R-18: LACTATION

Callum walked into a silent house.

No hum of conversation. No clatter from the kitchen. Just the steady quiet of a home deep into the night. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the back of a chair before heading down the hallway. Their son was asleep in the nursery, he could hear the soft, content sounds of baby breathing through the monitor.

He moved past the nursery and stopped at the doorway of their bedroom. The door was open. Warm light from a dim lamp spilled across the floor. Irixiah was on the bed, one arm flung above her head, blanket pushed to her waist. Her dress clung to her chest, soaked through with milk.

That sight had started messing with him days ago.

The first time he’d really noticed was after a late feeding. He’d stood in the doorway, watching as she cradled their son against her bare chest, her robe half open. Her skin was flushed from sleep, hair messy, one breast exposed as their baby latched on greedily. The look on her face wasn’t sexual—it was soft, tired, maternal.

And yet, something about it short-circuited his brain.

She’d looked so vulnerable. So full. Her nipple slick, her breast heavy with milk. And when a drop slid down her skin, he’d nearly groaned out loud. He’d walked away that night with a hard-on and clenched jaw, pretending he wasn’t dying inside.

But since then, the thoughts kept creeping in, every time she fed their son, every time she sighed in relief as the milk let down, every time she winced when her breasts got too full. He started noticing every detail: the way her nipples swelled, how she rubbed at them when they ached, how the smell of her milk lingered on her shirts.

It was driving him fucking insane.

And now, here she was—alone in bed, dozing off, dress soaked and sticking to her chest. Her nipple was practically visible through the fabric, swollen, flushed, begging for his mouth.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Moving slowly, he crawled onto the bed beside her, careful not to wake her. The warmth under the blanket made his skin prickle. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the damp patch of her dress. She stirred slightly, breath catching.

He kissed lower, dragging his mouth over the fabric until it met the stiff peak of her nipple. She let out a soft moan.

He pushed the strap down and freed her breast, watching it bounce gently into view. Her nipple was already leaking a little. He didn’t wait—he wrapped his mouth around it and sucked.

The milk hit his tongue, warm, slightly sweet, smooth. He groaned against her.

Her legs shifted under the covers, and a shaky breath escaped her. Still not fully awake, but responding.

He sucked again, slower, then ran his tongue around her nipple, licking up the stray milk. His hand found her thigh, sliding up under the blanket. She was warm. Soft.

“Callum…?” she murmured.

He didn’t answer, just kept going, sucking, licking, teasing. His fingers found her clit and started slow, gentle circles.

“You’re gonna make me wake the baby,” she whispered, half-laughing, breath shaky.

“He's in the nursery,” he muttered, kissing the curve of her breast.

She opened her eyes, dazed and already flushed. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea,” he said, voice low. “Watching you… nursing him… every time you leak through your shirt—I’ve been going crazy.”

Irixiah moaned, arching into him. “Pervert.”

“You like it.”

Callum didn’t pull back. He sucked harder, slow and deep, like he was starving for it. The sweet warmth of her milk filled his mouth again, and he groaned low in his throat. He held her breast in one hand, gently kneading, coaxing more from her. Her nipple was swollen, flushed dark and sensitive, and he gave it a long, slow lick before taking it back between his lips.

Irixiah whimpered.

She tried to sit up, tried to say something coherent, but he pressed a kiss to her chest and kept her down with a soft “Shh.”

“You’re leaking,” he murmured. “Let me take care of it.”

He moved to her other breast, nudging the fabric down until it joined the first, dress bunched under her ribs, both breasts exposed, heavy and full and flushed. Milk beaded at one nipple, then the other. Callum didn’t even try to be subtle. He latched on and suckled greedily, tongue flicking, hands cradling the weight of her as she moaned through clenched teeth.

The rush of milk was immediate, hot against his tongue, and he drank like he couldn’t get enough.

“God,” Irixiah gasped, one hand gripping the blanket, the other threading into his hair. “That’s not what they mean by feeding kink, you know.”

Callum chuckled against her skin, and the vibration made her shudder. “It is now.”

His hand slid over her belly, then lower, between her thighs again. She was already wet, hot and slick, clenching around nothing. He didn’t even need to tease. One finger slid in easily, curling deep. She gasped again.

Above, he kept suckling, slow pulls that matched the rhythm of his fingers. Every time her milk let down, he groaned like it turned him on more than anything he’d ever tasted. And it did. The sweetness, the warmth, the raw intimacy of it—he was drunk on her. Addicted.

Irixiah writhed under him, her chest rising and falling, lips parted as he fed from her and fingered her at the same time. Her thighs trembled.

“I can feel it,” he whispered, pulling back briefly to kiss both breast. “You’re so full. So fucking soft.”

“You’re obsessed,” she panted.

He smiled against her skin, then suckled again, slower now, more deliberately, tongue swirling around her nipple as another stream of milk spilled into his mouth.

“You should’ve seen yourself,” he murmured, lips brushing her damp skin. “Tired as hell, shirt soaked… and all I could think about was getting my mouth on you.”

He licked a bead of milk from her nipple, slow and greedy. “Didn’t know it would taste this good. Didn’t know I’d get this addicted.”

She choked on a laugh, breathless. “Don’t say shit like that when your fingers are inside me.”

Irixiah grinned against her skin, still suckling, still drawing soft moans from her with every warm pull of milk. Her hand curled tighter in his hair, torn between yanking him off and pulling him closer.

He dragged his mouth away with a wet pop, chin slick, eyes glazed with want. “I wasn’t kidding. You’re soaked.” He pushed two fingers inside her again, slow and deliberate, thumb circling her clit with maddening pressure. “And warm. Fuck—you’re so warm.”

She whimpered, arching off the bed, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement. Milk beaded again. He latched back on like he couldn’t help himself, drinking between gasps like a man obsessed.

And then—

A wail. Shrill. Demanding. Their son.

Irixiah's eyes flew open. “No,” she groaned, half-laughing, half-crying. “No no no—”

Callum stopped mid-suck, forehead dropping to her chest like he’d been shot. “He’s got the worst timing in human history.”

She was already trying to sit up, but his hand was still between her legs. “Callum—”

“He’ll survive two more minutes,” he muttered, licking milk from the corner of his mouth. “I won’t.”

She shoved his shoulder. “Go get your son.”

He groaned, tragic and hard and leaking in his boxers. “You’re lucky I love that little cóckblocker.”

She laughed breathlessly, breasts still heavy and glistening in the low light. “Yeah? You better tell him that when he’s eighteen.”

Callum sat up reluctantly, tossing a look over his shoulder as he headed toward the nursery. “When he’s eighteen, I’ll tell him I was seconds away from drinking his midnight snack straight from the tap.”

“Callum” she shouted, grabbing a pillow to throw at him, but she was still laughing when it hit the door.