Page 22 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
Her frown likely matches my own. Mirabeth and I tried using condoms, having picked some up from a corner store on the way back from my welcome home party. We both hated it the four times we tried using them, neither of us able to cum until I would, inevitably, rip them off. She only pretended to be mad about it once she figured out what I’d been doing. I think.
“Not that I care or anything about what you’ve done with other people,” Mirabeth says. “You shouldn’t either.”
But I do, for some reason.
I ball up the insert and toss it into the kitchen. “I don’t think I want you taking something like this. Too risky.”
Mirabeth rolls her eyes. “As if we’re not being even riskier with your weak pull-out game.”
“It’s not weak.”It is.“Your eyes are going to get stuck in the back of your head if you keep rolling them like that,” I say when she rolls them again.
“That’s what my Dad used to say, but guess what? They haven’t.” She rolls her eyes a third time for added effect and scoots to the end of the bed, taking her prescription with her.
“Where are you going?”
“To use the restroom, or do I need to ask permission for that too, your bossy highness?” She stands and tugs her shirt down, then fiddles with the plastic disc packaging of her birth control.
“Give it here, princess,” I say, sitting up on my knees and motioning for her to hand it over.
“No.” She focuses her gaze somewhere south of the waistband of her pajama pants that I’ve once again commandeered. I’ve since purchased quite a few new clothes, including sweatpants and flannel pajama pants, but I still prefer to wear her tight-ass PJs because she thinks it’s cute. “And you’re not getting anywhere near me with that thing until this takes effect or you figure out how to keep a condom on.”
Since the latter isn’t likely, I ask of the former, “How long will that take?”
“A full cycle,” she says with the wrinkle of her nose.
“You sure you can wait that long? Because I can barely go two minutes without wanting to touch you.” I grab her hips, push her shirt back up, and kiss her bare stomach as I would if it was rounded with my unborn child.
“We have to at least try,” she says, dancing out of my hold when I tug on the waistband of her skirt. “Because, seriously, we already got lucky that I finished my period a few days before we got married. Don’t want to take any more chances since I’m about to ovulate.”
“You are?” My cock lengthens at the thought, straining against my PJs, about to bust through the fabric. All I wantto do is bury it deep inside my princess and tell her that I know about her secret tote. See how she’d react. “So you could, hypothetically, get pregnant right now.”
“Yep. So, I’m off limits, mister. No babies.” And before I know it, she’s swallowed the first pill dry.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
CONRAD
It’s as if I never left, already feeling right at home at the new warehouse on my first day back at work. So far, the guys haven’t treated me all that differently, other than a few sidelong glances. I know they want to ask about my time in prison, but they won’t until after they’ve had a few drinks, when Mirabeth and I go out with them and their spouses tonight as a little celebration.
I hope Mirabeth lets me pick what she’s going to wear again. Definitely not the dress she wore to my welcome home party. That one is for me and me alone from now on.
“Is the client some kind of celebrity?” I ask Sam as I use the jig to drill pocket holes into the gorgeous maple board for the custom crib I’m building to match the dresser, bookshelf, rocking chair, rocking horse, bassinet, toy box, and high chair. A set this large would be expensive if purchased from a regular department store, but with Sam’s—justified—prices? It likely costs a third of my contractual annual salary.
With my experience, I’ll be able to build a custom set like this one myself once I have children. The more I think about all the “accidents” Mirabeth and I have had before her birth controlpills can take effect, the more excited I get about the future, my thoughts straying to the potential tow-or-red-headed baby lying within a crib as beautiful as this one.
“Believe it or not, no. They’re a local,” Sam says, measuring and marking the holes on the next board. “Though I had a few big-name clients while you were…away.”
“Nice euphemism,” I mutter, moving the jig. “So who’s the client?”
He clicks his tongue, taking off his navy blue ball cap with a silver star to smooth back his thick, silvery locs from his sweaty forehead, giving me a curious look. “Let’s say she’s a friend of a friend.”
“All right…” I guess his client would rather remain anonymous, so I don’t push for an answer.
“So, how’s married life treating you?” he asks, taking the board I’m finished with and passing me the next.
“Not too shabby.” I cut Sam a grin that grows stronger as I think of Mirabeth and her adorable little snores when I left her in bed this morning. If I weren’t a better man, I’d have pulled her panties aside and gifted her pussy a little wet present when she climbed on top of me in her sleep last night. As it was, I only left it on her thighs, then rubbed it into her skin. She’s used to it by now.
