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Book: The Billionaire's Milkmaid (BBW Lactation Erotic Romance) by Meghan Boehners
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Authors: Meghan Boehners
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high, his hair wavy and perfectly coiffed, one hand on her elbow, still, the other reaching up to push back silky onyx waves. When he smiled the expression reached his eyes and he dipped his head down to reach for her ear, his breath pushing against her blonde curls.
"Come with me. I can help you," he promised, and she obeyed, uncertain but fully at his command. Liquid pooled in her belly and she cursed her corporate drone outfit now, her heels a little too staid, her blouse so boring, her skirt a drab grey. This man made her want to wear red come-fuck-me-pumps, and too much lipstick, to be a whore on her own terms, to let loose and forget she was Sofia's mother, Joe's dumped wife, and to just make love on an island outside, white sand cliffs surrounding them as the ocean breeze took them –
"Excuse me, but you...you are leaking," he whispered as they walked down the hall. He seemed to be breathing a bit harder and his eyes kept shifting down, looking at her breasts. Jessica glanced down and saw two distinct circles of moisture on her nipples, the milk bleeding through her shirt. She quickly shifted the briefcase that held the breast pump and struggled with her buttons. The stranger deftly lifted her case from her hand and raised his eyebrows, the glitter of his Rolex and of what she assumed were true gold cufflinks on a shirt that cost more than her car payment catching her eye.
Shoving her wet breasts into her double-breasted (no pun intended, she thought wryly) jacket, she crossed her arms and prayed the milk wouldn't leak through her thick, wool jacket. "It's just over here, down a stairwell," he hissed, nodding toward the exit with a wink. Jessica trusted him fully and followed, her milk threatening to gush. She pushed away thoughts of what she wished she could do with this man in private. Instead, she would pump, turning her now-hot body into a cow, tamping down the obvious arousal she felt for – who? What was his name?
"Excuse me," she asked, regaining her manners, "I'm Jessica Browning. What's your name?" Her question echoed through the stairwell and she felt awkward, more insecure than ever, wondering why she was blindly following this guy through the corporate maze and assuming he knew what she needed.
He stopped, slapped his palm against his tanned forehead, and shook his head. "Ah, of course. My apologies." He extended one manicured hand and once again she marveled at the cuff links. His eyes poured into hers, as if with one look he could blend them into one person. "My name is Antonio Bouskos. I am pleased to meet you, Jessica," he added as their hands touched, hers shaking as she met his palm. His grip deepened and then – did she imagine it? – one finger slipped up to caress her wrist, his smile changing from a more formal look to one of intimacy, the grin fading as his expression became more sensual, more an invitation than an introduction.
She lost her words, her hand clinging to his, the hot touch of his skin like a life preserver. How must she appear to him? She knew she was clean, having showered and pulled her hair up this morning, looking no-nonsense and just praying to get through the day. Breastfeeding had been great to her body, giving her a figure she'd never possessed before, with an enormous bust and a narrow waist, hips widened quite a bit by childbirth. Her ass, though, was her crowning glory. Before having her baby she had always had an average, size 12 body but now she was a full-figured 16, proportions so perfect she sometimes pinched herself over how lucky she was. In a word, Jessica's figure had turned quite “juicy” and although Joe had used her weight gain to insult her (“You cow!” he'd hissed when they fought), she had been pleasantly surprised by how much she liked the new her.
The end result made her proud, but she had spent these last few months just trying to get over her anger and hurt at Joe, unable to enjoy the sensuality her new body brought.
Perhaps Antonio
"Come with me. I can help you," he promised, and she obeyed, uncertain but fully at his command. Liquid pooled in her belly and she cursed her corporate drone outfit now, her heels a little too staid, her blouse so boring, her skirt a drab grey. This man made her want to wear red come-fuck-me-pumps, and too much lipstick, to be a whore on her own terms, to let loose and forget she was Sofia's mother, Joe's dumped wife, and to just make love on an island outside, white sand cliffs surrounding them as the ocean breeze took them –
"Excuse me, but you...you are leaking," he whispered as they walked down the hall. He seemed to be breathing a bit harder and his eyes kept shifting down, looking at her breasts. Jessica glanced down and saw two distinct circles of moisture on her nipples, the milk bleeding through her shirt. She quickly shifted the briefcase that held the breast pump and struggled with her buttons. The stranger deftly lifted her case from her hand and raised his eyebrows, the glitter of his Rolex and of what she assumed were true gold cufflinks on a shirt that cost more than her car payment catching her eye.
Shoving her wet breasts into her double-breasted (no pun intended, she thought wryly) jacket, she crossed her arms and prayed the milk wouldn't leak through her thick, wool jacket. "It's just over here, down a stairwell," he hissed, nodding toward the exit with a wink. Jessica trusted him fully and followed, her milk threatening to gush. She pushed away thoughts of what she wished she could do with this man in private. Instead, she would pump, turning her now-hot body into a cow, tamping down the obvious arousal she felt for – who? What was his name?
"Excuse me," she asked, regaining her manners, "I'm Jessica Browning. What's your name?" Her question echoed through the stairwell and she felt awkward, more insecure than ever, wondering why she was blindly following this guy through the corporate maze and assuming he knew what she needed.
He stopped, slapped his palm against his tanned forehead, and shook his head. "Ah, of course. My apologies." He extended one manicured hand and once again she marveled at the cuff links. His eyes poured into hers, as if with one look he could blend them into one person. "My name is Antonio Bouskos. I am pleased to meet you, Jessica," he added as their hands touched, hers shaking as she met his palm. His grip deepened and then – did she imagine it? – one finger slipped up to caress her wrist, his smile changing from a more formal look to one of intimacy, the grin fading as his expression became more sensual, more an invitation than an introduction.
She lost her words, her hand clinging to his, the hot touch of his skin like a life preserver. How must she appear to him? She knew she was clean, having showered and pulled her hair up this morning, looking no-nonsense and just praying to get through the day. Breastfeeding had been great to her body, giving her a figure she'd never possessed before, with an enormous bust and a narrow waist, hips widened quite a bit by childbirth. Her ass, though, was her crowning glory. Before having her baby she had always had an average, size 12 body but now she was a full-figured 16, proportions so perfect she sometimes pinched herself over how lucky she was. In a word, Jessica's figure had turned quite “juicy” and although Joe had used her weight gain to insult her (“You cow!” he'd hissed when they fought), she had been pleasantly surprised by how much she liked the new her.
The end result made her proud, but she had spent these last few months just trying to get over her anger and hurt at Joe, unable to enjoy the sensuality her new body brought.
Perhaps Antonio
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