Page 109 of Born for Lace

The Shadow baby…

She yawns, tucking her little body into the cave of my torso. I gaze down at her. The room is dim but slithers of light from the torch slash her profile and body.

My gaze follows the bridge of her nose, straight but for the slightest curve from the attack. To her lips, full and parted as she breathes. Soft bruising paints the corner of one eye. And freckles—freckles fucking everywhere, with a few on her upper lip.

“The milk…” She sighs sleepily, sadly. “I’ve failed him.”

I’m not sure if she’s awake or tormented in her slumber by that fucking Shadow baby and its needs, but I don’t like it.

I’m certain I wasn’t breastfed. Why does he get her? He only burdens her, saddens her. I hate that. Just put it in a damn box and feed it every few hours.

That’s how it’s done.

I recall the rows and rows of incubators I saw that last day before I escaped. Shadows fed through tubes, hooked up to machines, barely organic. An awakening moment… That was me—isme. I am not human.

I’m an abomination. Made of the same material as a human but built in a laboratory.

I gaze through the dark, across to the sleeping infant in the corner, tucked in, covered, kissed goodnight. This fucking thing…

This infant is…lucky.Not a word I would usually use, but I can’t shake my contempt. Though I know it is pathetic jealousy—I have to share her…

I don’t like sharing her.

But no matter how powerful my possessive demands are, her misery strikes me harder?—

The need to taste between her legs burns through me, and within a minute, I have her on her back with her thighs either side of my face.

“Lagos…” she complains, sleep clinging to her husky voice.

As I rub my nose and lips against her knickers, inhaling, she moans. Finding the back of my head, her little fingers feed into my hair.

“You smellsogood.” A possessive growl vibrates from me. As much as I want to chew her knickers off, I don’t. She only has a few pairs. I saw her washing all her clothes in the sink earlier. She needs more. I need to provide for her.

I drag her knickers off her trembling legs and brace myself on my elbows with my palms holding her little thighs to the blankets, spreading her wide for my gaze.

Even in the dim, I get an eyeball of perfectly shaped pussy lips, slightly open, revealing luscious soft internal flesh. So vulnerable. So fragile. This is what a man dreams of after death.

I lick her from arsehole to clit, and she jerks off the mattress, rasping out startled breaths.

“Oh… Lagos.”

My name… Is it? A strange need growls through me. Unbidden, unwelcome, fucking dark, because I wonder what it would feel like to be called Six. Would I like hearing that from her? Or would I despise it?

Would I choke the word from her lips… Dark rings eclipse my vision until her pussy is my only focus.

I lap at her, up and down, her salty juices coating my tongue. Squeezed between my abdomen and the blanket, my cock thickens. Precum pumps to the tip, smearing and leaking.

Her hands paw at my hair.

She moans when I dip my tongue between her swollen lips. Rimming her entrance, her flesh ripples against the onslaught of my attention.

She squirms and mewls, her backside trying to shift and join the movements.

I glide one rough palm up her trembling stomach, over the ladder of her ribs, careful not to hurt her. Covering both small, pert breasts, I knead them firmly but also pin her the fuck to the blanket so I can eat her without interruption.

“I know where to lick you, little flower. How hard. How fast. When to stop.Fuck…” I never want to stop tonguing this perfect cunt.

Supple thighs rub against my beard while I mouth her pussy, fucking her channel with my tongue and thrusting my hips into the blankets.

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