Page 53 of Lycan King’s Claim (Lycan King’s Reign Duet #2)
A FEW WEEKS LATER
T rapped within the confines of my own body, I'm constantly on the sidelines, observing life unfold without being an active participant.
It's an endless fight between silences and screams that only I can hear.
I watch, helplessly, as everything unfolds before my eyes, taking in every expression, every action, and trying to send a hundred messages with my own eyes.
Mostly, the message is, ‘Why are you such a goof?’
As he pulls Anna from my breast, forgetting that sometimes the milk fountain doesn't stop just because the baby did.
There he stands, his silhouette framed by the soft room lights, looking down at our daughter with the softest gaze. Anna, with her eyes so much like mine.
After he tucks Anna back in her crib, his attention turns to me, more specifically, my uneven chest due to Anna's recent feeding preference. His brow quirks, amusement and confusion dancing in his eyes.
Today's scene opens with him coming over, a mixed look of concern and amusement evident on his face as he sees the mess. “Did a milk truck explode in here?” he teases, taking in the sight of the milk all over me. The quirk of his lips indicates he finds it amusing.
“Alright, time for a shower,” he declares with an authoritative tone. Even in my subdued state, my body instinctively responds to his command, though I'm merely an observer to its movements. “Bathroom,” he orders and my body follows his command.
He strips me down and stands there for a moment, taking in the sight. “Hmm,” he muses, “One of them's looking a bit… fuller than the other.”
“You know, I really should have remembered to let her feed from the other side.” He remarks, making hand gestures to indicate the size disparity between my breasts. “One is like a rock melon, the other a peach,”
His finger prods the engorged breast, and a jet of milk shoots out, nailing him right in the face. The shock in his eyes would have sent me into fits of laughter, had I the capacity.
Wiping away the milk, his fingers covered in my breast milk, curiosity got the better of him. “Hmm, just need cookies, and I've got MILF and cookies,” he remarks with a mischievous grin.
He chuckles to himself, laughing at his own terrible joke as he turns on the hot water in the shower. Suddenly, two mini fire hydrants are unleashed as my milk begins spraying erratically in every which direction on to him and the walls of the bathroom.
In a quick attempt at trying to stem the milk spray, he places his fingers over each nipple, closing off each duct like some kind of improvised sprinkler system valve. But it's like trying to stop a dam with a toothpick—impossible!
Streams of milk target his chiseled chest and abs, and he's now at the mercy of my uncontrollable milk shower.
He groans dramatically, stepping back. Finally succumbing to defeat with an exasperated sigh, he takes a deep breath and says: “Alright then… Let's just go with it! Milk shower it is!” He grabs the loofah and begins to wash me.
“Would this be classed as a soy milk shower or more of a full cream experience?” And to my surprise, a genuine giggle bubbles up from deep inside me. It's unexpected and it surprises both of us.
His eyes widen before his hands swiftly capturing my face, “You laughed. I heard it. Do it again.” The hope in his eyes is tangible.
But as much as I wish I could, I can't replicate the spontaneous sound. A pang of disappointment courses through me, but then, a tiny miracle. I feel a twitch in my fingers. The sensation is faint, but it’s there.
He, unaware of my small victory, proceeds to wash me gently, taking care of every nook and cranny, continuing to gently lather my body with the soapy loofah.
I can feel my muscles begin to relax under his care while he talks to himself and me.
Still, his disappointment is evident, his hope crushed as he questions if he truly heard the sound leave me or if it's the madness coming for him.
The warm water cascades over us, washing away not just the milk, but the weight of the day. We finish washing up, and he helps me step out of the shower before leading me back to the bedroom and tucking me into bed with a warm hug and a kiss on the forehead.
As he begins to walk away to check Anna, an overwhelming urge strikes me, a sudden need to reach out to him.
Without thinking, my hand extends forward towards him only to fall as he turns back to face me, hope bubbles up and fills me.
I watch as he fixes Anna’s crib, feeling a twinge of sadness at my limitations.
But then I smile, knowing that for this moment, I had given him a small flicker of hope that things might improve. He stares at my arm that escaped the covers. “I tucked you in, I swear it,” he shakes his head, tucking my arm back beneath the blanket. “Sorry, Love. I must have thought I did,”
Gratitude for his care and attention, but also a deep sense of sadness and frustration that I can't communicate with him in the way that I want to. But as my eyes slowly begin to close, I know that even if I can't speak, he understands me in his own way.
As he tucks me into bed once again, I wish I could tell him about the finger twitch and that I moved my arm.
Maybe tomorrow I can try to do it again and he will see.
Finally, he slips into bed behind me and pulls up the covers, snuggling in close to me.
“It’s been a tough day today,” he murmurs softly.