1. Rue #4
His hands find my breasts, cupping the heavy weight, and oh God—the relief is instant.
His fingers knead the swollen flesh, working in slow, deliberate circles that coax the milk out in thicker streams. The pressure that's been building for hours starts to ease, replaced by something deeper.
Something that makes my nipples tighten and my pussy clench around nothing.
He breaks the kiss, trails his mouth down my jaw, my throat. His stubble scrapes against my skin, leaving a path of heat in its wake. Then his lips close around my left nipple and he sucks.
Hard.
My head slams back against the chains, and I cry out—half relief, half desperation.
Milk floods into his mouth, and he groans low in his chest, the vibration traveling straight through my breast and down to where I'm throbbing.
His tongue works over the sensitive peak, circling and flicking before he sucks again, pulling more milk from me in long, steady draws.
"Fuck," he growls against my skin. "You taste so fucking good."
His right hand stays on my breast, massaging and kneading while his left slides down. Over my ribs. My stomach. Lower. His palm grazes the soft curls between my thighs, and I jerk against the restraints.
"Please—"
"Shh." His fingers dip lower, part my folds, and the first touch against my clit makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "Jesus Christ, Rue. You're soaked."
He's not wrong. I can feel it—the slick heat coating his fingers as he explores, can hear the obscene wet sounds as he strokes through my pussy. He drags two fingers through my slit, gathering the arousal, then circles my entrance. Barely presses inside. Just enough to make me whimper.
"Look at you." His voice is wrecked. Strained. "Dripping all over my hand. Leaking milk while I drink from you. You're so fucking perfect."
He switches to my other breast, latches on with the same desperate hunger.
His mouth works, sucking and licking, while his fingers keep teasing my pussy—dipping in just enough to stretch me, then retreating before I can adjust. The dual sensations are overwhelming.
My breasts ache with relief as he drains them, but my core is screaming for more.
For him to shove those fingers deep and make me come.
Instead, he pulls his hand away.
My eyes snap open. "Don't stop?—"
"Not yet." He releases my nipple, milk glistening on his lips. His gaze drops between my legs, fixes on my pussy, and his jaw goes slack. "Fuck, I need to be inside you."
He steps back just far enough for me to see what he's doing. His right hand wraps around his cock—thick and flushed dark, the head already weeping. He strokes himself once. Twice. His grip tightens, and his hips jerk forward into his fist.
"Been thinking about this," he mutters, voice gravelly. "Since the second I saw you in that bathroom. Knew I was gonna fuck you. Knew you'd feel perfect wrapped around my cock."
His hand moves faster, pumping himself in long, rough strokes.
Pre-cum leaks from the tip, mixing with the arousal coating his palm.
His abs clench with each thrust into his fist, muscles shifting under all that ink, and I can't look away.
Can't do anything but watch him jerk himself off while I hang here spread open and desperate.
"You're gonna take all of me," he says, dark eyes locking onto mine. "Every inch. Gonna stretch this tight little pussy until you're screaming my name."
I whimper. My thighs tremble, wetness dripping down to pool on the stone floor beneath me.
Roman's strokes slow. Stop. He steps forward, positions himself between my legs, and the blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance.
My breath catches.
"Ready?"
I nod. Can't speak. Can't do anything but stare at him—at the way his chest heaves, at the flush spreading across his cheekbones, at the raw hunger burning in those charcoal eyes.
The door swings open with a metallic groan that echoes through the dungeon.
Roman's head snaps toward the sound. "Dad."
Dad?
My gaze follows his, and I forget how to breathe.
A man fills the doorway—towers in it, really—so massive he has to duck slightly under the frame.
Six-five at least, with shoulders that span the width of the entrance and a presence that sucks all the air from the room.
Salt-and-pepper hair, cropped short and severe.
A neatly trimmed beard framing a face that's all hard angles and brutal masculinity.
And his eyes—God, his eyes—steel-gray and piercing, the kind that see straight through skin and bone to whatever's hiding underneath.
Reed Carson. My 48-year-old stepdad.
He's in a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing forearms corded with muscle and dark ink.
The top buttons are undone, revealing a glimpse of more tattoo work across his chest—abstract tribal patterns that disappear beneath the fabric.
He looks like he walked straight out of a boardroom and into this nightmare, completely unruffled by the sight of his naked stepson positioned between my spread legs.
His gaze sweeps over the scene. Lingers on Roman's hand wrapped around his cock. Travels up to where I'm chained and dripping, milk streaming down my breasts, arousal coating my thighs.
Those steel eyes lock onto mine.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. My breasts tighten, nipples hardening to painful points, and more milk leaks out—thick streams that trail down my ribs and stomach. It's worse than before. Faster. Like my traitorous body is responding to him on some primal level I don't understand.
Between my legs, I feel another pulse of heat. More slick. More evidence of how completely I'm falling apart.
No. No, this can't be happening.
Reed steps into the room, and the door swings shut behind him with a soft click. He doesn't speak. Doesn't react. Just crosses his arms over that broad chest and watches us with an expression I can't read—part calculation, part dark interest.
His presence is suffocating. Overwhelming. Every nerve ending in my body screams at me to run, to hide, to cover myself. But I'm chained here, spread open like an offering, and all I can do is leak and drip and pray the floor swallows me whole.
Roman glances back at me, then at his stepdad. His cock twitches against my entrance, still hard, still ready.