Page 37 of Red Flag Bull
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” I say when he sets his kind offerings on the bedside table for me.
“It will if you don’t take them,” he assures me in a flat tone. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I shiver at the threat, and he smiles. Not a happy smile. A dangerous one.
The thing about Jason King, is that I never quite know which way things will go. He’s like a wild animal I could never hope to tame, and if I ever believe I have, that’s when he’ll most likely tear me to shreds and leave me wishing I was dead. As with any powerful, hot-blooded, and unpredictable creature, it’s healthiest to keep a certain level of respect and not cross any lines drawn to keep me safe.
Jason makes his expectations and boundaries clear. All I have to do is obey them. I’ve always found comfort in knowing where I stand, and with him, there’s never a need to ask exactly where that is.
I take the Tylenol and drink the water.
He nods and leaves to answer a knock at the door.
When he returns, he sets a small stack of clothes next to me.
New clothes.
Leather pants. Cotton panties. And a T-shirt, so soft, it feels perfectly worn-in already. All my size.
“Get dressed. We leave in five minutes,” he says.
“Five minutes?”
He starts to leave, and I call after him. “Where are we going? Shouldn’t I shower first?”
He pauses in the doorway but doesn’t turn to face me. “Did I tell you to shower?”
“No, but…”
He’s already walking away. The conversation is over, from his perspective.
I stand to dress, and his cum dribbles down my leg, to soak my new underwear as I pull them up. He wanted this to happen. And I don’t hate it.
I pull on the pants and the T-shirt, which is amazingly comfortable against my skin. My nipples look hard and thick through the fabric, and the moment I think about his mouth, latching on and pulling the milk from my breasts, a tremor grips my pussy.
It did feel incredible.
A hot, human mouth, bringing forth the milky goodness from inside me… The only tangible thing of value I have to give, and he’d wanted it.
I’m used to the breast pump. I’ve thought about how breastfeeding is meant to feel, but I didn’t know it could be like that. And with a grown man? I didn’t know how different it would be. How warm and natural and… spine-meltingly good.
I rest my hands on my breasts to assess how firm they are. I’m not going to have time to pump before we go, but they won’t start to get overly full and uncomfortable for another hour or two. As long as I have my pump, I can deal with them then.
I head downstairs, to meet Jason in the kitchen.
“Hungry?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He comes to stand in front of me. “Open your mouth.”
I don’t hesitate to obey, and he places a piece of chocolate onto my tongue. “You’ll keep your energy up, regardless of appetite,” he says before tilting his head toward the door — my instruction to leave.
I reach for my backpack, but he shoves it out of reach. “You won’t need that,” he says, handing me my leather jacket for riding.
“But—”
One look at his face, and I raise my hands in surrender. “I won’t need it,” I say to appease him, though going without the breast pump will mean drying-off cold turkey, and my tits are going to hate that.
