Chapter Three
Morning put a strange weight on his chest.
Evan woke in Lena’s bed with sunlight thin through linen curtains and her arm heavy across his ribs. His nipples ached when the sheet dragged. His belly still held a low full heat from the night.
Lena’s apartment was pale wood and clean lines, a wide shower, a kitchen that smelled like coffee. She was already up when he sat, long dark brown hair loose, black tank, soft pants that did nothing to hide the thick shape of her.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Bad but in a good way,” he said. “You were really rough last night.”
She thumbed one nipple through the air above the sheet. He hissed. A drop of clear fluid beaded at the tip of his cock without him touching it.
She looked pleased. “Shower. Then back to bed. We’re not done collecting.”
Hot water hit his shoulders. His chest tingled under the spray. When he soaped his nipples he had to stop and breathe. The skin felt fuller, slightly puffy.
He found her on the bed already oiled and hard. She crooked a finger.
“Kneel on the mattress. Mouth first. I want you wet and stupid before I put you on your back.”
Evan knelt. She fed him her cock without greeting. Salt and heat and a shape he already knew and still had to learn. She used his throat until spit ran and his eyes watered, talking in warm complete sentences about how pretty his mouth looked stretched and how well he held still when she asked.
“Show me.”
He opened his mouth. She nodded once.
“On your back. Knees up.”
He lay back. She pressed into him easier than the night before. Fullness punched a moan out of him. She set a steady rhythm and watched his chest bounce with each thrust.
“Look at that,” Lena said, warm with appetite. “Puffy already. Nipples standing. Your body is answering me.”
“It feels wrong,” he gasped. “But it feels so good.”
“Both can be true while I fuck you.” She pinched one nipple and he yelled. A thin white bead gathered under her fingers. She smeared it across his chest with her thumb and kept thrusting. “It’s milk. You’re going to be such a mess by Sunday.”
Milk?
Humiliation burned under the pleasure. He pushed back onto her anyway. She edged his cock with a slick fist and denied him twice while she used his ass for her own climb.
“Please,” he said. “Please let me come.”
“Beg better.”
“Please fill me and let me come. I need it. I need you in me.”
She stroked him in tight twists timed to deep thrusts and let him go over while she watched his face. His climax shook him quieter than the first night. She followed hard and filled him again, grinding deep, one hand still cupping his tender chest.
They stayed joined. His nipples throbbed. The bead of milk dried sticky on his skin.
Lena kissed the corner of his mouth. “Afternoon you rest. Evening I take you again. By tomorrow your shirts will lie to you about your size.”
Evan laughed once. The laugh turned into a shudder when she thumbed his nipple again and another white drop answered her.
She kept him in bed longer than rest required.
She made him present his chest on all fours while she sat against the headboard and stroked herself watching him, then had him crawl forward and take her cock in his mouth until his jaw ached.
When she came that time she did it on his tongue and made him hold it, mouth open, moaning around her.
“Swallow it. All of it.”
He swallowed. She pulled him into her lap facing away, sank into his ass, and milked at both nipples while she fucked him short and deep until he was moaning open-mouthed at the opposite wall.
“Thank me for your chest. Your breasts are becoming quite nice.”
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough. “Thank you for my chest. Thank you for making it yours.”
She filled him again and held him there, long dark brown hair over his shoulder, her hands still cupping the new tender swell. “Sleep if you can. I want you soft and full when I wake you.”
He dozed. Woke to her hand on his belly checking the heat.
Slept again. When he truly rose the light had shifted afternoon gold.
She left a soft shirt on the dresser that fit his shoulders and still brushed too much against his chest. He put it on bare underneath and walked the rooms: kitchen, couch, a closed door that smelled faintly of leather polish.
He stood at that door with his hand on the knob for a full minute, then stepped back.
When Lena found him she was in a short robe, long dark brown hair damp from her own shower, cock already half hard under the fabric. She opened the room without ceremony and let him look: padded bench, ceiling rings, rack of cuffs, clamps, plugs, a freestanding mirror facing the bench.
“Not yet,” she said when his cock twitched in the soft shirt. “Evening. First I want you on the couch with the windows cracked so the city can almost hear you.”
He went. Afternoon light put him on display for anyone across the way who cared to look. She stood behind him and stroked his cock with a slick idle hand while her other palm traced the new tenderness of his chest.
“Someone could see,” he said, half protest, half plea.
“Then give them something worth seeing.” She bent him over the couch arm, pulled the soft shirt up to his armpits, and entered him from behind in one long claim.
The wet sound of her in him mixed with distant traffic.
She milked one nipple while she fucked him, and thin white wetness striped the couch leather.