10. Jolie #2
"So much," Jett whispers. "Our girl is so full for us."
Jarvis switches sides, latching onto my right breast, and the letdown is even stronger this time. I can feel the spray hitting the back of his throat and hear him swallowing. It's the most intimate sound I know.
Jett's hand slides down my stomach and between my legs, finding me already soaked.
"Look at this," he says. "She loves it. She loves feeding us while we touch her."
Jarvis lifts his head. Milk drips from his chin. His eyes are almost black in the dim light. "Lie back."
Jett helps me down onto the table, my back flat against the wood and my hair spreading around me. The chandelier above casts patterns of light across my skin, and I feel like I'm on display, like I'm an altar.
Jarvis moves to my left side and Jett to my right, both of them kneeling with their faces level with my breasts as they look at me.
"Together," Jarvis says.
They both lean in at the same time.
Jarvis takes my left breast, and Jett takes my right.
They latch on simultaneously, and the sensation is overwhelming.
Two mouths pulling, two tongues pressing, two sets of hands holding me steady.
The milk flows freely, draining in rhythmic streams, and I'm sobbing with relief and pleasure, my hips bucking off the table as my hands find their hair and hold them to me.
"That's it," I pant. "Please. Please don't stop."
They don't stop. They drink deeply and greedily, their throats working in sync. Jett's hand slides between my legs again, two fingers pushing inside me while he suckles, and Jarvis's hand finds my clit, circling it with rough, perfect precision.
I am going to come. I can feel it building, huge and unstoppable, fed by the relief in my breasts and the pressure between my legs.
Their hands work faster, Jett's fingers curling inside me and Jarvis's thumb pressing harder against my clit until I shatter, crying out as my orgasm rips through me while they drink from my breasts.
They stand up and undress. Jarvis shrugs off his suit jacket, unbuttons his shirt, and drops his pants. Jett tears off his blazer, his shirt, and his jeans. They are both hard and straining toward me, and the sight of them makes my mouth water.
Jarvis climbs onto the table, kneeling between my legs and spreading me wide. The wood is hard against my back, but I don't care. I only care about him.
He lines himself up. He pushes inside.
I scream as he pushes inside, the sound echoing off the walls of the empty dining room.
He stretches me wide, filling me completely, and I feel every inch of him—the thick head pushing past my entrance, the long shaft sliding deeper, the way he pulses against my walls as he sinks all the way in.
He owns every part of me, claiming me and remaking me around his cock.
"Daddy's home," he growls. "This is where I belong. Inside you, filling you, keeping you."
Jett moves to the head of the table, guiding my head back until it hangs slightly off the edge before positioning himself at my lips. I open my mouth, and he pushes inside, the angle strange and perfect as I taste the salt of him and his need.
They start to move.
Jarvis thrusts deep and slow, each stroke hitting that place inside me that makes my vision blur.
Jett rocks into my mouth with careful, shallow thrusts, his hands gripping my breasts and milking them, squeezing drops of milk onto my chest that he leans down to lick up.
I hear their moans and grunts, deep and hungry, and the sounds make me wetter, pulling me deeper into the heat between us.
The pace quickens. Jarvis's thrusts get harder, less controlled. The table creaks beneath us. Jett's hips snap faster, his breath coming in harsh pants.
"You're ours," Jarvis snarls, grabbing my hips and lifting me slightly off the wood to change the angle so he hits deeper. "This body. This milk. Everything."
I moan around Jett's cock. The vibration makes him curse.
"Swallow," Jett commands. "Swallow every drop, sunshine. Just like you swallow our love. Just like you take everything we give you."
Jarvis's thumb finds my clit. He presses hard, circling, and I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me with a violence that makes my back arch off the table.
My inner walls clamp down on Jarvis, pulsing and milking him, and he roars.
He thrusts deep one last time and holds there, flooding me with heat.
Jett pulls out of my mouth with a wet sound and strokes himself twice before he comes across my breasts, his release mixing with the milk still dripping from my nipples.
I am covered in them, marked by them, filled by them. I have never felt cleaner.
Jarvis collapses forward, his elbows bracketing my head. He kisses me, deep and slow, tasting like milk and salt and us. Jett leans down and licks my breast, cleaning me with his tongue, murmuring praise against my skin.
"Good girl," Jarvis whispers. "Our perfect girl."
"Forever," Jett adds.
"Forever," I whisper back.
We clean up in the kitchen, Jett wiping me down with a warm towel heated under the tap while Jarvis helps me back into my dress, his hands gentle as he zips it up. I don't put my heels back on. I walk barefoot through the restaurant I now own, the floor cool and solid beneath my feet.
The next morning, I drift toward the office. The men follow, but they don't crowd me. They know where I'm going.
The old calendar is in the trash, and the new one hangs on the wall. It's still mostly blank, but I see the hearts Jett drew around the dates we've already lived.
I pick up a pen from the desk and walk to the calendar, crossing out every remaining day in the month. I make big, angry X's that tear through the paper, crossing them all out until the entire grid is a mess of black ink.
Then, in the center of the month, I write one word.
Forever.
The pen scratches loudly against the paper, the letters messy and bleeding through to the wall behind the calendar. I don't care.
"There you are," my grandfather says.
I turn. He stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and his eyes soft, looking at the calendar and then at me before giving me a proud nod.
"Your grandmother and I already made a reservation for next Friday," he says. "We want the best table in the house."
I laugh. "You don't need a reservation. You just need to show up."
"Even so," he says. "We want to support the business. And our granddaughter."
He turns and walks back toward the dining room, where my grandmother is waiting. I hear their low voices, their gentle laughter.
Then Jarvis's arms wrap around my waist from behind. He pulls me back against his chest. His chin rests on top of my head.
"Welcome home, baby girl," he says.
I look at the calendar, then at the dining room beyond the office door where Jett is laughing with my grandparents. I look at the rings on my finger, the diamond and the platinum stacked together.
"I am home," I say.
And for the first time in my life, I know it's true. Not because of the restaurant or the rings, but because these men chased me when I ran, my grandparents stayed when they could have turned away, and I stopped counting the days until I could leave and started counting the days I get to stay.
I turn in Jarvis's arms and press my face to his chest. He smells like cedar and soap. Jett appears in the doorway and smiles at us, at me.
"Breakfast?" he asks.
"Breakfast," I agree.
But I don't move yet. I hold onto Jarvis for one more second, listening to his heartbeat as I feel Jett's hand find mine, his fingers threading through mine and his thumb brushing the rings.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"For what?" Jarvis asks.
"For not letting me go."
Jett squeezes my hand. "We told you, sunshine. That was never an option."
We walk out of the office together, the restaurant bright with morning light and full of promise. Their rings are on my finger, and my heart is in theirs.
And the countdown is over.