Epilogue
Six Months Later
I carefully waddle down the stairs, heading toward the kitchen to grab the cup of decaf that Nicholas prepared for me before he hopped in the shower. I never thought I’d wake up in a house like this. Let alone actually call it home.
The kitchen is so massive and luxurious it glows. Sunlight reflects off the stainless steel appliances and the marble countertops. The beautiful orchid arrangement Nicholas bought me yesterday sits in a crystal vase in the middle of the island.
I stand barefoot on warm hardwood, wearing nothing but my husband’s button-down and the diamond ring he slid onto my finger two months ago. My stomach curves out in a way that makes the shirt gape, but I don’t try to hide it. I love it. I love all of it.
The early weeks were not as easy as I’d hoped. Cody texted us both for days, sending a slew of messages filled with outright rage. It wasn’t because he wanted me back or even cared about me. He just couldn’t handle his wounded ego.
He told all his friends and coworkers about how Bianca, his lactating ex-girlfriend, was banging his dad. At first, he wouldn’t talk to Nicholas for weeks.
But Nicholas? He was relentless. He told Cody in no uncertain terms that we were going to be together no matter what he thought.
He asked me to marry him, then moved me into his house with a kind of stubborn pride, set me up in his home, and filled the fridge with every craving I had once the first trimester passed.
Every day, he’d come home from work and wrap himself around me, kiss my hair, my shoulder, and my belly. There was no doubt that I was his first priority.
Now, six months in, the world has stopped spinning so fast. Even Cody’s moved on. He attended our wedding and gave us his blessing. I heard he’s dating a pre-law woman at his college, one who’d never even seen a breast pump.
In the beginning, I felt a little out of place in Nicholas’s world of real estate lawyers and socialite clients. But he always reassured me, always put his hand at the small of my back, and made me feel like I was right where I belonged.
As I’m taking a slow sip of my decaffeinated coffee, my hand mindlessly resting on my bump, I hear the shower turn off upstairs. A few minutes later, Nicholas emerges from the master suite, towel slung low, hair wet and disheveled.
He’s so handsome it’s unfair.
He sees me at the kitchen island and does that little half-smile that always makes me weak. “Morning, baby girl.” He comes over, presses a kiss to my temple while his hand caresses my pregnant belly.
Right on cue, I sense a prickly heat spread through both tits, and then three seconds later, two dime-sized circles appear on the oversized shirt. Nicholas instantly notices, sliding his hand higher to cup one of the swollen mounds.
“Hmm…already leaking for me, aren’t you?” His voice is a velvet purr, the low rumble vibrating into my scalp as he presses a kiss on the top of my head. His thumb circles around the damp patch. “You just woke up, baby, and already you’re so desperate.”
I moan at how easily he can make my body respond. The more time I spend with Nicholas, the more I realize he loves every single part of me that other people tried to make me ashamed of, and that turns me on more than anything.
I’m grinning. “Can’t help it. I’m basically a walking dairy farm at this point.” I gesture helplessly at my chest. The skin is stretched tight and warm. My nipples are almost always dark and swollen these days, and the second Nicholas touches them, I get all tingly and sensitive.
A steady trickle starts to bead through the cotton, and I feel my face flush with heat.
He slowly unbuttons the shirt, then tugs it open, exposing both of my heavy breasts, and kneels on the floor. “You know I’m addicted to every drop,” he rumbles, licking a stray bead before sealing his mouth over the tender nub.
The shock of contact makes me yelp. He chuckles against my skin, then sucks harder, tongue circling the areola. My entire body quivers. Even after all this time, it never fails to light me up inside.
I almost can’t believe how much we both get off on this. The kink isn’t a shameful quirk. Nicholas makes it a ritual. An act of devotion, almost. When he draws my milk out, he looks at me and my round bump like I’m giving him the world. It makes me want to give him even more.
He pops off my nipple, a line of white fluid dripping down his chin.
He looks proud, almost smug. “God, you’re beautiful,” he says.
“You’re fucking radiant.” He runs a hand down my bare thigh, then up again, so slow it makes me shudder.
“I don’t know how I survived before I had you like this every morning. ”
I try to say his name, but it comes out as a breathless gasp when his fingers slide higher and teasingly stroke my center. My knees nearly buckle when he parts my thighs wider and runs his warm palm along my slit, barely grazing the swollen mound.
“You’re always so wet for me,” Nicholas whispers, as though it’s a secret only we share. The words, the huskiness in his voice, the way he says ‘for me’—it does something to my insides that no hormone surge could compete with. “Always so eager to have my cock in this tight little pussy.”
Before I can agree with him, he stands, the towel dropping to reveal that he’s already hard as steel. He takes my hand and guides it to his dick, and I instantly wrap my fingers around the thick length, feeling his pulse under my touch.
Both hands are on my tits, kneading and fondling, releasing more milk with every firm squeeze. I moan, gripping him tighter, stroking him the way I know he likes.
Once we’re both on the verge of exploding, he pushes me gently back against the cool marble island, then lifts me onto it with zero effort, parting my knees with his broad hands. The cold stone against my bare thighs mingles with the heat radiating from his body between them.
“You want me right here, Bianca?” he murmurs, leaning in to plant a kiss on my lips. “Want to start the day with a fresh load of your husband’s cum inside you?”
I can only nod, dizzy with want. I want him to fuck me right on the kitchen counter, to ruin this pristine countertop with our mess. I want him to make me even more his.
Without another word, he pushes in slowly, groaning as the slick heat of me engulfs him.
The stretch is magical, and I arch into him, one hand propping me up, the other reaching for his arm.
My tits sway and leak with every thrust, and Nicholas’s eyes flicker between my face and my chest, drunk on the sight of me.
“God, you’re tight,” he pants, picking up a faster, deeper rhythm. He leans in and kisses me, his tongue tasting of my own sweetness, then he moves to my ear: “You want me to fill you, baby? Even when you’ve already been well-bred?”
“Yes,” I gasp, rocking my hips. “God, yes, Nicholas.”
He fucks me harder, the slap of his hips echoing in the bright kitchen. I’m almost embarrassed by how desperately I claw at him, but Nicholas loves it; the more I cling, the rougher he gets, the more he praises me.
“Perfect girl. My beautiful, milky wife,” he says, kissing me, his hands gripping my hips so tight I know I’ll have finger-shaped bruises. The thought turns me on even more.
He slides his fingers between us, circling my clit, and the sensation is so electric that I nearly scream. I clamp down on him as an enormous orgasm rolls through me, gushing around his cock.
It only takes a few more seconds for him to follow behind me.
“Bianca, fuck…you feel too good,” he groans, and then he’s releasing deep inside me, the hot pulses making me shudder.
My eyes roll, and I feel warm liquid spurt from both tits, splattering the front of his body. Nicholas holds me close, never letting up his rhythm until he’s emptied every single drop.
As I’m riding the aftershocks, I glance down at the mess we’ve created. Breast milk is streaked down my body, rolling down the slope of my belly; Nicholas’s chest is stained with it, and a puddle of our arousal is starting to leak onto the counter.
The sight of it all makes me smile.
My husband is going to need another shower before he leaves for work, and this time, I plan on joining him.
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