Page 9 of Milk
Holly
I sigh deeply and roll over in my bed, blinking slowly. Something is different, but my sleep-addled brain hasn’t fully woken up yet, and I don’t remember what it is.
And then, in a flash, it all comes back to me.
Santa.
My milk.
The way he drank from me and made me come.
I’m a Winter Maiden.
I’m supposed to go on a date—at least, I think it’s a date—with Santa at the North Pole this morning.
I sit up quickly, my head swimming slightly, and I suck in a breath when I look down. My breasts are even bigger this morning, swollen with milk, nipples tingling. My clit’s tingling too, swollen and aroused. I slide my hand between my thighs and find my pussy soaked, and the second I run a finger over my clit, milk starts to leak out of my breasts. I bite my lip and moan.
God, I’m a mess. My body feels both foreign and more right than it ever has.
I rub my clit again, slow and teasing, and I gasp as another hot pulse of need shoots through me. Milk drips down my chest, and I can’t help but arch into my own touch. Something in me wants to keep going, knowing that the more I stimulate myself, the more milk I’ll make for Nick. I feel like I could make myself come over and over again, all day, and I’d never reach my limit.
I force myself to stop, panting, and drag my hand away. I don’t know what time Nick’s coming, but I’d better get to the bakery so I can meet him. I don’t want to keep my king waiting.
My king. God, that feels good, too.
I hop into the shower, and before long, I’m playing with myself again, teasing my soapy nipples, rubbing my hands over my huge, firm boobs, toying with my swollen clit. I swear, my clit’s bigger, too. I rub it between my fingers, pussy clenching as I tease it. Milk drips down over my boobs, and I know I need to get myself together.
I finish my shower, quickly dry my hair and braid it, and then get dressed.
I pull on my favorite cream-colored sweater, the soft knit clinging to my curves. I take a look at myself in the mirror and holy hell, my curves are way more pronounced now. The fabric stretches tight over my breasts, the swell of them nearly spilling out of the neckline. I should change. I should. But I look at myself again, and my cheeks go warm because I like what I see. My nipples are outlined against the soft fabric, even through my bra. I look…fertile. Ready to feed my king. I like how it looks. On display, but only for him.
The bakery’s quiet when I arrive fifteen minutes later, the familiar scents of cinnamon and vanilla centering me. I’ve only been in the bakery for a minute before the air starts to shimmer. Snowflakes swirl in a tight, glittering vortex, and then he’s here.
My pulse picks up speed as Nick steps through the flurries, tall and broad, his silver hair knotted loosely on top of his head.He’s dressed like a man, not a magical legend, with a white cable-knit sweater hugging his broad chest, dark jeans molding to his thick thighs. His gaze locks onto me, and his perfect lips curl into a wicked grin.
“You grew overnight, little one.”
I stick my chest out slightly, feeling proud. The fabric pulls against me, and I bite my lip to stifle my moan, because it feels so good. “My body’s all… tingly. I’m so sensitive.”
His voice is rough and warm. “That’s the magic. It’s awake now.” He steps closer, close enough that I catch the scent of cedar and mint. “Your body remembers what it was made for.”
Before I can say anything, his hand cups my jaw, his thumb brushing my lower lip, and then his mouth is on mine, firm, possessive, hungry. I melt into him, my nipples aching, my pussy fluttering. When he pulls back, his ice blue eyes are dark with heat.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze dragging over my chest, my flushed skin. Then he holds out his hand to me. “Come see the world that belongs to you.”
I don’t hesitate, placing my hand in his.
The world dissolves into a whirl of snow and light, the air ringing with bells. I gasp as the ground falls away, my fingers digging into Nick’s arm. He’s warm and solid, the only steady thing in the storm of magic swirling around us. My stomach somersaults, and for a second, I’m afraid I’ll be sick, but then his hand tightens around mine, his thumb pressing into my pulse point, and the dizziness subsides.
“Easy, little one,” his voice rumbles against my ear. “I’ve got you.”
And then everything goes still.
The snow settles around us in slow, glittering spirals, each flake catching the light like a tiny prism. I blink, feeling slightly breathless, because I suddenly understand how Dorothy must’vefelt when she first stepped into Oz. The sky stretches above us in pink and lavender shades of dawn, but there are ribbons of green and violet aurora shimmering even though it’s morning. The snow beneath my boots is a luminous white, dusted with flecks of gold and silver, like someone scattered stardust over the ground.
Buildings rise around us, not like houses, but like something out of a Christmas dream. Every building looks like a gingerbread cottage, with frost-kissed roofs and windows glowing with warm, honeyed light. Smoke curls from chimneys, smelling of cinnamon and woodfire, and the paths between them are lined with silver trees, their branches heavy with icicles that tinkle like wind chimes. A fox darts past, its tail a cascade of crystalline feathers, and when it turns to look at me, its eyes are bright as polished amber.
Reindeer graze in a nearby meadow, their silver antlers twisting like crowns. And the people—or are they fae, like Nick?—move in blurs of light, their laughter ringing like sleigh bells. One zips past, leaving a trail of blue sparks, and I jump, clutching Nick’s sleeve.
