Willing to Wait

A/N

These are collections of erotic shorts, each accompanied by a brief backstory. Each story differs from the other. They are just collections, and each story will have at least 3 chapters

HAPPY READING!

TAKING HIS LACTATING STEPSISTER

The baby finally slept after a long day of constant crying. She was down with the flu, something the mother never thought a baby would have. As a first-time mother, it had taken a toll on her. She had worked all day, only now getting a reprieve. Her stepbrother, Matt, had been with her throughout the day, not resting, unlike her husband, who had claimed he had some pressing work to take care of, while that was just an excuse.

Earlier that day, he had met his mistress. While his wife ran around, trying to save their baby, he had been in the arms of another woman. Dominic had never liked lactating mothers. He hates mothers, generally, and intends to divorce his wife now that her curves have filled out. The idea of a child had all been Mara's. She wanted one, and he gave it to her even though he didn't want it.

Mara didn’t know about it. She didn’t know that her ‘loving’ husband was planning on divorcing her. She had felt his withdrawals and also seen his love messages to his mistress, but she held to the conviction that he wouldn’t divorce her.

She believed the oath they had taken at the altar, even though she feared things might get worse if not confronted.

With the baby asleep, Mara sagged against the kitchen counter as a damp patch spread on her shirt where her milk had let down. Matt, her stepbrother, who had been watching her since she finished nursing the baby, was there before she could cover it, his hand on her arm, his eyes dark and hungry.

“You’re leaking,” he murmured, not moving his hand. His thumb stroked her skin, loving the feel of it. He had never had a thing for lactating mothers, but seeing his stepsister, he had lost it. She looked like a seductress with her leaking full breasts.

Mara’s breath hitched as she looked down at his hand, at the possessive curl of his fingers around her biceps.

When he leaned in, she thought he might hug her, like he always did whenever things became too much for her. She expected a brotherly comfort in the dead of night, but what she got was different. Instead of what she had expected, his tongue touched the wet cotton.

Her whole body jolted, not in protest, but in a deep, shameful recognition as the heat of his mouth seeped through the fabric, and a low, ragged sound escaped her.

Matt didn’t pull back. He pressed closer, his nose nudging the neckline of her shirt as he inhaled, long and deep. “It’s all over you,” he whispered against the damp spot. “Sweet, sharp, and just like you.”

“Matt, don’t—” The plea was automatic as her hand came up to push at his chest, but it landed flat, fingers splayed. He didn’t budge.

“Don’t what?” He asked, his voice vibrating against her breast. “You’re dripping, Mara, wasting the precious milk.” His other hand came up, palm cupping the full, aching weight of her through her shirt. He squeezed, gently, and a fresh, hot trickle answered his touch, spreading the damp circle wider. “You need to be relieved of this.”

Mara whimpered through her reluctance, her pussy clenching from a need so intense it almost swept her off her feet.

“See?” he coaxed. “Your body knows. It knows what it’s for.” His thumb found her nipple, hard and desperate beneath the cotton, and he rubbed slowly in deliberate circles, coaxing her.

Pleasure, sharp and electric, shot straight to her core, and her knees buckled. Matt caught her, his arm sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She felt him then, the hard, insistent line of his erection pressed against her hip.

“Let me taste it,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He was stating what he wanted, and didn’t look like a man who would take a negative response well.

His fingers hooked into the collar of her loose sleep shirt, and he pulled it down, slowly revealing the lacy edge of her nursing bra and the swollen curve of her breast above it. The skin was flushed, veins tracing delicate blue maps under the surface.

He looked at her, his grey eyes holding hers. “Tell me to stop,” he challenged, letting her know she was the one with the call, not him. He knew she wouldn’t be able to refuse him, not when she was leaking.

It had been four months since Mara last had sex, four months of her husband leaving her to her device while he did whatever he wanted, without caring about his wife.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. The word ‘brother’ lodged in her throat, too heavy, too true to speak. They both knew they shouldn’t be doing this, but were too deep to stop.

Matt smiled, dipping his head, knowing he had won the battle. He licked a broad, slow stripe from the underside of her breast up to the damp fabric of her bra, tasting the salt of her sweat, the sweet tang of milk that had seeped through.

Moaning softly, Mara’s head fell back against the cabinet, and a tear tracked from the corner of her eye into her hairline as her hands came up, tangling in his dark hair, not to pull him away but to hold him there.

He nuzzled the bra cup aside and her nipple sprang free, tight and pebbled, glistening with a bead of milk. Matt went still, enamoured at the sight, one so seductive he would have doubted it was real if he wasn’t there. His breath fanned over the sensitive peak, making her shudder.

“Please,” she whispered, not knowing what she was asking for.

He knew, though. Giving her what she was asking for, he closed his mouth over her. The suction was immediate, perfect and devastating.

He drew her deep, his tongue working in firm, rhythmic pulls, and the release was instant. A hot, sweet rush filled his mouth, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through her breastbone, into her spine.

Mara cried out as her hips jerked forward, seeking friction against nothing. Each swallow he took echoed in the quiet kitchen aHe drankank like he was dying of thirst. One hand cradled her breast, kneading gently to encourage the flow while the other arm locked around her waist, holding her up as her legs turned to water.

When he finally pulled off, it was with a soft, wet pop. Her nipple reddened as milk beaded at the tip again immediately as if seeking him out.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word ragged with awe. “You taste so fucking good.” He pressed her breast. “If I had known this was how freaking good breast milk tasted, I would have done this a freaking long time ago.” He looked up at her, his eyes black and bottomless. In them, she saw no guilt, no shame, only a hunger so vast it had swallowed everything else. And the terrifying truth: she had fed it.

She didn’t stop him when she shouldn’t have. She let him have his way, just out of spite for the husband who had cheated on her. She wondered what Dominic would do if she saw them now, with Matt’s mouth sucking her nipples like a baby. Would he be jealous? Or livid? She wanted it to be the latter.

Matt’s gaze dropped from her eyes to her other breast, still trapped in its damp, lacy cup, the fabric dark with milk. His hand left her waist, fingers tracing the swollen curve through the cotton.

“This one’s full, too,” he murmured, his voice thick. "Let's help you out."

He didn’t ask for her permission because he knew she wanted the same thing. He hooked a finger under the opposite strap of her nursing bra and pulled it down. The cup gave way, spilling her other breast into the cold air. This nipple was already beading, a drop of milk swelling at the tip, ready to fall.

Mara watched him watch it. Her breath came in shallow hitches. The shame was like a hot coal in her belly, but beneath it, a deeper heat spread, a liquid, yielding warmth that made her thighs press together.

Matt bent his head and opened his mouth. He caught the falling bead on his tongue and held it there, eyes closed, savouring as a low groan rumbled in his chest.

“Even sweeter,” he breathed against her skin before his lips closed around her.

The milk let down in a hot, rushing stream, filling his throat, and he gobbled like a starved baby, the sound loud in the silent kitchen slurping like a kid with no care in the world.

Mara’s fingers tightened in his hair as a broken moan escaped her lips. Her back arched, pushing more of herself into his mouth as he drank and drank. His hand came up to knead the breast he’d already emptied, his thumb brushing over the wet, sensitive nipple. The stimulation made her gasp, her body convulsing with a pleasure that had nothing to do with a baby’s hunger.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his lips never leaving her skin. “Give it all to me. Don’t save a drop for him.”

She knew who he was talking about. Dominic, her husband. The bastard was snoring upstairs unaware of what was going on in his kitchen. She wanted to tell him Dominic wouldn’t even mind because he didn’t want her. But she didn’t. She didn’t tell him that so as not to spoil the mood.

Mara felt the milk flow slowing, and the deep, pulling ache in her ducts beginning to ease. Matt sensed it too, and he suckled harder, desperately working his tongue fiercely to draw out the last streams. The suction bordered on pain, a bright, sharp edge that made her cry out.