Page 186 of Wanting What's Wrong

I frown. “Thought I’d serve myself up for you.”

He crosses the room in three steps and grabs my jaw. Tilts it up. “Open.”

I part my lips on a grin, and he brings the tea to my mouth, letting me sip slow while his eyes devour me.

“You drink, Daddy’ll drink. But you’re gonna learn to mind me, too.”

He kneels right there at the edge of the table, between my legs, and latches onto my breast like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. One, then the other, slow and greedy, eyes never leaving mine.

I gasp, arching up, my thighs trembling. “You like your Sunday milk, Daddy?”

“Like?” he growls. “I fuckin’ need it.”

When he’s had his fill, he lays me down flat, binds my wrists with the saddle strap, and spreads me wide with his rough hands. The leather creaks with every little tremor of my body.

“You’re my little hucow now,” he says, voice low and thick. “All mine. House, shop, land, milk, pussy. Mine.”

“Yours,” I whisper. “Always yours.”

He groans and dives in, eating me like I’m his holy ritual, like my pleasure is the altar and his mouth is the offering. I sob, shatter, spill over his tongue.

He flips me over, spanks me until I’m crying and begging for him to stop.

After, he palms the redness, soothing me, lifting me against him, my head on his shoulder.

He carries me to the living room, lowering into a big, soft upholstered chair by the fireplace, sitting me on his lap facing him.

“Put Daddy inside you. Show me what my little milky daughter was born to do.”

I wiggle into position, reaching for him, my hand around the barrel of his shaft, standing his cock straight up as I lower myself, taking each inch with a hissing breath until he’s pushing up into my belly.

“There. Now, feed me and fuck me. Slow and easy. It’s Sunday, we take it easy on Sunday.”

Then he rocks me in his lap by the fire, as I slide him in and out of my body.

“I’m not going to last long with you doing that,” he growls around my tit as I tighten my inner muscles around him.

I giggle, even as my own orgasm starts to gather like sweet tension in my core.

“This is your spot now,” he murmurs, cupping my tits as they dribble milk down his chest. “Naked and needy, sittin’ on Daddy’s cock every Sunday while the world shuts up outside.”

I whimper, holding onto his shoulders, trembling from the inside out. “I’ll stay forever.”

“You better,” he growls, rutting into me. “Or I’ll tie you to the porch with your tits out and let the whole damn ranch know who you belong to.”

I cry out, clenching around him. “Yours, Daddy. Just yours.”

“You’re gonna be my wife, baby.” His voice is tight, eyes on mine. “I’m taking care of you forever. Your dreams will be my dreams. Whatever comes at you, I’ll be there to take it on.”

Wife.

“Yes.” I hiss as my orgasm topples over me. Rough hands bind around my waist, pushing me down as he empties into my clenching core. Be buck and jerk and I moan and call for the one man I already knew was somehow sent to save me.

He finishes in side me there, then on the couch, then in the porch chair while the sun sets, my milk wetting every surface he presses me against. He makes me scream, makes me laugh, makes me cry from how full and beautiful I feel.

We eat lactation cookies sitting naked on the living roomfloor as he fingers me. He feeds me bites between orgasms and I lick milk from his cock as he teaches me to take him down my throat, both of us so messy and milk drunk I’m wondering if tomorrow the hangover will set in and everything will go back the way it was.

If that’s what’s going to happen, I don’t ever want to wake up. I never want this to end.

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