Chapter Two
Luke:
The second her lips part under mine, something shifts inside me.
It’s like a switch flipping, a cage door I’d kept locked for two decades swinging open.
All those months of careful restraint, of maintaining professional distance while my mind was filled with filthy thoughts of her...
all of it evaporates in the heat of this kiss.
I’ve wanted this since day one. Since she walked onto my set looking like sunshine and innocence, carrying a clipboard and trying so hard to appear unfazed by my presence.
I’d watched her then. Watched the way her hazel eyes darted around nervously, the way she tucked her dark blonde hair behind her ear when flustered, the slight blush that crept up her neck when anyone spoke to her directly.
At forty-three, I’m too old for this shit.
Too old to feel this teenage-level obsession with a woman half my age.
But there it is. I’ve spent countless nights in this trailer, rock hard and aching, thinking about her.
About her soft curves, about how she’d feel pressed against me, about what sounds she might make when I finally got my hands on her.
My divorce at twenty-seven burned me badly enough that I swore off relationships entirely.
My ex-wife, an actress, had been fucking her co-star.
The media circus that followed humiliated me on a global scale.
Since then, I’ve been celibate. A monk in Hollywood.
I’ve focused on my craft, built my career, kept everyone at a careful distance.
Until Emily.
Something about her broke through all my defenses. Something about the way she looks at me with those wide, honest eyes when she thinks I’m not looking. Something about her sweetness that makes me want to corrupt it, claim it, make it mine.
And now her lips are parting under mine, soft and tentative.
I deepen the kiss, unable to hold back anymore.
Years of celibacy are screaming at me to take, to claim, to make this woman mine.
My tongue slides against hers, and she moans into my mouth – a sweet, breathy sound that goes straight to my cock.
She’s kissing me back with an enthusiasm that surprises me.
This shy little thing who blushes when I say hello is now kissing me like her life depends on it, her hands tangled in my hair, her body pressing against mine.
I can feel the soft swell of her breasts against my chest, the warmth of her skin through her t-shirt.
My hands roam down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, settling on the perfect roundness of her ass. She’s small and slender, perfectly sized for my hands. I squeeze gently, and she whimpers into my mouth, pressing harder against me. My cock, already hard as steel, throbs in response.
But then she pulls back abruptly, her eyes wide with panic. Her arms fly up to cover her chest, a gesture that makes no sense to me until I see it.
Dark, wet patches are blooming on her white t-shirt, right over her breasts. They’re spreading even as I watch, the fabric becoming transparent in places. My breath catches in my throat, and I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice rough.
She’s shaking her head, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Nothing. I... I should go.”
But I can’t let her go. Not now. Not ever. I gently take her wrists, pulling her hands away from her chest. She resists for a moment, then gives in, letting me see what she’s trying to hide.
The wet patches are larger now, the fabric clinging to the curve of her breasts, revealing the darker shadow of her nipples beneath. My cock twitches, and I have to fight the urge to press her against the wall and sink my dick into her tight little body.
“Emily,” I say, my voice softer now. “What’s going on? Do you have a baby? Is that why you’re lactating?”
She shakes her head again, her eyes downcast. “No,” she whispers. “I don’t have a baby.”
“Then why...?”
She takes a shaky breath, her cheeks burning with shame. “I induced it,” she says, her voice barely audible. “I wanted to... I want to have a baby so badly, and lactating made me feel like maybe that’s not as far away as it seems when I’ve never even had a proper boyfriend.”
Something inside me snaps. She wants a baby. She’s been dreaming about starting a family. And I’ve been fantasizing about her carrying my baby since the first day I saw her.
“You want a baby?” I ask, my voice thick with the need that burns through me.
She nods, her eyes still downcast. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Stupid, I know.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say, my hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer. “It’s the least stupid thing I’ve ever heard.”
Because it’s not stupid at all. It’s perfect. She’s perfect. She was made for me. I reach out, my fingers tracing the wet fabric of her t-shirt, feeling the heat of her skin beneath. Her breath hitches, and I know she can feel the electricity that sizzles between us.
“You have no idea,” I murmur, my fingers gently massaging her breast, “how many nights I’ve laid in this trailer, thinking about you. Thinking about how you’d look with my baby growing inside you.”
Her head snaps up, her hazel eyes wide with shock. “You... you have?”
I nod, my gaze fixed on her breasts as I continue to massage them gently. I’m mesmerized by the way the fabric darkens, the way a small bead of milk leaks through the thin cotton.
“All the damn time,” I confess, my voice a low growl. “From the moment I saw you, I knew. I knew you were the one for me.”
My other hand moves to her other breast, mimicking the motion of the first. I watch, completely obsessed, as more milk leaks through her shirt, the wet patches growing larger and darker. I’m rock hard, my cock straining against my sweatpants.
“L-Luke,” she whimpers, her body arching into my touch. “That feels... that feels so good.”
“I know, sweetheart,” I murmur, leaning down to capture her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. “I’m going to take care of you. I want to taste you.”
She nods her head eagerly, so I hook my fingers under the hem of her wet t-shirt, peeling it up over her head.
Her bra is next, a simple white cotton thing that’s soaked through.
Her breasts spill out, full and heavy, her nipples puckered and beaded with moisture. They’re perfect, so fucking perfect.
I scoop her up into my arms, my hands cupping her ass, and carry her over to the small couch.
I sit down, setting her down on my lap so she’s straddling me.
Her core is pressed right against my erection, and she whimpers and wiggles her hips, the friction driving me crazy as I grit my teeth and fight the urge to flip her over and bury myself inside her.
“Shh, shh,” I whisper, my hands on her back, holding her steady. “Just let me taste.”
I lean forward, my mouth closing over one of her nipples. The first taste of her milk hits my tongue, sweet and warm, and a groan rumbles in my chest. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, and I suck harder, wanting more. Wanting everything.
Emily cries out, her hands gripping my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin. “Luke!” she gasps, her back arching, pushing her breast further into my mouth.
Her milk flows freely now, and I swallow, the taste of her flooding my senses. I’m completely lost, completely obsessed. I could do this forever, could spend the rest of my life with my mouth on her, drinking her in, making her mine.
My other hand comes up to cup her other breast, my thumb circling her nipple.
I can feel the wetness against my skin, the heat of her.
I switch my attention to that other breast, my tongue flicking against the nipple to capture any stray drops before I close my mouth over it, sucking gently.
More milk fills my mouth, and I groan, my hips bucking up against her.
She’s squirming in my lap now, her hips rocking against my erection in a rhythm that’s driving me wild. I can feel the heat of her even through the layers of our clothing, can smell the sweet scent of her arousal.
“L-Luke,” she whimpers, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please...”
“What do you need, sweetheart?” I ask, my voice rough as I release her breast, my lips seeking hers again. I kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue, on my lips. She moans into my mouth, her hips rocking more insistently.
“I... I don’t know... I just...”
Her words are cut off by a loud knock on the trailer door, followed by a familiar voice calling out, “Luke! Five minutes, man! They’re ready for you on set!”
Emily freezes, her eyes wide with panic. She tries to pull away, but I hold her close, my arms wrapping around her waist.
Shit. I want to stay here all day and nurse from her and fuck her into oblivion, but I can’t when there are dozens of people out there waiting for me to do my job.
“Give me ten minutes,” I call back, my voice strained.
I kiss her again, a quick, hard press of my lips against hers. “I have to go,” I growl. “But I’m not done with you, not by a long shot. I’ll see you later, okay?”
She nods, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses. I help her off my lap, then stand up, my erection still straining against my sweatpants. I grab one of my black button-down shirts from the small closet, the one that’s a bit too small for me.
“Here,” I say, my gaze lingering on her bare breasts. “Your shirt is soaked. You can’t put that back on.”
She takes it, her fingers brushing against mine, then turns away, pulling on the shirt.
I watch as she buttons it up, her small hands fumbling with the buttons.
She leaves the top few undone, revealing the swell of her breasts, then ties the bottom in a knot, revealing a strip of skin above her denim shorts.
Seeing her in my shirt ramps up the possessive feeling in my chest tenfold. She looks like she belongs to me, like she was made to wear my clothes, to be marked as mine.
“Goodbye, Luke,” she whispers, not meeting my eyes, then she’s gone, slipping out the door and closing it quietly behind her.
I wait until I hear her footsteps fade away, then collapse back onto the couch. I’m still rock hard, and I know I can’t go on set like this. I could try thinking about anything else - my lines, the weather, the goddamn stock market - but it’s useless. All I can think about is Emily.
Her sweet, innocent face, her wide, hazel eyes, her full, milky breasts. Her taste, sweet and warm on my tongue. Her sounds, the whimpers and gasps and moans she made when I nursed from her.
My hands move to my sweatpants, pushing them down just enough to free my straining erection. I wrap my hand around my cock, groaning at the contact. I’m already leaking pre-cum, my shaft slick and hard.
I start stroking, hard and fast, my mind filled with images of Emily. Of her on my lap, her hips rocking against me. Of her in my shirt, her dark blonde hair falling over her shoulders, her hazel eyes wide and wanting.
I think about putting a baby in her. My baby. Her belly swelling with my child, her breasts growing even fuller, even more milk for me to drink. I think about taking her every day, every night, making her mine in every way possible.
It doesn’t take long. The pressure builds, my balls tightening, my strokes becoming more frantic. I’m so close, so fucking close.
“Emily,” I groan, my hips bucking up into my fist. “Emily.”
With a guttural cry, I cum, hard and fast. Ropes of my seed shoot across my stomach and chest, but I keep stroking, milking every last drop from my cock, until I’m spent, panting, my body slick with sweat and cum.
I slump back against the couch, my head falling back, my eyes closed. I know I need to get up, to clean myself off, to get ready for my scene. I know I have less than five minutes before someone comes looking for me again.
But all I can think about is Emily.
I’ve been celibate for years, and now that I’ve had a taste, I know I’ll never be able to go back. I need her. All of her. I need to kiss her, to touch her, to taste her, to fuck her until she can’t remember her own name.
And more than anything else, I need to put my baby in her.