Chapter 37
Alfred
Iawaken with my arms still around Annabelle—and my cock stirs with me.
I worry as I did once before that I was too rough.
I would say that I didn’t understand my urgency, but I do.
It is that she is now my wife.
I always wanted a wife.
I dreamed of her.
All those nights as a boy coming into manhood, and then a young man, and then a man not quite so young, I lay in bed, my cock hard, knowing that I would never find relief until I married. And now I am married. I have found her.
I am nervous that I was too desperate. That I was too insistent on getting her with child.
I do want a child though—multiple children, if possible.
But it is not only that. I have this desire to possess her wholly.
The desire is so keen that it makes me lightheaded.
I want to mark her as mine. I am proud to bear her name, but I want her to be mine in a more primal way. I can’t help wanting it.
She shifts next to me and opens her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Annabelle,” I murmur in her ear. “Was I too—did I—”
She shakes her head.
“No.”
“Are you sure about—about me spilling inside of you? If you’re only agreeing out of obligation, I’d rather we take care.”
“I do not want to take care.” Her voice is soft in the dark. “Although I do feel that I have rather ruined your life.”
“You have not ruined my life. You have saved it. Tell me,” I press. “Do you not want a child of your own? I thought most people wanted children.”
“No,” she says. “Many do not. And many women are forced to have children despite their preferences. But let us not talk of this.”
“Do you want to do something other than talking?” I say, lips curling into a smile at her temple.
“Yes,” she says. “Indeed I would.”
“And what is that?”
“Well,” she says. “If you are resolved upon getting me with child, then I suppose we should continue to try the experiment.”
I am surprised to hear her speak so lightly of the matter. But I can’t say it doesn’t arouse me.
“I am at your service. You need only tell me what you want. Although sometimes I think the favor you prefer most from me is not the type that gets a lady with child.”
She laughs at that. “You are right—that is one of my favorite things. But it is not the favorite.”
“And what is that? I would dearly like to know.”
“I like riding you,” she says. At the words, I grow harder.
“I like that too,” I say. “Very much. It is the first way that I ever had you. And so it might be my favorite as well. Although I would need to think of it to truly decide. Your talents in the bedchamber are, after all, considerable.”
To my surprise, she slithers down the length of my body and takes my cock in her mouth. I grip her shoulder and then lace my fingers in her hair.
“Annabelle,” I say. “That is this is not what we discussed.”
She doesn’t listen and sucks me instead. She takes me so deep that the head of my cock touches the back of her throat. She barely moves, letting her throat tickle the head of my cock.
“Annabelle,” I gasp. “That is too good. You are too good to me, my love.”
She answers by murmuring slightly and the vibrations of her voice—combined with the undulations of her throat—cause me to come off in her mouth.
I groan. “That will not get you with child.”
“But you enjoyed it immensely,” she says.
“You are very generous.”
“And I wanted to conduct an experiment on you.”
Such a bold pronouncement surprises me. “What is that?”
“I suspect you capable of great stamina.”
And with that, she places her hand on my cock and begins to stroke me ever so slightly.
Curiously, I begin to harden again. We have never attempted to have intercourse again so quickly. I had not thought it possible. The books I read about the marital state and its relations proclaimed a rest necessary for male health. My cock appears not to have learned that lesson, however.
In a few minutes I am hard again.
“See,” she says. “I wondered if this would be the case.”
“Is this normal for a man? In your experience?”
“It varies from man to man—and is partially dependent on age. But I would say that you are extraordinary in this capacity nevertheless. But I figured that this way you needn’t worry about coming too quickly. You always mention that it worries you.”
It is true that I feel steadier now. I still want her very badly, but I do not have that ever-pressing fear of spending too quickly.
“Incredible.”
It will never cease to amaze me how well she can read my body.
For a moment, I just lie on my back, my head against the pillows, marveling at the situation in which I find myself.
And then her hands are on my shoulders, and she climbs on top of me, fitting herself over my hard length.
Within moments, I am impaled within her, and she merely sits there.
It feels exquisite to be inside of her like this, particularly when I need not fear being overcome.
Instead, I can focus on how good it feels to be this close to her, the woman that I love.
“My darling,” I say, bringing my hands to her hips. “My beautiful love.”
I pull her down so that she can kiss me. Our faces are touching. I take from her a tender kiss. And then I guide her up and down until we are both panting.
On instinct I ask, “Do you like that I bear your name now? Does it please you?”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Don’t stop.”
“Because it makes clear to everyone that I’m yours?”
“Yes,” she repeats.
“Good,” I say. “I like it for the same reason. I like it to be known that I belong to you.”
“You are mine,” she says. And I can tell she is once more nearing her peak.
“Will you come for me, my wife?”
“Yes,” she says. “Yes.”
And then she does. Her tight pussy flexes over my engorged cock. I still until she is done. And then I resume the same rhythm.
“Do you want my seed, Mrs. de Lacey?”
She lets out a little laugh. “Yes.”
“Fuck,” I say, the tension too good, the pleasure of having her like this too much.
“Please,” she teases. “Let me have it.”
I come then with more control than I have ever had, and yet with more total surrender than any I have shared with her yet. I fill and fill and fill her as if it were my purpose in life.
When we are done, I hold her. She kisses the side of my face, an act so tender that it brings tears to my eyes.
I curl my body around hers.
“Sleep,” I say, though I suspect she is already unconscious. And that suspicion makes me bold.
I whisper into her ear, “I am glad you are my wife, Annabelle de Lacey. I will love and protect you until the day I die.”
With that, I begin to fall asleep.
It is only when I feel a quick squeeze of her hand that I realize the truth. She hasn’t been sleeping at all.