The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan, its blades cutting lazy circles through the thick, humid air. Jishnu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Iyal as she nursed their youngest. The baby’s tiny fingers curled and uncurled against her breast, milk dripping from the corner of his mouth as he drank greedily. Her other breast, heavy and swollen, glistened with a bead of milk that rolled down the curve, disappearing into the shadow of her cleavage. Fifteen months. Fifteen fucking months since he’d last been inside her, since her body had been his to worship without the weight of pregnancy or the exhaustion of recovery. And now, watching her like this—flushed, soft, his—he could feel his cock thickening in his pants, impatient and hungry.
Iyal glanced up, her dark eyes catching his, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. With a deliberate slowness, she shifted the baby to her other breast, freeing the first—plump, damp, the nipple dark and erect from the suckling. A drop of milk clung to the tip before falling, splashing against her thigh. Jishnu’s breath hitched. She licked her lips, her gaze never leaving his. “He’s asleep,” she murmured, nodding toward the bassinet where their older child had dozed off minutes ago. The unspoken promise hung between them, electric.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
The bathroom was already running, steam curling over the edge of the tub by the time he carried her in, her legs wrapped around his waist, her laughter breathless against his neck. He set her down on the cool tile, her body still warm from the baby, her skin slick with the sheen of motherhood—softer, fuller, more. She turned, presenting her back to him, her ass rounding out beneath the thin cotton of her nightdress. Jishnu’s fingers trembled as he peeled the fabric up, baring her—first the dimples above her ass, then the swell of her hips, the small of her back, the wings of her shoulder blades. When the dress pooled at her feet, she stepped out of it, naked except for the milk still damp on her thighs.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his palms finding her hips, pulling her back against him. His cock, already hard, pressed into the cleft of her ass. She arched, grinding against him, her breath hitching when he dipped his fingers between her legs, finding her wet. Not just from the shower’s humidity—no, this was all her, hot and slick and ready.
“Shave me,” she whispered, spreading her legs wider. His cock jerked at the command, at the trust in her voice. He knelt behind her, the razor gliding carefully over the soft skin of her pussy, the scent of her arousal thick in the steam. She moaned when the cool metal grazed her clit, her thighs trembling. He didn’t stop there—oh no, he took his time, shaping her, smoothing the razor over the delicate skin of her armpits, her breath coming in sharp little gasps every time his fingers brushed too close to her breasts.
By the time he was done, she was a trembling mess, her nipples hard enough to cut glass, her pussy dripping. He stood, pressing his body against hers, his cock sliding between her ass cheeks. “Turn around,” he ordered, his voice rough. She obeyed, her tits bouncing slightly with the movement, milk beading at the tips. He couldn’t resist—he leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak before he sucked, hard. She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as her milk let down, the warm rush filling his mouth. He swallowed, groaning at the sweet, creamy taste of her, at the way her body clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled.
The shower gel was next, his hands slick as he lathered her, his fingers teasing her nipples, pinching just enough to make her whimper. She returned the favor, her small hand wrapping around his cock, stroking him with slow, maddening precision, her thumb swiping over the precome beading at the tip. “Iyal,” he warned, his hips jerking into her grip. She smirked, dropping to her knees in front of him, her lips parting as she took him into her mouth. The heat, the wet—fuck, he nearly came right then. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her.
He pulled her up, spinning her around, pressing her against the tile. The water cascaded over them as he dropped to his knees again, this time burying his face between her legs. She was bare, smooth, his—and she tasted even better than he remembered. His tongue delved into her, lapping at her entrance before flicking her clit, her thighs shaking as she rode his face, her milk dripping onto his back. He didn’t stop, not even when she came with a choked sob, her pussy flooding his mouth, her nails scoring the tile.
He stood, lifting her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around him as he carried her to their bed. She was still trembling from her orgasm, her body sensitive, her tits heavy and leaking. He laid her down, spreading her thighs, his cock aching as he lined himself up. “Please,” she begged, her voice raw. He didn’t make her wait.
The first thrust was deep, brutal, her back arching off the bed as he filled her completely. “Fuck, fuc*—” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. He didn’t move, letting her adjust, her pussy fluttering around him, milk dripping from her tits onto the sheets. When she finally rocked her hips, urging him on, he lost control.
He fucked her like a man starved—hard, deep, his balls slapping against her ass with every thrust as she met him stroke for stroke.