Conclave (Devil's Night 3.5)
She digs her nails into the pool deck, her neck pulled back by the belt, and I look down, watching my dick slide in and out of her as her wet hair bounces against her ass.
“Harder,” she moans.
I take her hand and put it on her clit, watching her arm move quick as she rubs herself, while I fuck her.
Her moans get louder, I feel her body shake, and I pound harder as I pull the belt as taut as I can.
She screams, and I’m immediately behind her, coming with three more hard thrusts and every muscle burning to exhaustion.
Oh, God. My whole body fires up, my stomach explodes with pleasure, and I release the belt, letting her fall forward before I break her neck. She lays over the edge, whimpering and breathing hard, and I unclench my fingers from her hips, withdrawing my nails from her skin.
She whines a little when I slide out of her, but I don’t move otherwise. Leaning down, I rest my forehead into her back.
“I love you,” I say.
She doesn’t respond, and I’m too weak to keep up the pretense.
“Okay, okay,” I admit. “Yeah, I may have threatened your choreographer with…” I search for words that won’t piss her off, “removal of certain limbs. I don’t like him putting his hands there. I put my hands there.”
He doesn’t need to hold her that far up her inner thigh, for Christ’s sake, I don’t care what the lift is called or if he’s gay. Just no.
“They all need to fucking know,” I explain. “They’ll respect you, and they will respect me, so by the time Ivarsen is old enough to notice, they won’t need to be reminded again.” I stand up and turn her around, guiding her legs around me as we float back into the pool. “The only one who can bring
Ivar Torrance’s father to his knees is Ivar’s mother.”
I want them all to respect me. He doesn’t touch my wife like that, and if that means they fear me, then okay.
She purses her lips to one side, looking unimpressed but not really angry anymore.
I rub her nose with mine. “Forgive me?”
She lets out a sigh but then slowly nods.
I smile, relieved. “Talk to me, then?”
But then she shakes her head.
I growl and push back, letting her go. “Then, if that’s not it, what the hell did I do?” I slap the water. “Goddammit!”
She stands up, replying flatly, “You won the bet.”
And then she turns around, finding the edge of the pool and hops out.
The bet…
It only takes a moment for the light to dawn, and I realize what she’s talking about. The bet. My chest swells, and a smile spreads across my face as I dive for the edge of the pool, catching up with her.
“And you let me fuck you like that?” I scold, hopping out of the pool and lifting her up again.
Her arms and legs wrap around me, and I gaze up at her beautiful face as she strips off the mask and the belt.
“Yes, because I needed that,” she admits, looking embarrassed. “You know I’m all over you in the first trimester, especially.”
I laugh and squeeze her harder. I never actually thought I’d succeed. After Ivarsen was born, I wanted to keep going. Kids in our twenties, raise them in our thirties, and ship them off to college in our forties when we’re still young enough to have the house to ourselves and still be kinky, you know?
But she read some study that gifted children are usually only children or in families where the kids are five years or more apart. She wanted Ivar to have our complete attention during his formative years or some shit.
So, we made a bet. She would get pregnant if I could get her pregnant. While she was on birth control.