Chapter 4
Wade
The first taste of her hits me like a damned freight train. It’s warm, sweet, and richer than I imagined, flooding my mouth in a rush so fast it knocks the breath out of both of us. She moans with relief, and my cock throbs behind my fly like it’s trying to punch through.
Goddamn.
She’s clinging to the edge of the bench, body trembling, shirt half-off, chest rising and falling like she ran ten miles.
I’ve got one of her breasts cradled in my hand, the other in my mouth, and it’s taking every shred of discipline I’ve got not to spread her out across the table and show her just how good surrender can feel.
She’s not some hookup. Not some girl I’ll forget by morning.
She’s Joelle. The girl I tried not to think about for years. And now she’s in my kitchen, leaking and flushed, looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
Her milk fills my mouth, and I suck carefully, working her slowly. She gasps, her head falling back as more lets down, and it’s the sound that undoes me, like I’m hurting and healing her at the same time.
“You were so full,” I murmur, breath brushing across her damp skin as I switch sides. “Your body needed this, darlin’. Look at how much you were holding.”
She whimpers. It’s the kind of sound that goes straight to a man’s gut because it’s not from pain, but from pleasure.
My hands glide over her hips, anchoring her as she sways. Her fingers tighten in my hair, not to pull me away, but to hold me there. She’s letting me take while I give her what she needs.
I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve taken women to bed, sure. I’ve fucked. I’ve bound wrists and tied girls to posts in this very house. I’ve had them cry, scream, beg, but I’ve never fed.
And I’m ruined already.
Her breast is perfect in my hand; heavy, flushed, and slick with her own spill. The nipple pulses against my tongue, and I work her slowly, thumb stroking the base, mouth suckling until the pressure shifts under my grip and she lets out another choked sob of relief.
I suck so hard she whimpers.
“You’re doin’ so damn good,” I murmur against her skin.
She moans again, lower now, like the sound’s being pulled from somewhere deeper. Her thighs twitch beside my arms. My cock is so hard it hurts.
I switch again, sucking deep, and her body jerks. The tension in her finally gives, hips rocking toward me, head falling forward, another moan punching out of her like it’s too much to hold in.
She’s damn near shaking when I ease back, breath ragged, lips wet.
Her skin glows, flushed and glazed with sweat. Her eyes are glassy.
“You alright?” I ask, low and rough.
She nods, but it’s the kind of nod that says barely. She’s panting now, and shaking.
I pull back to kiss the curve of her breast, breathing in her scent, forgetting the boundaries of what I'm supposed to be doing here, and my head spins. “You gonna come from this?” I twist her nipple as the prospect that she’s close floods me.
Joelle doesn’t respond, but her body does.
She arches hard and moans so loud it echoes off the cabinets. Her thighs clamp and her back bows, and her nipple spurts one last stream across my cheek before she collapses, gasping.
God. Fuck.
I could drag her to my bed right now. Claim every inch of her. Leave her marked, open, leaking from other places. Mine.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stand. She blinks up at me, dazed. Her skin’s flushed and she looks like she’s been woken suddenly from a dream. The sweet taste of her milk lingers on my tongue, forbidden but addictive.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I growl, panting hard, wound so tight I feel like I might explode. “You hear me, Joelle. You’re staying right here.”
She nods without a word.
And hell if I’m not already thinking about how long I can keep her and how many ways I’ll make her beg to be mine.