Jacintha’s laugh was silver bells as she yanked off her sweater, ripped open her blouse. No bra, thank god, George thought, groaning. Despite being heavy with milk her breasts were still small but her nipples looked pinker than ever, and bigger. He licked his lips as more of his wife’s moonlight skin was revealed. She growled when her pants refused to snap open, gave it a hard yank before it yielded to her strong hands.

Wide hips, lean, muscled thighs, strong legs. Between them was the narrow triangle of her sensible yet so very sinful-looking white cotton panties. George’s mouth watered as he scented familiar vanilla and peaches coming from between her legs. When she stepped out of her panties, his eyes almost crossed at the goddess standing before him.

Pregnancy had softened the hard angles on Jacintha’s body but god, he wanted her more than ever. He held out his arms to her and Jacintha, breathing his name again, flew towards them.

“I missed you,” she whispered between fevered kisses, their teeth colliding, tongues tangling, mouths open to take as much of the other in. “George. George. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Jacintha,” he groaned against her lips. Their hands were desperate to map each other’s skin. Jacintha caressed the hard muscles of his shoulders, moaned as the crisp hairs of his chest tickled her palms and her sensitive breasts. George fisted his hand around her hair, pulled it back, arching her toward him. He licked her from throat to the valley between her breasts, where she smelled of milk and vanilla.

“George, please,” she pleaded as he tightened his fist around her hair and pulled her into a deeper bow.

“I want you so much,” he said, wrapping his lips around a swollen nipple. He sucked and licked it and Jacintha clutched his head to her breast as a wet, white bead bloomed from the tip of her nipple. Growling, George clamped his lips around it and suckled, filling the room with his hungry, wet sounds.

“So sweet,” he whispered before suckling again, flooding his mouth with her milk.

By the time Jacintha fell on her back on the bed, milk had begun to leak from her other breast. George lapped it up too, and with his fingers rotating around her clit the sensation was too much, it was too much.

Milk flowed in thick streams down her chest, to her stomach, mingling with the honey running between her thighs. George’s merciless fingers made click-clacking sounds as they pushed in and out of her sopping sex. Too much. Too good.

Jacintha was a throbbing mass of sensation. “George, please. I can’t. I can’t. “

But George simply tightened his mouth around her nipple, his fingers pushed deep in her sex. Jacintha gasped as if lashed, her body slamming against his and shaking. His name was strangled gasps from her throat, her want for him uttered in broken sentences. The only thing she finished saying was she wanted him all the time. And...