Page 71 of Rescued By the Alien Bull Rider

“You have nothing to thank me for, either,” I insisted, beginning to massage her again. Beneath my fingertips I felt the hardened ducts soften as milk came squirting out. “I’m your husband.”

“Right…” The milk was flowing freely now. My hands were wet with it. Jolene tried to catch most of it in the bowl, but it seemed a rather hopeless task. “Not too much,” she whispered after a few minutes. “I’ll want some ready to go for when Autumn wakes up.”

“Of course,” I said, staring at my glistening hands, the way my pink fingers contrasted with her pale flesh, the alluring darkness of her nipples between them. I fought to return to normalcy. To crawl back to the place where I was not about to climax completely untouched.

I released my wife, getting unsteadily to my feet. “I will be back,” I told her. “I am going to… clean up.”

I was not going to clean up. Not yet, anyway.

I was about to go aggressively stroke my cock.

I found a shadowy place on the property, out of view of the house. I ripped open my belt, yanking my trousers down so quickly that I scraped my thighs. The sting of the burn only contributed to the overwhelming heat in my groin. I fisted myself roughly, my hands still slick with her, and groaned deeply at the feeling of her fluid on me.

I was so desperately aroused that it did not take long. My cock tail writhed and snapped with need. My sac drew up tightbeneath my shaft, trembling contractions that were intensely pleasurable.

A few ragged breaths. A few harsh strokes. I came, my mouth falling open with the intensity of the sensation.

I did not realize I spoke in that moment until I heard the sound of my voice broken, begging, in my own ears.“Jolene.”

After that, I really did clean up as promised. I wiped down my cock. Found a spare pair of clean trousers in the nearest barn. Then washed my hands in the kitchen.

When I returned to the bedroom, Jolene was fully dressed. She gazed out the window.

“I wonder how long it’s going to be before my life doesn’t revolve around being somebody’s on-demand milk machine.”

Heated and ashamed, I thought for a terrible moment that she meant me. That she knew what I’d just done.

“I just… I feel like a cow!” she cried. “Sometimes I don’t really feel like me anymore!”

“The formula is still available,” I reminded her. “It will not expire for some time.”

“I know, I know. It’s not just the breastfeeding. It’s just… Everything! I love that child more than life itself, but I feel like I’m never going to reconnect with who I was before I had her.” She shook her head. “God, I sound so dramatic. And ungrateful. I’m so glad I have her. I shouldn’t be saying these things…”

“You are exhausted,” I reminded her, drawing close, keeping my tone as soothing as possible. “And she is so young. Things will get better in time.”

“Yeah. I’m sure they will,” she said. A great chasm of pain opened up in my chest when I saw her attempting to blink away her human tears. So that I would not see them.

This woman, my wife, the perfect centre of my world, still thought her feelings were a burden to me. Because they’d been a burden to so many men before.

But I wanted them. All of them. I wanted her joy, her boisterous laughs. And I wanted her pain, if only so that I could soothe it. Maybe it was the doctor in me, that I wanted to heal her.

Or maybe it was the husband in me. Because she was my wife. And I loved her.

“When I first came here, I felt similarly,” I admitted to her. “That I would never again be myself.”

“Oh, Zohro, I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m not trying to say that me having a beautiful healthy baby, something that has brought me so much fucking joy, is comparable to your conviction and exile!”

“But it was just as important an event in your life. Just as transformative.”

“I guess…”

For a long time, holding on to my identity as a surgeon had been one of the only things that had made my life survivable. It was why I’d insisted on having medical textbooks delivered here whenever I could afford it, despite the astronomical cost of the growing collection.

Maybe Jolene needed to reconnect with something important to her, too. Something that had nothing to do with Autumn. Maybe even nothing to do with me.

“Jolene,” I said, brushing my knuckles along the smooth curve of her cheek. “I think it’s time that you start riding again.”

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