soon, I’m going to have you suck on them, too.”
She moans, and without any encouragement from me, she leans forward and swallows my dick. It’s unexpected and fucking incredible, and when the crown hits the back of her throat, I’m done for.
“Gonna… come.” I grunt, jerking back. Seconds later, I explode as jet after jet of cum sprays my wife’s tits. “Jesus. Fuck.”
As the last pulse runs down the side of my hand, I bend over her and lick her clean, pausing to feast on her pointed nipples and delight in the sounds she makes, especially when I bite. But as I move south, she buries her fingers in my hair and pulls until I look up at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can we… talk?”
“Talk versus me eating you out?”
She bites her lip and nods. “Yeah.”
“You’re trampling on my ego, Little Pawn.”
Bracing on one elbow, she leans forward and kisses me. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying there are things I want to ask you.”
“And you figure post orgasm is a good time?”
“Am I so obvious?”
With a sigh, I climb off her and flop onto the bed. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”
She gives this adorable giggle. “You are anything but an open book. You’re fearsome. The staff are terrified of you.”
“As they should be.” I roll onto my side and tuck one arm underneath the pillow, cradling her hip with the other, pulling her close to me. “You’ve never been scared of me, though, have you?”
“No.”
I smile. “Tell it like it is, wife.”
“You know me.”
“I’m getting there,” I say softly. “So, what did you want to know?”
She doesn’t hold back. “Where do you go every Tuesday, and why are you so stressed, withdrawn, and sad when you return home?”
Fuck.