The Billionaire's Milkmaid (BBW Lactation Erotic Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

a claiming, his thrust deepening as he slammed her cervix from behind, his other hand strumming her to another world once more.
    “Yes,” she gasped.
    “You're mine,” he declared, his voice no longer hushed, and as she looked up she imagined he was saying it to her but also to the city that lay before them. He probably owned half of it.
    “I am yours, Antonio. Please, please...” She wasn't sure what she was asking for, just that the words disappeared as her milk rubbed against her breasts, her ribs ached from being pushed against the table and she owned the sky and her pussy and her clit and he did, too, as he tightened into one body of muscle and let go of her clit, gesticulating and fucking her so hard she could only grunt now, no more words and only walls of flesh as she screamed, screamed louder than every before, and it was one word:
    “Fuck!” He clamped his palm over her mouth and she bucked against it like a horse being tamed, fucked backwards against him to take in everything he gave, and then he clenched and shouted, “Jessica!” and spewed his seed into her, the pressure so intense she felt him, hot and wet in her as he claimed her whole, took her folded over a conference table at work, thirty floors above the world, her wetness everywhere now – on his mouth, on his dick, on the floor, in her hair...everywhere, everything, and everyplay .
    Slumping against her back, she felt the weight of him on her not as a resting place, but more as a promise, a comfortable spot where Antonio could get some relief. The bliss of the encounter began to wane and she moved, imperceptibly, as her ribs began to scream in agony. He sensed it and pulled up, pulled out, then quietly began to dress, handing her her soaked clothes.
    She frowned as she examined them. “Oh, God,” she muttered. He frowned, then made a face like he understood something. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out a phone, held up one finger to her, and spoke in dulcet tones into the phone. “Twelve?” she heard, then he ended the call.
    “Not a problem,” he said, pointing to her clothing. “Just wait here.”
    Embarrassed and instantly aware of how awful the situation, Jessica's eyes filled with tears. “Okay,” she told him meekly.
    "Jessica, Jessica," he crooned, cupping her face in his hands, kissing her nose and stepping back. "You like this." It wasn't a question. It was a declaration.

"Yes," she whispered, too embarrassed to admit she hoped he would offer more.

"Then come back here next week, this room, at the same time." And with that he slipped out of the room, the snick of the door's closing both a tearful end and a delightful promise of more.
    Panting, she sat down, now dizzy and frantic over what they'd just done. The implications flooded her. Being naked with milk-soaked clothes was now the least of her worries!
    Thirty seconds later there was a knock. “Ms. Browning?”
    Fuck! Who knew she was in here? The door opened on its own and an older, swarthy man with balding, grey hair stepped in. He looked like a butler, dressed in a black suit that was almost a tuxedo. He carried a woman's suit and blouse.
    “For you,” he said simply, hanging it on a coat hook along the wall, then slipping quietly out of the room. She scrunched her nose and stared at the now-closed door for a full minute, mouth open and gaping. What the – ?
    Finally, she crossed the room on shaky legs and looked at the suit. An Italian label she didn't know. Cashmere and linen. Size twelve – who were they kidding? She wasn't a size twelve. Better than walking back to your desk naked, Jessica . Skeptical, she slipped the skirt on, eyebrows arching as she buttoned and zipped the back.
    It fit like a glove. Ditto the blouse, which was fitted so perfectly she didn't need her bra (which was too wet to wear anyhow), and the jacket was tight where it needed to be, loose in all the right places, and when buttoned concealed all traces of milk.
    Had he prepared