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Xander’s mouth made its way left, climbing the slope of my breast. As he took my left nipple into his mouth, I hissed into his fingers, riding the strange wave of pleasure and pain that followed. Pregnancy had left my breasts more sensitive than ever, especially at their peaks. He sucked softly at first, then harder, nipping at me with his teeth. The heat that had been stabbing in my core turned liquid beneath his lips, pooling and growing more insistent.
For the first time in long while, I felt desperately, deliriously alive.
Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. He moaned, shivered, and swallowed. Panting heavily, he released my nipple with a gentlepop!
“Your milk,” he explained breathlessly. “Fuck. I didn’t realize it would be so sweet, so fucking—”
The rest of his review was lost as he moved to my other nipple, sampling it in the same way. It should have felt no different than when I fed our sons, but it did. God, it did. When I fed the boys, the flow of my milk was always a relief, but never quite like this. There was something purely erotic, even dirty, about the way Xander drank from me. Something almost taboo that heightened the sensation, twisting it sensually, turning it dark.
My head spun as I felt the pulse of his lips, sucking and releasing, reverberate through my body. It traveled through my nervous system until it found its home between my thighs.
My clit throbbed in fast, sharp spasms, quickening when he added in swirls of his tongue. I breathed deeply through my nose, in and out like I’d been running a marathon. His hand was still clasped over my mouth, and I poked my tongue between my lips, finding the valley between his fingers. I lapped against the rough edges of his calluses, whimpering at the salty taste on his skin.
I didn’t remember closing my eyes, but for several long moments, I couldn’t see a thing. Just a fluttering, bursting brightness, all-consuming, like fireworks exploding behind my eyelids. The orgasm left my ears ringing in that same way. Beneath his lips, my body had become a hand grenade—one so eager to go off that it detonated before its pin was even pulled.
Xander made me come for him, and he hadn’t even touched my pussy yet. Just from sucking on my nipples, he made me come.
It was a thrill that I’d been denying myself without even realizing it. Grief was a dark, heavy coat, a fire blanket that could snuff out even the faintest smolder of embers. For so many weeks, I’d wrapped it around me, worn it like armor. Like a hairshirt I suffered for the benefit of an uncaring universe.
If I wanted nothing, took no pleasure, felt no desire, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe it would bring our sons back.
But self-flagellation hadn’t returned Rylan to us.
Xander had.
“Felicity.”
He rose from my breasts, breathing heavily. His fingers uncurled from my lips and trailed down my body, all the way to the hem of my nightgown that brushed my thighs. Reaching beneath the silk, he cupped the cleft between my legs in his broad, callused palm. What he found there made him breathe even harder.
“God. You’re soaking for me.”
I tried to think of something witty to say, something charming or clever that would make him smile. As my brain turned up nothing of the sort, I realized I would have settled for something simply coherent.
“Please,” was all I managed.
He did smile then.
Good enough.
“I want to feel you around my fingers,” he confessed, shifting upward. His lips danced over me, mere inches away from my own mouth. “I want to feel your cunt throb for me. Can I?”
Of course you can, I nearly screamed. I was his mate. Anything he wanted from me was already his.
But then I remembered the state of my body after giving birth. Still basking in the afterglow of that first orgasm, I’d completely forgotten. We hadn’t done this for more than a month. The last time he’d taken me, even just with his fingers, had been several days before the boys were born.
My heart thundered with sudden anxiety. Would he still want me? Would it hurt?
“Be gentle,” I whispered, my hips rising against his hand.
“Mm. Gentle.” He closed his eyes, nodded, then pressed his lips to mine. The kiss ended far too soon, leaving me arching and whimpering for another. He smirked down at me, my desperation amusing him. “I can do that.”
His fingers stroked up and down in agonizingly slow motions. They traveled the slickness of my folds, teasing toward my clit, then dipping against my channel. A dozen times, I was sure they would make the plunge, only for him to withdraw once more.
I was quickly coming to regret asking him to be gentle. Xander was stirring a toxic cocktail of impatience and lust within me, one that left my cheeks blazing and my heart pounding in my ears.
He kissed me again as he toyed with my pussy, teasing at first, but with a rapidly growing desperation. His stubble scratched my skin. Even that, the lightest sensation of his bristled five o’clock shadow, was enough to drive me mad.
I needed more of him. I needed it now, and badly enough that I was willing to beg for it.
