Page 57 of Kingmakers, Year Four

“I think I squished him plenty while he was still insideyou.”

Sloane’s smile turns to a wince.

“What’s wrong?” I demand, my voice too rough as my heartrate spikes.

“Nothing,” she says. “Only my tits are killing me. He hasn’t woken up to eat.”

I look at her breasts, heavy and round as a porn star’s, when usually they barely fill my hands. The skin is stretched painfully tight over their curved tops, her nipples stiff against the material of her dress.

I take her hand.

“Come on.”

She follows me down the staircase to the lower level of the SO Sofitel, which houses several rooms for board meetings and luncheons. I take Sloane into one such room, with a gleaming oval executive table, and a freshly-cleaned whiteboard mounted on the wall.

“I don’t want to wake him up,” she says.

“We’re not going to.”

Gently, I put my hands around her waist and lift her up so she’s sitting on the edge of the table, her feet resting on one of the plush leather chairs. Then I pull down the bodice of her black velvet gown, exposing one tight, swollen breast.

Her nipples are larger than usual, and darker. The point stands out from the breast, already beginning to leak milk just from the stimulation of air against her bare skin.

Supporting her breast with my palm, I close my mouth around her nipple.

I suck gently at first, lightly massaging her nipple with my tongue.

The milk begins to flow at once, first in a thin stream, then a rich and creamy torrent. Sloane lets out a low moan of relief as the let-down initiates. The moan is distinctly sexual—my cock stiffens inside my dress pants, jutting upward to the waistband.

Her milk is slightly sweet, as if mixed with honey.

I gulp it down.

I drink enough to give her relief but I leave her breast half-full in case our son wakes hungry. Then I move to the other side, still painfully taut and already leaking milk, dampening the velvet dress.

This time Sloane holds her breast, feeding me the nipple. She cups the back of my head, pressing my mouth against her flesh, gasping at the first touch of my tongue.

As her milk begins to flow into my mouth, I reach up under the hem of her gown, running my fingers up the inside of her thigh. Her temperature grows warmer and warmer the further I travel, until I reach the steady-burning furnace of her cunt.

She’s already wet, as I knew she would be.

As I nurse from her breast, I rub the ball of my thumb in circles on her clit.

With each gulp, I press a little harder.

Then I slide two fingers inside her. Now there’s no mistaking that moan that I know so well. She rocks her hips, riding my fingers like a cock, still clutching my head hard against her breast.

She starts to cum, milk spurting into my mouth.

I keep finger-fucking her, knowing she might kill me if I miss a single stroke.

I rub her pussy until I’ve wrung every last bit of pleasure out of her, giving her the relief she needs in every possible way.

Only then do I release her, covering her breasts once more.

“Is that better?” I ask.

“Infinitely better,” she says, kissing me deeply, tasting her milk on my lips.

---