It started as a secret. A middle-of-the-night hunger. Nolan would wake before the sun, slide under the sheets, and gently tug Tasha’s breast free from her nightshirt. No words. Just his mouth, hot and slow, latching onto her n****e and drawing out the milk that had only multiplied since he first drank from her. She had thought it would stop. That it was some strange hormonal fluke brought on by trauma, grief, her body mourning motherhood it never received. But it didn’t stop. If anything, the more he suckled, the more she produced. Her breasts were full by evening, aching by dawn. Her n*****s stayed hard all day. Leaking, sensitive, responsive.
And Nolan wanted her more than he ever had.
It wasn’t just s*x anymore. It was something deeper. Rawer. Intimate in a way that defied reason. He
