Page 48 of Daddy Erik
I tilt my head. “You don’t want to pump.”
She doesn’t argue it, only stares up at me now, really looks at me, and I can see it. The need. Her body is gradually learning to trust me more than that cold, suctioned piece of plastic.
“You help more,” she whispers.
Something protective curls low in my chest at that. My fingertips brush along the hem of her sleep shirt, and I hesitate. “Tell me you want this. Consent is everything to me.”
She nods once. “Yes.” Only then do I peel the fabric slowly away from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor.
The cool rush of air across her skin has her pulling in another breath, deeper this time. She’s obviously fuller than before, nipples taut and pale against her breasts, skin stretched taut, and veins visible under the surface. She hunches her shoulders forward unconsciously from the weight of them.
Gently, I cradle one breast in my hands. Warm. Full.
She lets out a shaky breath as I pinch the underside lightly and lift just enough to give her breast some relief.
“Too much?” I question softly.
“No.” She exhales sharply. “Just… please, give me relief.”
Carefully, I maneuver her on her back so she is flush against the pillows, supporting her back so she isn’t putting weight on her arms. I take off her tank top and bring myself down so I’m hovering over her before I settle my weight down on one arm, careful not to lie too heavily on her.
My lips hover there for a moment. Not out of want, but admiration. I press them to her gently.
I caress my lips along her skin before I slowly take her in, careful with my suction.
She gasps sharply. Hands fisting into my hair without hesitation.
And I don’t pull too hard. Slow and steady. Each suction is learned through trial and error, determining exactly how much she can handle.
It’s unforgiving, that line between relieving her and hurting her. I know it like the back of my hand now.
Within seconds her entire body gives in to it. Soft, shuddery breaths. Back rolling beneath my hands lightly. Shoulders relaxing as her breasts begin to soften under my mouth.
“That’s it, baby.” I breathe before taking her in again. I can feel it. The pull starts to lessen ever so slightly as she lets down. As the milk begins to flow.
Her fingers dig into my hair. “Oh,” she exhales.
I swallow slowly, a little greedy, yet never rushed, as I wish to savor this as much as she does. This moment isn’t about me. It’s about giving her relief. I am allowing her to lean on me and helping her regain her sense of completeness.
She’s beginning to pant slightly. I lightly readjust my position, ensuring that my forearm bears a greater portion of her weight. My other hand drifts to her other breast, rubbing softly. Dr. Madsen had instructed her on how to handle situations when she couldn't find time to pump or felt too full to use a breast pump.
She makes another noise that isn’t quite pain, more like release. There’s something between us now, thick in the air as her entire body relaxes beneath me, milk flowing from her as her breasts slowly soften from my touch, pressure diminishing little by little.
Her hips roll forward of their own volition, and I can feel her breathing change. Her breathing starts off shallow and gradually becomes fuller.
I momentarily pull my mouth away to whisper in her ear, asking, "Is it better?" She can only nod, but I can see it in her eyes. They’re darker now.
“Yes,” she hums. “More than better.”
I see in her eyes there is more than just relief; there is need.
I switch sides with her carefully, leaning in to recreate what I just did on the other side. Gentle humming encourages her as her back arches without hesitation this time.
When I’m done, pulling back to watch her chest rise and fall slowly under flushed skin, I realize something… her need has turned into want.
I brush my thumb along her breast softly and look up at her.
“Claire,” I breathe quietly. Lower now. “Tell me what you want.”
