5. Chapter 5
Idon't pull out. My cock's still buried in her, still twitching from the last one, and she's so wet it's running down my balls onto the couch. She looks down at me, hair stuck to her cheek, and I get my hands under her thighs and lift.
"What are you—"
"Hush."
Her legs come up around my hips on instinct, ankles crossing behind my back, and I carry her that way, still inside her, her weight hanging off my cock.
Every step I take shifts her on me, a slow drag out and a slow push back in, and by the time I get her through the kitchen doorway, she's got her face pressed into my neck, and she's breathing through her teeth.
I set her down on the counter, right where we started, and she gasps when I pull out. The come runs out of her, thick and white, and I watch it hit the tile before I turn to the stove.
The tea's still there. I pick it up, and Ginny watches me, still catching her breath.
"What are you doing?"
I don't answer. I take her left breast in my hand — heavy, full again already, the nipple dark and wet from where I sucked it — and I squeeze. A thin stream of milk arcs out, hits the tea, clouds it up.
"Ray—"
I squeeze again, more of it, until the cup's gone pale and sweet, and then I set it on the back of the stove. Later. I'll drink it later.
Then I turn back to her. She's spread open on the counter, one hand braced back, the other between her legs like she doesn't know what to do with it. My cock's still hard, slick with her and with my own come, and it aches.
"Spread your legs."
She does it. Slow, watching my face, and her cunt's swollen and red and shining. I push two fingers in first, just to feel it, and she takes them easy, clenches down around them, and I can feel how full she already is — my come, hot inside her.
"You're full of me," I say.
"I know." Her voice is thin. "I can feel it."
I pull my fingers out and put my cock where they were. She's wet enough that I go in to the root in one push, and she cries out — not loud, but real — and I clap my hand over her mouth. She bites my palm.
"Quiet," I say against her ear. "You want your mother down here?"
She shakes her head under my hand, and I start to move.
Slow at first, deep, dragging out of her until just the head's left and then burying again, and every stroke pushes more of my come out around my cock, wet and sloppy, running down onto the counter under her ass.
She gets her hands on my shoulders, nails digging in, and her hips start to meet me.
I bend down and take her right nipple in my mouth. She's so full it comes without me even working for it — one pull and my mouth floods, warm and sweet, and I drink and fuck her at the same time, long slow strokes, and she's trembling all over, thighs shaking against my hips.
"Daddy," she breathes, right in my ear, and I feel it go all the way down my spine.
I switch to the other breast. More milk, more of her, and her cunt's gripping me now, tight little pulses, and I know she's close.
I get my thumb on her clit and press, and she moans — loud, too loud — and I feel her come apart around my cock, clenching, soaking my hand, her whole body bowing up off the counter.
She doesn't mean to. But the moan comes out of her like it's been torn out, long and raw and unmistakable, and it fills the whole house.
Upstairs, a door opens.
Footsteps on the stairs. Slow. One hand on the rail, the way I heard it before.
Ginny's eyes go wide, and she grabs my wrist, but I don't stop. I'm too close, and I'm not a man who stops. I fuck her harder, faster, the counter creaking, and I hear my wife reach the bottom step and go still.
She's there in the doorway. In her robe, hair flat on one side, and she can see all of it — her daughter's legs around her husband's hips, my mouth wet with milk, my cock buried in her girl.
Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Then my wife makes a sound like something tearing, and she turns and goes back up the stairs, fast, and the bedroom door slams.
I come. Deep, all the way in, and I hold Ginny's hips flat against the counter and empty into her while she shakes. When I'm done, I stay inside her, breathing hard, my forehead on her shoulder.
"Ray," she whispers. "Ray, she saw—"
"I know." I lift my head and look at her. Her eyes are wet. Her mouth is open. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.
"I'm yours now," I tell her. "You hear me? Whatever happens, I'm yours."
She says it against my mouth, quiet, like it's a secret the house already knows. "Daddy."
I don't answer. I get my hands under her thighs again and pull her to the edge of the counter, and I slide back into her.
She's still slick with me, still full of what I put in her, and it comes out around my cock in a slow, thick spill while I push back in.
Her heels knock the cabinet under the sink.
She grabs the back of my neck and holds on.
"Listen to me," I say. Slow strokes. Each one all the way out and all the way back.
"Anytime," I say. "I'll drain you dry anytime you want.
Both of them. Until you're soft and empty and you can sleep.
That's what I'm for now." I feel her cunt clench when I say it.
That's the tell. That's how I know she wants it as bad as I do.
She bites down on my shoulder — same place as before, the bruise still there — and her hips start working against mine, meeting me, taking the strokes instead of just receiving them.
I move one hand to her belly, low, where the round of it starts, and I can feel myself inside her through the wall of her. Little push. She gasps into my neck.
"You feel that?"
"Yeah." Her voice is wrecked. "Yeah, I feel it."
"That's you full of me. That's gonna be you every night." I fuck her harder, and the counter's creaking again, and I don't care who hears it now. The door already slammed. The secret's already spent. "You gonna let me?"
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I'll let you fill me, drain me. Anytime. I'll come find you."
I bend and take her nipple in my mouth. One pull, and it comes — warm, sweet, easy, like she's been waiting all night for it.
I drink, and I fuck her at the same time, long, deep strokes, and she's shaking all over, her hands in my hair, her thighs clamping my ribs.
I switch to the other breast. More milk.
She whimpers when I pull off, and I lick the last of it off her nipple and look at her.
She comes with my name and then not my name — that low broken "Daddy" again — and her whole body bows up off the counter, cunt milking my cock in tight little pulses, and I let it pull me over.
I come inside her again, deep, holding her hips flat so nothing spills, and she takes all of it, twitching, whimpering, her fingers twisted in my shirt.
When I'm done, I stay in her. My forehead against hers. Both of us breathing like we ran here. I hear the back door close and know my wife has left me. I don’t care. I have her now.
I pull out of her slowly and watch my come follow, thick and white down her thigh. "When it starts to hurt again — you know where I am."