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His warm mouth seals around me and he pulls. Oh, God, hepulls.

That tingling, fevery feeling of the milk letting down, hard, fast and generous, sets off a near orgasm as he latches on one side while the palm of his other hand takes the weight of my other breast, fingers wrapping around as he slides them from the top, down, top, down, over and over, relieving the pressure in amilking motion. The rough, callused fingers of my step-father milk me as I lean back in the chair and whimper.

The groan that rips from his throat as he suckles and swallows over and over is the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard.

And I know this is it.

We’ve crossed the line.

And there’s no going back.

Three

Jenna

Ican’t think. I can barely breathe.

He’s still on his knees, still latched onto my breast like it’s the first and last drink he’ll ever take, and I’m drowning in the sound of it. His groans. The wet pull. The obscene, suckling rhythm that has every nerve ending in my body screaming.

My thighs rub together, desperate and slick. I should be ashamed. I should stop this.

But I don’t move.

Because I want more.

“Cal,” I breathe, the word coming out with a whimper. A plea.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing my nipple, swollen and glistening with milk. “You taste like heaven, baby.”

He says it like he means it. Like he’s high on me. Like he’d die if thissuddenly went away.

His eyes are wild when they meet mine. Dark and possessive and starved.

“You keep leaking like this,” he rasps, “and I’m not gonna let you leave the house. Gonna tie you to the bed. I’ll be the one pumping something inside you, instead of that thing taking what’s now mine.”

Oh my God.

Heat surges through me, pooling low in my belly. My nipples pulse harder, milk drenching the shoulder of his shirt as he keeps milking my breast like a seasoned pro.

“Fuck. Look at you. Full of cream and making a fucking mess of those panties too, aren’t you?”

I nod. All shame is gone, replaced by all the lust I’ve been holding back since that first time Mom walked into the house with her new shiny husband in tow.

Shame cloaked me for those months he was with us. I teased him. Refused to listen to him. Desperate to hide the feelings I knew were wrong.

Every night when he would disappear into the bedroom, I would cry. Sob into my pillow, kick at the mattress thinking of what he was doing with my mother behind that door.

Things I wanted him to do to me. I wanted his cock inside me. I wanted to grab onto his shoulders while he pumped me full of him.

Except, apparently, he wasn’t doing those things with her either.

Now, here he is, my desperate, shameful secret exposed, with his mouth on my breast.

“I think about it,” I whisper my sinful confession. “When I pump, I think about your mouth. Your hands. What it’d feel like if you made me come while I fed you.”

His breath punches out of him. His hand is on my thigh now, slowly stroking, rough fingers on my soft flesh.

“I shouldn’t,” he mutters around his full mouth, then moves to the other side. “You’re too young. My fucking step-daughter.”