Chapter 47
Alfred
Ihave a problem.
I didn’t realize it at first.
I imagined that I would be able to keep Annabelle’s pregnancy from her for a few more days at least. For just long enough for us to get to London and for me to find the right way to tell her what her symptoms mean.
But while I can identify her condition, I have no idea if it is safe to rut a woman carrying a child. So I cannot fuck her. And I cannot tell her why.
Luckily, we arrive in London late, and she seems very tired in the carriage on the way to her townhome. I hope that for tonight she will not try to bed me again. I will not be able to put her off again without suspicion.
When we arrive it is difficult to see the townhome in the dark. My only impression is that it is larger and grander than I imagined. Annabelle assures me that tomorrow she will show it all to me.
In our bedchamber, she undresses, yawning, and pulls on the thin nightclothes she favors. I undress and try not to look at her. The sight of her in her nightclothes will have me hard and aching in a moment.
I sit on the bed and attempt to appear busy examining the Chinese lamp on the nightstand.
However, this tactic proves futile when she slides into bed beside me and lays her head on my chest. My cock begins to stir. Soon, the traitorous thing is tenting the bedsheet and Annabelle is laughing.
“I am extremely tired,” she says. “But you’re in luck. I wouldn’t object to a quick, thorough rutting.”
“You should sleep,” I say, praying that tiredness will win out. “We have travelled all day. And you are ill.”
“Oh, I feel fine now,” she says. “I don’t think I have the grippe after all.”
I grit my teeth. No, I don’t think that she has the grippe either.
And then her hand is on my cock.
Fuck.
“Would you like to rut me from behind? We can turn to the side and you can enter me. It is a very relaxing position.”
We have never done that before. And the novelty of the configuration has my cock straining with enthusiasm.
No.
No risks.
“We shouldn’t.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alfred. Your cock is as ready as it has ever been.”
There is no denying that. Under her ministrations, a bit of seed leaks from the head. She uses it to stroke me further and I moan.
“You could just—continue.”
She gives a little frown. “I suppose I could. But wouldn’t you rather—”
“No,” I say too harshly.
She looks a little hurt and it kills me.
But I see no other way.
Annabelle strokes me expertly. We have never done this either. It is so erotic to see her elegant hand working my cock.
“Your hand—I like watching.”
It is true—and I hope I can allay her suspicions by avowing it.
She says nothing, just continues to stroke me. I fear that my statement has not been sufficient.
My body, however, needs no encouragement to display my enthusiasm.
A minute later, I am overcome. I spill over the top of her hand. I watch, fascinated and horrified, as the seed appears between her fingers. I feel incredibly aroused, much more so than I usually do directly after my spend, because I am watching her fingers drip with my cum.
“Here, I will—my handkerchief.”
I reach for the nightstand, but she shakes her head.
Then she raises her hand to her mouth and sucks the cum off of her fingers.
And, impossibly, nonsensically, a surge of molten weakness runs down my cock.
I shudder.
And come again.
The spend that comes from me this time is smaller, less intense. But it is distinctively there, spilling onto the bedsheet as I moan.
“Alfred,” Annabelle says. “Did you just—”
“Yes,” I say brusquely, caught somewhere between disbelief and shame. “I have never seen—that was just—your hand—Annabelle.”
I am incoherent.
She climbs on top of me and kisses me. Her taste and my own is on her lips.
“Touch me,” she commands.
So I do just that. I reach between her legs and find that she is very wet. I work my fingers from her core to her clit and then back again.
“Does it please you,” I say, “to show me how utterly you vanquish me?”
She moans as I stroke her.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” she gasps.
Moments later she shudders in my arms.
“Dear God,” she says, returning her head to my chest. “We have something dangerous here, Mr. de Lacey.”
I agree.
If it weren’t for a full day of travel, I am sure we would not be able to calm ourselves for several hours more.
But I am lucky.
Because in my arms, sated, she falls, mercifully, asleep.