Chapter 18: Volume 1- [ - 19]
Her lower lip trembled. ’I know. I know what he is going to do. I knew when I left my room. I knew when I walked down the hallway. I knew when I knocked on his door. I knew, and I came anyway, and that makes me—’
She did not finish the thought. She did not need to.
I reached forward and pushed her legs apart.
Not forcefully — not the way I had spread Martha, with intent to punish. This was gentle, my palms on the inside of her knees, applying steady outward pressure. Her thighs resisted for a moment — the last barricade of propriety, the final whisper of ’Garrick’ in her conscience — and then they yielded, falling open with the soft, inevitable surrender of a gate whose hinges had been oiled. Her panty stretched between her thighs, the cotton damp and clinging, and her pussy — hairy, swollen, dripping — opened to the candlelight like a flower that had been waiting for the sun.
I buried my face in it.
"Lord — WAIT—"
Her hands found my hair. Not pushing — grabbing. Fingers curling into the ash-grey strands, gripping for purchase as though the bed had tilted beneath her. My mouth pressed against her outer lips, and the taste hit me — salt and copper and something sweeter beneath, something fertile and earthy and intimately female, the taste of a body that had been preparing itself for hours without her conscious permission. I parted the hair with my tongue, found the inner folds — slick, hot, impossibly soft — and licked upward in a single, slow, broad stroke that ended at the swollen pearl at the apex.
Elira moaned.
It was a sound that came from her chest, not her throat — low, broken, involuntary. Her hips bucked against my face, a motion she could not have controlled if her life depended on it, her body responding to the stimulation with the Pavlovian intensity of a woman whose sensitivity had been chemically amplified and then denied release for the better part of an evening.
’His tongue — his mouth is — oh gods — Garrick never — Garrick would never put his mouth — what is he doing to me — it is too much — the sensation is too—’
I licked her again. Slower this time. My tongue flat and broad, tracing the length of her labia from the entrance to the pearl and back, gathering her wetness, tasting the oil that still lingered in her tissues — the aphrodisiac that had been absorbing into her mucous membranes for hours, turning every nerve ending into a tuning fork vibrating at a frequency she could not silence. My lips found her inner folds and sucked — gently at first, then harder, drawing the soft flesh into my mouth, worrying it with my tongue.
Her thighs clamped against my ears. Released. Clamped again.
"Hnnng — Lord — please — I should — I should leave—"
She did not leave. Her fingers in my hair tightened, pulling me closer, and her hips began a slow, grinding rhythm against my face that contradicted every word her mouth was forming. I reached up with one hand and found her bra clasp — the front closure — and undid it with a practiced flick. The cups fell away, and both breasts spilled free, massive and heavy, the milk already leaking from both dark nipples in thin, steady streams that traced the curves of their flesh and pooled in the valley of her cleavage.
I came up for air. My chin was wet. My mouth tasted of her. I looked at her face — flushed, tear-streaked, panting — and then lowered my mouth to her right breast.
The nipple was dark brown, wide, bumpy with the ducts that were already producing colostrum. I took it into my mouth and sucked — not gently, not experimentally, but with the firm, drawing pull of a hungry child, and Elira gasped, her back arching, her hand flying to the back of my head.
’He is — he is drinking — milk is — oh — the sensation is — it goes straight to my — between my legs it feels—’
Milk came. Not a flood — a thin, sweet, slightly warm trickle that coated my tongue with a taste like sweetened water and something biological beneath it. I swallowed, sucked harder, and the flow increased, her breast yielding to the pressure, the duct opening, the soft flesh dimpling around my mouth.
Meanwhile, my towel had fallen. When, exactly, I could not say — it had been loose to begin with, and the motion of leaning over her, of burying my face in her, had loosened it further until gravity claimed it and it slid to the floor without ceremony. My cock — fully, absurdly, obscenely erect — lay heavy and hot across her thigh. Ten inches of thick, curved flesh, the crimson head resting against her oil-slick skin, the shaft pulsing with each heartbeat.
She felt it.
Of course she felt it. It weighed against her thigh like a hot iron, and the aphrodisiac oil on her skin made every point of contact a detonation. Her eyes widened. She looked down — past her belly, past the scene of my mouth on her breast — and saw it, and the sound that escaped her was not a moan but a whimper.
’His — thing — it is — it is twice the size of — Garrick is — Garrick is not small, but this is — this is — it would not — how could it—’
"Please," she whispered, and her voice was soft, trembling, stripped of all resistance. "I should leave. My lord, I should — this is wrong. My husband—"
I released her nipple with a wet sound. Looked up at her. Her milk was on my lips, and I licked them clean while holding her gaze.
"Your husband is sleeping," I said. "Your husband has been sleeping since dinner. Your husband has not touched you in five months because he is afraid of hurting the child. Your husband does not look at you the way I look at you."
’He is right. He is right about all of it. Garrick has not — since the belly grew — he said it was dangerous, he said the doctor advised against it, but I saw how he looked at me — or rather, how he did not look at me — as if I had become something clinical, something medical, not a woman but a vessel—’
"You are not a vessel," I said, and watched her flinch, because the words echoed her own thoughts with an accuracy that should not have been possible. "You are a woman. And your body has been aching for months. I can feel it." I pressed my palm against her inner thigh, feeling the tremor beneath the skin. "Here. And here." My hand drifted upward, closer to the heat. "And especially here."