Chapter 900 - 900: Breastfeeding session - r18

"That language is—"

"Accurate."

Her thighs tightened on either side of him. The embarrassment was intense enough to make her eyes shine, yet beneath it her breathing had gone shallow with arousal.

The very fact that this all worked had become erotic.

She had not only agreed. She had made the fantasy physically true.

Julian guided one of her hands downward.

Olivia resisted for half a second, then allowed it. Her palm touched the hardness of him through his clothes, and a soft, broken sound left her throat at the proof of how affected he was.

Julian's fingers closed gently around her wrist, not forcing, only completing the arrangement he had named earlier.

"As we said," he murmured. "You feed me. And while you do, you pleasure me."

Olivia's shame peaked hard enough that her shoulders trembled. Still, her fingers moved, clumsy at first, then more certain as she freed him enough to wrap her hand around his cock.

The contrast nearly undid the moment by itself: milk beading on her maternal breasts while her hand began to work her son with shy, intimate pulls.

Julian exhaled against her skin.

"Yes. Like that."

He lowered his mouth at last and took her right nipple between his lips.

Olivia cried out softly as he sucked.

The taste of milk mixed with the heat of her flesh - warm and faintly sweet and somehow, shockingly real on his tongue.

He sucked her softly, and each one made her hand tighten around him. Her hands paused, then resumed, stroking him in uneven rhythm while her other hand clutched at his shoulder as if she needed an anchor against the sheer obscenity of what they were doing.

"Ahhh… Kraven… this is too much…"

He did not release her. He only shifted enough to murmur,

"You are feeding me, Mother."

A helpless sound tore out of her.

Her hand moved faster on his cock. Milk continued to leave her under the demand of his mouth.

When he changed breasts, the neglected nipple shone with wetness and the faint sheen of what had already spilled. Olivia looked down once, saw her own milk on her son's lips, and immediately shut her eyes as if the image alone might undo her.

"I should not be doing this," she whispered.

Julian sucked harder for a moment, then softened again, drinking from her with a patience that made the act feel even more "intentional."

Olivia stroked him again, longer this time, base to tip, as if her body had decided that if she was already damned by the act, she might as well do it thoroughly. Her face remained burning with embarrassment. Her chest, however, stayed offered. Her hand stayed working.

The contradiction was exquisitely erotic.

Julian returned to her nipple and drank more deeply.

The room was now filled with quiet, wet sounds: the slow suckling of his mouth, the soft catch of Olivia's moans and the shifting rhythm of her hand on his cock.

Every few moments she tried to turn her face further away, only to be drawn back by sensation. Her breasts looked even fuller now.

"Kraven…" Her voice had gone thinner. "If you keep drinking like that, I will not be able to think."

He pulled off just long enough to answer, lips shining.

"Then do not think. Stroke me and feed me. That is all this moment requires of you."

Olivia let out a shuddering breath and obeyed.

Her hand slid over him with more confidence now, twisting lightly at the head on each upward pass, then sinking again in a steady rhythm.

At the same time she arched forward, whether consciously or not, pressing her breast more fully into his mouth.

The invitation undid whatever remained of her verbal resistance.

She could still flush. She could still call it embarrassing. But her body had begun to cooperate with open willingness.

Julian drank from her as if the act were both hunger and claim.

Every swallow made Olivia tremble. Every motion of her hand pulled a low breath from him in return.

In that locked room, the childhood image he had invoked no longer existed in innocence. It had been rewritten completely: a mother giving milk, a son taking it, and between them a sexual rhythm neither of them could any longer pretend was accidental.

**

Julian pulled back only far enough to speak.

"Mother," he said, his voice low, "use your other hand to feed me."

Olivia hesitated at once.

Her right hand was already wrapped around him, moving in that shy, uneven rhythm she had not yet learned how to make elegant. The request asked her to complete the picture even further: one hand on her son's cock, the other lifting her own breast into his mouth as if the act were natural.

"Kraven, you are asking for more and more now—"

The protest broke apart on a sharp breath.

"Ahh—"

Julian had taken her nipple again, and this time his teeth closed around it. The bite was gentle - not enough to wound, just enough to send a jolt through her that was impossible to ignore.

Olivia looked down at him, her eyes wide and her voice tumbling out before thought could refine it.

"Kraven, slow down. You're using your teeth. You're hurting your mama."

The words left Olivia's lips, and a sudden shiver ran down her spine.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. The room around her seemed to fade, and an old memory rose from the depths of her mind, clear enough to make her feel as though she had stepped back into the past.

**

Many years ago, in the front courtyard of the duchy, the warmth of late spring had settled over the pale stone. Sunlight streamed through the open arches, casting long shadows across the ground.

Somewhere nearby, gardeners were trimming the hedges, and the fresh scent of cut grass mingled with the warmth of the marble.

Olivia sat in a broad, cushioned chair, enjoying the peaceful afternoon. Her husband sat nearby, occasionally glancing at her with a smile as she cradled their infant son in her arms.