Warm. Faintly sweet. Mixed with his breath and the heat of the act itself.
Julian kissed her deeply, without rush and without mercy, feeding the taste back into her while his wet fingers continued smearing milk over her breast.
Olivia made a broken sound into his mouth. Her hand resumed stroking him almost desperately, as if motion could keep her from drowning in the meaning of what she was doing.
When he broke the kiss, a smear of milk shone on both their lips.
"Look at you," Julian murmured. "Drinking what your own body made for me."
Olivia's face was burning. "You made me do that."
"No." He kissed the corner of her mouth once more. "You leaned in."
Before she could answer, he cupped her milk-slick breast and lifted it slightly toward her face.
"Clean it."
Olivia stared at him.
"Kraven, that is—"
"Your milk is already on your skin. Taste it. I want to watch my mother drink from herself while she strokes my cock."
