My Daddy Lactates Too novel · Chapter 2 of 12
Chapter 2: The Kitchen at Dawn
At three in the morning, the party had already gone to bed.
I hadn’t.
I left my room barefoot, wearing a long T-shirt and no bra, looking for a glass of water.
The kitchen was dark, barely lit by the yellow streetlight.
Ramón was sitting at the table, an unopened beer in his hand, staring into space.
He saw me in the doorway.
We both froze.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.
“Me neither.”
He set the beer down on the table.
I stood there, my heart in my throat.
My white T-shirt already had two smaller round stains, because it hadn’t even been an hour since the last time.
The streetlight made them stand out.
He looked at them.
“Come here,” he said.
I walked over to him.
I stopped between his legs, which he spread from the chair to let me through.
He took me by the hips and lifted his face.
“Show me,” he asked.
My throat went dry.
With trembling fingers, I pulled my T-shirt up over my head and let it fall behind me.
I stood bare from the waist up beneath the orange streetlight, my breasts heavy, my nipples dark and glistening with milk.
Ramón let out a breath.
“My God,” he murmured. “Just look at you.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me closer.
His warm breath brushed my skin.
“Tell me how you want it,” he said hoarsely. “You’re in charge.”
No one had ever said that to me in my life.
I swallowed.
“Slowly,” I whispered. “With your tongue first. Just on the outside.”
He did.
He swept his broad, warm tongue around the edge of my nipple in slow circles, and I closed my eyes.
“Like that.”
“Like this?”
“Yes. Daddy, like that.”
The word slipped out on its own.
I felt him shudder.
“Say it again,” he asked against my skin.
“Daddy.”
He growled.
He cupped one breast in his big hand, squeezed it tenderly, and closed his mouth over my nipple.
He sucked.
Gently at first, then deeper.
Milk spurted from me, warm, and he swallowed it with a deep groan, like a man who’d gone years without eating.
My whole body trembled.
I buried my fingers in his short gray hair and pressed him against me.
“Don’t stop,” I begged. “Please, don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
He drank from one breast, then moved to the other, his huge hands gripping my waist, his mustache brushing my skin.
I felt the tug in my chest connected, strangely, to the depths of my belly.
Every suck made my pussy clench.
I was soaked.
My T-shirt wasn’t the only thing wet anymore.
“Ramón,” I gasped. “I’m… I’m…”
“Let it happen.”
“It’s so much.”
“It’s not enough, baby. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I came like that, with only his mouth on my breasts, letting out a short cry that I muffled by biting my lip and squeezing my thighs together.
He lifted his head.
My milk glistened on his lips, his eyes were dark with desire, and a slow smile spread beneath his mustache.
“You taste so good,” he said.
My face burned.
He lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing and sat me on the kitchen table.
He took off the little clothing I had left, my cotton panties, and tossed them on the floor.
He spread my knees with his hands.
He looked at me there, open and glistening in the yellow light.
“Yadira,” he said. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He laughed.
He knelt.
He ran his whole tongue over me, from bottom to top, and I threw my head back against the cold wall.
“Oh, God.”
“Tell me what you like.”
“That. With the tip. Up top.”
He did.
He sucked my clit between his lips, firm and rhythmic, and slid two thick fingers into my pussy, curling them upward.
My hips moved on their own.
I grabbed his head with both hands.
I put one foot on his shoulder.
“Harder,” I ordered. “Daddy, harder.”
He ate me like I was the last meal on earth.
Wet sounds filled the kitchen.
My moans rose and fell, impossible to hold back.
Every time I moaned, milk trickled down my belly from my breasts, warm, and he licked it up with his free hand.
I came a second time with a long shudder, wetting his mustache.
Ramón stood up.
He unbuttoned his pants with trembling hands.
He pulled out his cock.
I saw it in the streetlight: long, thick, dark, veined, with a glistening head.
My mouth fell open.
“Oh my God,” I said. “That won’t fit inside me.”
“It’ll fit,” he said, stroking himself. “Slowly. You tell me.”
He took me by the hips and drew me to the edge of the table.
He ran the head of his cock over my pussy, up and down, getting it wet.
“Tell me,” he asked.
“Put it inside me, Daddy.”
“All the way?”
“All the way. I want to feel you.”
He entered slowly, inch by inch.
I clung to his arms and dug my nails into them.
He opened me completely, filled me, stretched me like no one ever had.
I moaned through clenched teeth.
When he reached the bottom, he stayed still, breathing against my neck.
“I’m full,” I said, laughing and crying. “So damn full.”
He began to move.
Long strokes, deep, unhurried.
Every thrust pulled a different sound from me, and the table creaked beneath us.
He kissed my mouth, tasting of me, of milk, of salt.
“You’re mine,” he whispered.
“I’m yours.”
"Tell me this pussy is mine."
"It's yours, daddy. All yours."
He picked up the pace.
He grabbed one of my tits and squeezed it while he fucked me, and a stream of milk splashed across his chest.
He laughed, hoarsely, and licked it up.
I was losing my mind.
Pleasure surged through my whole body, from the soles of my feet to the back of my neck.
"I'm going to come again," I warned him.
"Come."
"With you."
"With me."
I came with a cry I had to smother against his shoulder, shuddering, squeezing him so hard inside me that he let out a hoarse curse.
He followed.
He sank all the way in with a low growl, and I felt his hot cum filling me in long spurts.
We stayed wrapped around each other, sweaty and pressed close, our breathing ragged.
He stroked my back with a trembling hand.
He didn't pull out.
I felt him slowly harden inside me again.
"Ramón," I laughed. "You're forty-one."
"And I've got three years' worth of pent-up desire."
He lifted me off the table and turned me around.
He put my palms on the counter by the sink and spread my feet apart with his knee.
"Hold on," he ordered.
I held on.
He entered me from behind, deep, in one thrust, and a cry escaped me.
He leaned over my back and covered my mouth with one hand.
"Keep it down, mommy. Nahomi's asleep."
"Then don't put it in like that," I whispered, laughing and moaning.
"Not like this?"
He pulled out slowly and thrust back in.
"Like that, yes," I panted. "Like that, yes, daddy."
He gripped my hips and started fucking me hard, the wet slap of our skin colliding filling the room.
My tits hung heavy, swaying.
Milk streamed from them into the sink, warm and white, and ran down the drain.
He reached around and squeezed one of my nipples as he thrust into me, and milk ran over his fingers.
"Look at it coming out," he said, his voice breaking. "Look what you do to me."
"That's you."
"That's you."
I came again, braced against the counter, biting a dish towel to keep from screaming.
He followed with a muffled roar against the back of my neck and came inside me, holding me tight against his chest.
We stayed like that for a long while, with the faucet dripping.
I turned in his arms.
I kissed him and tasted myself on his mouth, sweet and salty.
"I want to see you," I said. "Now that you're here, I want to see you."
He took off the T-shirt he was still wearing and tossed it over a chair.
I stood looking at him in the streetlight.
His broad chest, dusted with gray hair, his firm belly, a long scar along his ribs.
I ran my hands over him slowly, as if reading a map.
He let me, eyes closed, breathing deeply.
"You're scared," I said.
"I'm forty-one years old and naked in my kitchen with my daughter's best friend," he replied with a smile. "Of course I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"That I'll wake up tomorrow and this will have been a dream."
I kissed his chest, his scar, his shoulder.
"It wasn't a dream."
"Tell me again."
"It wasn't a dream, daddy."
He shivered at the word.
"Say it quieter," he asked.
I said it against his neck, in a warm whisper, and felt his skin break out in goose bumps.
"I don't regret it," he said against my hair.
"Neither do I."
"But it's complicated."
"I know."
"I have to tell Nahomi."
I tensed.
"Not yet."
"Yadira..."
"Not yet, please."
He nodded.
He helped me down from the table, put my T-shirt on me, and kissed my forehead.
When I turned toward the hallway, I saw a line of light beneath Nahomi's bedroom door.
It was on.
And the shadow of a pair of feet moved quickly, then disappeared.
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