Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
CLAIRE
The next day…
Dinner is simple for us, as we both desired to prepare tomato basil soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. The soup is simmering, and the wine is breathing, while Erik watches me with that quiet reverence that makes me feel soft inside.
Suddenly my phone's camera flashes without any physical contact. Everything inside me goes still. Erik doesn’t panic. He moves fast, controlled, and with lethal calm, sliding my phone into a metal breadbox and shutting the lid with a finality that makes my heart stutter.
"It's a temporary faraday barrier," he whispers. “Whoever or whatever it is won’t get another frame, and I’ll work with my brothers to find out what happened.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist. Now we sit at the table, pretending to eat food that neither of us wants. The candles sway. The room feels like a fragile bubble that someone just pressed a thumb into.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, though my hands tremble.
“No,” he says softly, “but you will be.”
My chest aches, not the tender fullness from my milk, but something deeper. Fear curling around vulnerability.
He reaches across the table, palm up. I slide my hand into his. His thumb runs slow strokes over the sensitive place between my index finger and thumb, a rhythm that always calms me.
“Come here,” he says.
I stand. So does he. And then he cups my face with both hands, lowering his forehead to mine.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “I won’t let anyone touch you. Not your body. Not your milk.”
My breath shivers out. “I trust you. My body… I feel so full. And this stressor is starting to impact me. What if this stressor affects my milk production?"
“You’re overdue,” he says gently. “We will work together to help you relax and not fear losing what you think you will. We’re in this together, little one.”
I swallow. “What is going on with my phone? What does this mean?”
“That is not your concern. Your phone will be with me moving forward, and I’ll have Ivar give you a burner phone you can still text Grace or me with as well as make phone calls," he says, voice dropping. “You’re the priority, and my job is to keep you safe.”
Heat blooms low in my belly.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
He leads me to the bedroom with the slow certainty of a man who already knows how to bring me back to earth.
Light from the city outside faintly illuminates the bedroom. Curtains flutter at the open balcony door, letting in the slightest of breezes.
Erik sits on the bed, pulling me between his legs as his hands glide up my thighs and pause at my hips.
“Pull up your shirt.” He commands softly.
I inhale sharply at the order. My shirt slides up, exposing warm skin to the cool air. My breasts ache, full and sensitive. Unpredictably, a drop of milk pools on my nipple. Erik sighs loudly and exhales slowly.
“Move in closer.” His voice is gruff.
He guides me until I’m seated on his lap, straddling his hips with my knees on the mattress. He angles me until my breasts press flush against his lips. He embraces me, pressing his mouth to my nipple and waiting patiently for my signal.
“Are you okay with this?” He asks huskily. “Tell me.”
I nod, swallowing thickly. “Yes. Please.”
His lips tease me gently at first, then press harder, warm and insistent. Within seconds, the first letdown shakes through me. Milk escapes my nipple, hot and pulsing, as I gasp for breath. Erik’s other hand rests gently at the small of my back, keeping me still as my milk lets down.
I cry out, hands gripping fistfuls of his hair.
“Good girl.” He soothes me, licking along my skin. “Let me take care of you.”
Feelings of warmth and satisfaction flood through me. It’s difficult to decipher between relief from letdown and lust; both are blurring together.
My hips begin to pump faster on his lap. My core spasms. My breath becomes erratic. Erik stares up at me hungrily as he nurses, simultaneously possessive and soothing, and I can hardly stand the feel of it.
Heat pools in my lower belly, and I feel like I might explode with just him milking my engorged, milky breasts.
Once we’ve undressed, he cups my face with a dark, heated look in his eyes that sends shivers up and down my spine. “I’m going to pick you up and lay you on the bed. When I place you down, I want you to keep your arms above your head and not lower them until I tell you to.”
I nod, and he steps behind me and nudges me backwards so I fall into his waiting arms, and he cradle-carries me to the bed adorned with a soft duvet and plump pillows.
He places me among the pillows, and I sit back awkwardly. I wiggle and push back on my feet to try to stay upright and get comfortable for a few moments until my breasts begin to throb and I remember the need to drain them.
Erik relaxes next to me on the bed and runs his hand softly over my breasts, one after the other. I know they feel firm to his touch because I feel the skin stretch painfully over them as they grow taut and bulbous.
Time seems to pause, a heartbeat begins to radiate from them, and I shift uncomfortably. Erik’s eyes shift from mine to my breasts, enthralled by the predicament I find myself in.
I’m not sure what he’s enjoying more, my discomfort or the size of my expanding breasts. Eventually the need for them to be milked in some way, any way, becomes overwhelming, and I whimper, “Please Erik, please milk me.”
His face contorts into a deranged expression of gratification, and he swiftly responds with a sharp "No."
I practically gape at him. “Pretty please, Erik.”
"Be a good girl. I don’t need to hurt you for fun; your body is doing it to you all by itself.”
“Erik, I’ve been milked every two to three hours. We must be past four hours now, and look at me; I need relief; you can help me.”
“Yes, and I will. But first you just need to stay there and let me enjoy you.”
I blink dumbfounded at him. Enjoy me? My discomfort. Erik looks excited with the prospect of my near-combusting predicament. He sits up, moves one of my legs to the side, and kneels in front of me, between my legs on the bed.
His legs are parted, and I see his length poking through. He reaches both hands to cup one of my breasts each, and I lean away from his touch, my breasts feeling all too tender for any kind of touch anymore. I don’t even know how I’m going to tolerate him getting the milk out of them.
“Shhh, there, there. I know they are hurting,” he coos as he gently covers my breasts with his hands. He doesn’t squeeze or cause any more discomfort than I’m already in. He just enjoys them. The look in his eyes is one of awe and wonderment.
His cock lifts more so, almost touching between my legs as he gently fondles one breast and then the other. I have to take shallow breaths at each light touch to handle the pain of it.
“I’m going to help you take your mind off it,” he says, looking back into my eyes.
He reaches behind him and pulls back a vibrating wand, which he switches on and holds directly over my clit, making my hips jump off the bed and into the air. I hadn’t realized how turned on I was being in his bed, with him looking like he’s ready to devour my breasts at any moment.
My clit is sensitive to the initial touch, but it’s a welcome sensation over the throbbing of my heavy chest. I groan and roll my head back as I feel the delicious sparks of a building orgasm.
“There you go, doesn’t that feel nice?”
“Yes, thank you,” I reply, panting.
“You look like a picture to me, Claire, as you let me pleasure you while you are pleasing me in such a unique way.”
Oh god, his words, the wand, the throbbing.
It’s all combining to create something so strong I can’t help but pant loudly as he tips me over the edge of such an orgasm. It hits me like a freight train wrecking through my body.
I howl at the explosion from my clit and the eruption of my letdown as milk shoots from both breasts like a dam being broken.
The orgasm and the potential relief it brings as the milk flows down my body fill me with relief. I open my eyes, realizing they were closed, and see the streams of milk running down my stomach, and Erik lowers his head over one of my nipples.
His warm mouth is gentle; he doesn’t pull hard or suck too deeply, he suckles soothingly, pulling a sigh from my lips as I relax properly into the pillows, the first time I’ve been able to.
Erik takes his time, and I wish my arms were not resting above my head so I could cradle him against me. When the breast he is drinking from finally empties and he sits up for a breath, I say, “May I lower my arms so you can lie across my lap and relax into me for the other side?"
His eyes pierce mine as he invites me, so I continue, “Let me hold you.”
Curving his lips into a devilish smile, he nods. “I’d love to, little one. Lower your arms.”
“Lie down to my left, and I’ll put a pillow to support us under my elbow if you rest your head on my arm.” He does as I suggest, lowering his body and head across me.
It’s still a little clumsy, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. When his head is settled and he is looking up at me, I lower my breast to his mouth, where he carefully latches on and begins to suckle at my over-engorged, painful breast. He looks up at me as he drinks me down, and I look back at him.
Our eyes exchange a conversation without words.
His are vulnerable; mine are reassuring.
When I feel he’s relaxed enough with me, I stroke down the side of his face and along his neck, touching parts of him he may never have allowed until now.
It’s a strange role reversal I hadn’t considered possible.
I move my touch across his shoulder, my hand feeling his taut muscles as I caress lower to his abdominals. He tenses, then relaxes.
Then I get brave, and ask in a light voice, “I want to touch you like last time.” His eyes stare back at me, heated and commanding. He doesn’t unlatch, so I take that as my permission to touch him.