Page 31 of Rescued by the Alien Bull Rider (Cowboy Colony Mail-Order Brides #6)

ZOHRO

A utumn very quickly decided that sleeping for long stretches at night was not something that she was at all interested in.

And this would have been no problem, as I could function on far less sleep than Jolene.

Except for the fact that Jolene was adamant about exclusively breastfeeding.

Which meant that, no matter how many times I woke to help in whatever way I could – fetching Jolene food and copious amounts of water, or changing diapers (often back-to-back, as Autumn’s favourite time to defecate was apparently immediately upon receiving a fresh, clean garment upon her bottom) – Jolene still had to be awake, too.

Thus, the first days of Autumn’s life passed in a blur of wakeful nights and foggy days.

I would not have changed it for anything.

The end of the marriage trial period came and went. Jolene did not remark upon it. Did not tell me she’d decided to leave me after all.

And my relief at that was immense. To lose her now, and to lose Autumn too…

It was entirely unthinkable to me. The protective, possessive instinct I’d felt for Jolene since the first night I saw her had only strengthened tenfold, and grown to include her daughter, whom I now secretly considered my daughter, too.

Jolene did not kiss me again, though I fantasized about it near-constantly.

But I knew my wife was exhausted, so I did not press her on anything. I made no demands of her besides insisting that she sleep whenever possible, or eat whatever nutrient dense food I prepared for her.

I was focused entirely upon her health and wellbeing, and Autumn’s, too.

On top of that, I still had to run the ranch, keeping the herd healthy, the shuldu fed, plus all the late season harvest chores.

Winter was coming, and I had to make sure I had ample supplies to get us through that long and grassless season.

But despite the broken sleep, and the ever-mounting list of tasks to complete, I did not feel worn down by it all. If anything, I felt invigorated. I attacked my chores with the same relentless energy I’d always had. But it was no longer energy that originated from an endless well of anger.

It was energy that came from purpose.

Because that was what Jolene and Autumn had given back to me. Purpose, when I’d woken every morning for cycles thinking that my life had lost all meaning. Thinking that the only value left to me would be if I were to somehow return to the empire.

For the first time since my conviction, I no longer dreamed of returning home.

I dreamed of human females with red hair. I dreamed of the comforting smell of milk on newborn skin. The feeling of a child – my child – safe and sleeping in my arms. The soft yawns that came from a tiny mouth.

And the single, extraordinary kiss I’d gotten from another mouth. My wife’s.

I had to admit that it was thoughts of kisses – and things much more carnal – that flooded my brain when I walked into our bedroom and found my wife stripped to the waist four human weeks after Autumn’s birth.

“Is she still sleeping?” Jolene asked wearily.

“Yes.” I’d just passed Autumn’s sleeping form in her cradle in the sitting room. I’d paused to watch her briefly, in awe of the way her tiny chest rose and fell with such reliable rhythm. She was so young. So new. And so amazingly alive.

“Why can’t she sleep this long at night,” Jolene groaned.

Sensing her fatigue, I tried very hard not to stare at her breasts. I knew it was simply mammary tissue designed for keeping her child alive. But no matter how many times I told myself that, I had not been able to shake the strangely unexpected eroticism of them.

“You should be sleeping, too.”

“I can’t,” she sighed, rubbing at her temples. “My boobs hurt!”

“Boobs” was a word that did not translate, however, I had come to learn it on my own without my translator’s assistance, due to Jolene’s frequent use of it.

I had also picked up other synonyms like “tits.” And “jugs,” which actually did translate, but meant something more akin to a large jar or a vase for storing liquids, like milk.

So perhaps “jugs” was actually rather apt in that way.

“What ails you?” I asked, pushing aside pathetic thoughts of my own arousal.

Jolene had already had one painful bout of mastitis – an infection that had required treatment from my stores of human medical supplies.

I scanned her breasts with my eyes, this time looking only for signs of inflammation, but finding none.

“Nothing serious,” Jolene said with a sigh. “She’s just having a pretty long nap and things are getting… Backed up.”

“I will wake her.”

“God, no,” she said hoarsely. “She was cluster feeding all morning and I honestly need the break.”

I wanted her to have her rest. But I also knew that preventing another round of mastitis, or clogged ducts, meant that letting her get too engorged was not an option.

“Have you tried hand-expressing?” I asked.

“Yes! It doesn’t work,” she lamented, hunching over. “It’s not like milking a cow, which I actually do know how to do! It just feels pinchy and weird and nothing happens. It’s like my body recognizes I’m doing it by myself and doesn’t want to bother wasting the milk on just me.”

“What if someone else assisted?”

“I already said that I’m not ready to wake Autumn up yet.”

“I don’t mean Autumn,” I said, kneeling between her knees at the side of the bed where she sat. “I mean me.”

Her eyes bulged. Hot colour stained her cheeks, which drew an unwanted pang of arousal from low in my belly.

“You’re offering to hand express my milk for me?”

“It is the medically prudent thing to do,” I said quickly, though I sounded oddly defensive. Like I had ulterior motives. Which I did not!

I thought only of my wife’s comfort! At all times!

Even if the crotch of my trousers was tightening at the thought of getting to touch her there.

She hesitated, then threw up her hands.

“Fuck it. Let’s give it a shot. Maybe a doctor will have more luck than I’ve had so far.”

It irked me when she referred to me as a doctor instead of her husband. Which was extremely odd, because for most of my life, my role as a gifted surgeon had been the very core of my identity.

But I would not dwell on such things now. I rose, went to the kitchen to wash my hands, then returned with a small bowl to catch any milk. I handed her the bowl to hold in her lap as I descended to my knees before her.

I paused, assessing. I knew the basics of human lactation thanks to everything I’d read. I knew that the hormone oxytocin was essential. Sometimes referred to as the love hormone, it was at its highest in human females during childbirth, during breastfeeding, and…

During orgasm.

I cleared my throat.

Jolene stared down at me, her lips caught between her teeth.

There were other ways to stimulate oxytocin that did not involve her writhing helplessly against my hand, as I was now envisioning with scalding, cock-swelling clarity. I cast about for some of those other techniques, now entirely unable to recall them.

But then, one came back to me. With a restrained grunt, I leaned forward on my knees and caught Jolene in the tight circle of my arms.

“Um. Zohro?” she asked against the crook of my neck. “I think you’re going to have to actually touch my boobs for this to work.”

“I am doing skin-to-skin,” I growled against her hair. Her soft, warm, fragrant hair… “If you stop complaining and relax, it will help release oxytocin, a necessary part of the process.”

“Oh,” she peeped. Slowly, the muscles of her back began to relax beneath my hands. I rubbed there gently, encouraging her first with touch, then with words. “Good,” I said gruffly. “Very good.”

A moment later, her own arms slithered shyly around my waist. I felt her calm exhale against the side of my throat.

Which did nothing to calm me , unfortunately. This simple embrace, which I knew the humans had a name for and which Zabrians did not, was as intimate as it was intoxicating. She was so warm within my arms. So plush and pretty and she smelled like soap and smooth human skin and her…

Thank the empire my groin was pressed against the side of the mattress and not against her. Otherwise, I’d practically be impaling her upon the needy spear of my cock right now.

“I actually think this is doing something,” she breathed. “I feel kind of… tingly.”

I was also feeling tingly. Though in a far less appropriate place.

I reluctantly pulled away, loathe to break the embrace but knowing that I had to. I turned my attention to her breasts, taut and round with engorgement, the nipples a dark contrast to the rest of her pale, freckled skin.

For a slicing moment, I imagined bringing my mouth to one of them.

Which would surely have earned me a swift kick to the head for the impertinence.

Keep it professional, Zohro. Strictly medical!

With what I hoped passed for a look of serene detachment despite my very white eyes, I reached up with both hands and slowly circled the dark borders of Jolene’s areolas.

I kept my touch gentle, knowing how sensitive she would be right now.

I brushed the calloused pads of my fingers around and around until the little buds of her nipples tightened. Stiffened. For me.

No, not for you. Her body thinks that you’re a hungry baby, you dolt.

I slid my touch inward, probing the taut shapes of her nipples directly, trying and mostly failing to ignore the way the little gasp she let out went straight to my cock.

Great. Now I was thinking about rubbing my cock on her breasts, and using my cock tail to express the milk instead.

Being exiled all the way out here has turned my brain into obscene mush.

Refocusing and clenching my jaw, I began a softly massaging motion that I hoped would be sufficiently stimulating. I knew from my reading that it was not just the tips of the nipples that needed attention, but that tissue deeper in the breast had to be expressed, too.