Morning Glory Milking Farm by C.M. Nascosta

Chapter 14

“Teaching?”

She watched his fork bob back and forth, dancing in the air as he considered the merits of his own question before making its way at last to his mouth, his long eyelashes fluttering closed as he savored the rich chocolate and caramel. Her mother would have had a conniption to see them eating dessert—tuxedo cheesecake, drizzled in caramel and tiramisu—as the starter course, but Violet had discovered over the weeks that his admission of having a sweet tooth was quite serious and that she’d need to acclimate to dessert coming before anything else.

“I make more at Morning Glory,” she admitted. She had applied for her substitute teacher’s license shortly after graduation, thinking it would be a good way to supplement her job in the urban planning office, but it paid a pittance and she’d quickly remembered just why she’d pursued art history and not art education, as her mother had wanted. “I’m also really terrible with kids, so . . . not the best fit.”

He made a strangled noise of revulsion, his face screwing up in disgust before stealing a forkful of her tiramisu. Lurielle’s warning had proved prescient, and her dessert choice was never safe from his darting hands. “They’d need to pay a fortune to make that job worth it. Grubby little hands, never listening, I don’t blame you.”

“No kids for you then?” They’d seen each other barely a dozen times and any conversation about anything more than a month or two in the future was comically wishful thinking on her part—not really, he’s already making plans for next Halloween!—so it made little sense for her stomach to flip-flop in wait for his answer. Why are you even asking him, you don’t even know if you want kids.

“Now, I didn’t say that,” he corrected, raising his fork in defense. “I have no doubt in my heart that I’d love my own child with everything in me. Other people’s children though, they’re . . . they’re just terrible.” The room they’d been seated in was nearly empty, so there were no other patrons around to give her disapproving looks as she burst out laughing, sliding closer to him on the banquette, seeking his warmth.

Suggesting this restaurant had been by design: she knew they had a fabulous dessert cart that he would love, and there was no traditional seating. Couples would gather on huge velvet poufs and lounged on settees and sat closely together on the long banquettes, as they did then. She was absolutely not planning on initiating anything improper while they were seated in the sparsely populated dining room, she only wanted to be nearer to his warmth and press to his side, Violet told herself. If his strong arm were to come around her, so be it. If his thick fingers might stroke her thighs, she’d live. If they somehow made their way under her skirt, discovering her lack of underwear, she was prepared to deal with the consequences.

“Have you ever considered gallery work? Or something in an architecture office?” Finding her a job she would love was his new pet project, networking with his contacts and putting the word out amongst friends. She told herself it was only because he was the type that probably enjoyed a fixer-upper, which she was, but it still liquefied her insides to contemplate. That doesn’t seem like someone who’s only interested in a short-term thing, right?

“The architecture firms want a more specialized degree, and the gallery jobs are all taken by people who don’t plan on retiring until after they’re dead.” He’d wrinkled his nose adorably, nodding his agreement with her sentiment, and she edged closer on the velvet banquette until she was able to feel the heat of his thickly muscled thigh.

It happened midway through dinner.

She had pressed close enough to be flush against him and his arm had dropped around her at last. Violet was certain he was able to feel her heart thumping, could probably smell her arousal over the half-eaten plates of food before them. Her eyes slipped closed, breathing in the warm, woodsy smell of him as his giant hand rubbed the side of her hip, swirling the glass of dark red wine he held in the other. This is it, this is it. Violet felt the moment when he realized his fingers weren’t moving over any additional fabric beneath the short skirt of her dress, that nothing at all impeded the smooth glide of his fingertips against her hip, no silk or satin or cotton, not even the teensy strap of a thong. She felt him stiffen slightly against her, his hand pausing ever so slightly in its movement before stilling.

False alarm. You’d better buy a backup vibrator now so that when you burn out the first one sometime next week you won’t be left with no—Her treacherous inner voice cut off on a gasp, the air in her lungs forced out in a squeak when his velvety touch moved to the inside of her thigh, tracing softly up her skin until he met the resistance of where her thighs met, sealing him out. He stopped moving but hadn’t pulled away. You hold all the cards. Your comfort is the only thing that counts right now. Her chest was heaving, her breath leaving her in pants. He’d told her explicitly how things were going to work, and she’d been too obstinate to listen. She held all the cards. He’d not continue if she didn’t want him to do so. Her thighs parted.

“Violet, do you remember what I told you about what you could expect when you’re with me?”

His voice was stern, that of a principal questioning a naughty student; a priest before a sinner, and she gulped.

“You-you said my comfort was all that matters. That I . . . I hold all the cards.”

His finger had begun to move back and forth like a clock pendulum, the tip of it just barely grazing her cleft.

“Mhm, exactly. And what else?” Each stroke against her outer lips moved a little easier, a little smoother, aided by her slick against her newly waxed skin. Geillis is going to get the biggest bouquet of roses they sell. The velvety-soft digit pressed slightly, breaching her folds and still moving like a pendulum, only now his fingertip pressed into her clit on every pass, a jolt of lightning each time he did so. Her hands fisted in the material of his sleeve, her breath coming out in needy gasps.

“You said . . . you said you were going to spoil me.”

“Exactly.”

Her mouth dropped open and her head lolled against his arm when the same finger pressed, dipping into her hot folds completely, coating itself in the wetness it found there. When it was joined by one of its brothers—stroking and squeezing, pulling and circling against her clit—she whimpered, and his answering chuckle was so dark and deep she nearly came right then.

“Did you think that meant I wasn’t going to spoil this pussy?” His fingers had curled, trapping her clit between his knuckles, stimulating its hidden sides as they locomotored back and forth, pulling back its hood and making her see stars. “You just need to tell me what you want, sweetheart. You’re in charge.”

Violet didn’t feel in charge. She felt as though her spine had suddenly misplaced several vertebrae as she slumped against him, her legs opening a little wider, as though that would somehow help her achieve the friction she craved, the need to come suddenly obliterating everything else. Her clit felt like a live wire, and she was desperate for him to plug her in and make her spark. She didn’t see how she was meant to be in charge when he was the one playing her body like a musical instrument, laughing that dark chocolate laugh with his CEO voice. Besides . . . doesn’t he know you like him being bossy?

“You’re going to need to tell me what you want, Violet. What does this needy little cunt want from me?” Gruff and commanding, just above her temple, turning her to jelly.

“Please,” she whimpered, too aware of the other couple across the dining room and the server slowly making their way around the restaurant; too aware of the way he was rubbing her clit from the top, from the sides, anywhere but where she needed.

“You need to use your words, sweetheart. Please what?”

The outline of his cock stood out in relief in his bespoke grey pants, fat and full and desperate to come out, from the looks of it. She wanted to be filled by his cock, to have him stretch her beyond her limits and fuck her the way he’d fucked her in her dreams a hundred times already, she wanted to feel the way twenty-four ounces would gush out of her . . . but that would have to wait. Right now she couldn’t do anything, would never be able to leave this restaurant and see the sun again if she didn’t come immediately. He was smiling, she realized. Smiling that smile, the one that she loved, and the sparkle in his eye was completely evil. He was a bit of a bastard, but she probably wouldn’t have been so hot for him in the first place if he wasn’t.

“Please make me come. But don’t get us arrested,” she added hurriedly, glancing guiltily around the room.

The press of his digits had settled into a rhythm by then, cupping her entire mound in his palm, just beneath the jacquard table linens, and she panted when they began rubbing over her clit at last.

“Is this what you need?” His voice was a low croon just above her head, but her eyes had glazed over by then. She was going to come very soon at this rate, orgasming in public, unable to control herself. Who knew what she’d do next in her frenzied state. I’m sorry, officer, I didn’t mean to fellate this minotaur in the middle of the dining room, but you see, he’s been playing so fucking hard to get that I snapped.

“I’ll take care of this pretty little pussy anytime you want, sweetheart. Anytime she wants to be licked, I’ll be here to lick it and make you come. Eating this pussy is going to be my new favorite meal. Anytime she wants to be stuffed with my fat bull cock, I’ll be here to fuck you so good you won’t be able to remember your own name. I’m going to spoil you rotten, Violet. I’m going to spoil this cunt every way I can . . . all you need to do is tell me what you need.”

She’d wondered, once, if he would say filthy things to her in his stern, always-in-control voice, but she’d never imagine hearing it this way, in a dark croon at her temple. One of his thick fingers pressed into her heat and her legs shot out, kicking at nothing, and Violet understood why some of the minotaurs at the farm shook as if they’d just been struck by lightning when they came. She wasn’t sure what was short-circuiting her brain faster—the way he was rubbing her or the things he was saying, but when his finger withdrew, only to re-enter a breath later with a second, she knew she was finished. He fucked into her with a solid, steady pump of his wrist, stroking her inner walls and never letting up the pressure on her clit, and she was nearly embarrassed by how quickly she unspooled under his ministrations, her orgasm building in a tight coil of pressure. When she clenched around him, thighs quivering, he gave a low hum of approval, continuing his movement until her contractions slowed, the pleasurable pulsing of her peak fading away. She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes withdraw his hand and suck his fingers clean, as calm and collected as he ever was, just as the server reappeared to refill the water glasses.

“We might need to make an appearance at the block party, after all, just to put the word out that you’re looking for something. Xenna and her brother know everyone in town, if there’s something open that might fit the scope of your degree, they’ll know it.”

His ability to finger fuck her in public and go right back to the conversation about her job prospects without missing a beat was astounding, and she nearly choked on her wine when the server asked if they were enjoying their meal a moment later.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” she mumbled against his arm, once the check had been taken and the table cleared. She’d realized he was too big to force up the stairs, but as long as went willingly on his own, she might be able to lock him inside. No sense leaving anything to chance.

His laughter was a rumble against her as he captured her hands in his, leaning down to reach her mouth. She wasn’t quite used to the sensation of kissing a mouth so different from her own, one that didn’t slot against hers like a puzzle piece, but his lips were unfailingly soft as they pressed to her, soft and insistent.

“Violet, did you really think you were going to come to dinner and tempt me with your bare cunt, let me have a taste of how needy and delicious she is, and then kiss me on the cheek out on the sidewalk and go your merry way?” He enunciated every letter, as sharp and forbidding as he’d been on that very first day, barking that he was on his lunch break. Her nipples tightened and he tsked at her with a shake of his head. “You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman, but I think it’s time to bring you home.”

* * *

She’d never fully appreciated how enormous he was.

In the wide-open milking room where he towered over her on the upper level, there was no accurate scope. When they walked through Cambric Creek or crowded into one of the always-busy little bars or restaurants there, they were surrounded by towering orcs and ogres, trolls and mothmen and small-statured elves and goblins, obliterating her sense of what was normal or not. Here in her apartment, though, he seemed larger than life and completely out of place. It’s alright, it’s fine. He’s going to find his place right here. Between your legs.

“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman,” he repeated, standing over where she sat on the edge of the bed, thighs parted.

“Is that the only thing that’s hard?” Violet gave herself a mental pat herself on the back for continuing their little game, leaning up and pressing her lips to the thick bulge at the front of his pants, slightly above eye-level from where she sat. The solid, steel-cored outline of his cock twitched, and she mewled in need. It had been weeks since she’d handled him at the farm, a veritable lifetime since she’d felt his heft and stroked his girth and squeezed his meaty balls, and she felt like she might catch fire if she couldn’t take him in hand and run her tongue over his winking slit, feel him stretch her wide and fill her with his hot release.

“Is this what you want?” The bulge at the front of his tailored dress pants twitched again as her fingertips moved to trace over the shape of him, and her palm prickled, needing to feel his weight and thickness.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, what?” Fingertips at her cheek, caressing her jaw.

“Yes, this is what I want.” His eyes fluttered shut as she outlined the shape of him, knowing the topography of his member like a map she’d studied for ages, finding one of the veins that snaked up his shaft with ease.

“My cock? Is that what you want, Violet? Do you enjoy stroking my cock at the farm?”

Her mouth ran dry and her legs opened a little wider, vainly seeking friction that wasn’t there. Enjoyment didn’t even begin to categorize how she felt about having the opportunity to touch him, to stroke him and bring him to release. The velvety pad of his index finger caught her chin, raising her face to his, and all she could do was nod dumbly.

“Words, please.” The note of command made her sit up a bit straighter.

“Y-yes,” she managed to whisper.

“Yes, what?” He was definitely a bastard, no question. She glared up and his smile stretched, clearly enjoying himself.

“Yes . . . I enjoy stroking your cock. I love stroking your cock.”

He hummed in approval, a low rumble of thunder against her. “What else do you enjoy?” He made no move to stop her when she dragged down his zipper, his hands assisting by unbuckling his belt.

She loved everything about his milking sessions: the way he grunted when he thrust against the breeding bench with that slow, solid pump of his hips, giving her a delicious hint of what it would be like to have him buried inside her. She loved the hot throb of his testicles when he came and the weight of his cock in her hands, the way his muscles tightened as he emptied because of her.

“The way you throb, and-and the sounds you make. I enjoy milking you dry.”

He’d robbed her of the pleasure of his heft as he held his shaft, directing it towards her mouth. The first bump of his cockhead against her lips made her moan, dragging over her lips, and she eagerly opened her mouth, sliding her tongue over him, her jaw popping when he pressed his head in. She wanted to slide her tongue into his sensitive foreskin, wanted to suck on his frenulum and make him groan in pleasure, had just tightened her lips around the flared edge of his big mushroom head, when he pulled away.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to give you this cock so good, you’ll never be able to remember anyone else’s. . . . but that’s not going to happen tonight.”

She cried out when he tucked himself away, realizing he had the fucking audacity to be serious, whimpering as he did up his fly and rebuckled his belt. The outline of his erection still sat heavily against the fine material of his pants, taunting her, and her fists balled in frustration. “I thought I was in charge? I thought I got to call the shots, mister bossy.”

His laughter seemed too big for her tiny bedroom, rattling the light fixture and making her breath hitch. “You are sweetheart, and I’m never going to leave you unsatisfied. That’s a promise. But I’m not going to do anything that might hurt you, and you’re not ready to take my cock. You need to be prepped,” he glanced swiftly around the room, nose wrinkling, “and I can barely turn around in here. My hooves will tear up your sheets. You’re going to pack a little bag when you come home from work tomorrow and bring it with you on Friday, and spend the weekend at my house. I can’t promise you’ll be walking right on Monday, but we’re going to do things the right way and you won’t get hurt.”

She might perish before then, she thought miserably, although the cozy little tableau he’d painted bore a striking resemblance to her daydreams—beneath him in his bed, spending time together, screaming in pleasure, snuggling into his warmth. All that was missing was the coffee.

“On your knees, sweetheart. You don’t think I’m going to put you to bed without a smile on your face, do you? I already told you, I’m going to spoil your cunt rotten.”

It was surreal, being on her hands and knees on the bed, facing the wall, away from the room. She could hear Rourke, could feel the cooler air when he pulled her dress up her back and over her head, breathed out a ragged breath when he cupped her breasts, his breath a hot exhalation on her skin as he rolled her stiffened nipples and slowly caressed his way down her body, but he stayed behind her. She instantly thought of the minotaur porn she’d watched on several occasions by then, the human in the video keeping her eyes closed as her mouth hung open and her head lolled as she was fucked from behind by the huge bull with his coloring.

Rourke’s hand came up to meet her center, rubbing wide circles against her lips, finding her sopping. “Violet,” he groaned, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

Just as she had at the restaurant, she fell apart under his ministrations embarrassingly fast. He’d brought a knee up to the bed as he fucked her with two fingers, that same solid thump, and when he added a third, her breath stuttered. He was right, she realized. She would need to work up to the girth of his cock. His ears were just as velvety soft as she’d imagined when she raised her arms to encircle his neck, the bullish snorts of hot air against he skin seeming to set her ablaze as his hand worked against her.

“So beautiful . . .”

She cried out when he pushed her back to her hands and knees, the thump of his own body going to the floor shaking her shelves, and the first licks of his tongue made her spine quiver. His tongue was hot and wide, rougher than a human’s, pushing into her and fucking her from behind, a delicious sensation she thought would be hard to top, but when it lapped at her clit, her mind went black, leaving nothing behind but golden sparks shooting behind her eyelids.

“I want you to come on my tongue,” he ordered in his CEO voice, and just as she’d suspected from the very beginning, she was helpless to obey. “You’re always going to come first, sweetheart, always against my mouth, understand?”

She keened as he suckled her clit, feeling the vibrations of her orgasm start in her legs, shaking their way up her thighs until she was spasming, his grip on her hips the only thing keeping her from collapsing into a boneless puddle. She came against his tongue in a wave of convulsions, nearly sobbing when its roughness moved to her opening, pushing inside and drinking her nectar. He continued to lap at her as the throbbing within her slowed, licking her pussy like a man who hadn’t eaten in a month, and when his tongue continued its journey against the curve of her skin, never slowing in its vigor as he laved her previously untouched pucker in a mix of his own saliva and her slick, she nearly arched off the bed. Geillis is going to get every rose in town.

When he let her drop to the mattress, Violet considered that she might not actually survive the weekend. She’d never had her pussy rubbed as pleasurably, had never been fingered so efficiently before. She’d never, ever had her clit licked in a way that nearly made her orgasm immediately, and her ass might never be the same after the tonguing he’d given it. Once he’d prepped her and stretched her; once she’d taken his cock, at last, she’d never be able to come home. She’d never be able to go back to humans, another thing her vampire friend was right about, and she’d never be able to mend her heart if he let it shatter, not once she’d learned if he was as solid and warm in reality as he’d been in her dreams. The wide expanse of his nose huffed against her skin, his lips kissing softly up her back, tracing her spine, until the blanket was drawn over her.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

She was barely able to nod as he kissed the top of her head, unable to raise herself from the pillow as she listened to the scrape of his hooves on her floors, the clack of him moving across her tiny kitchen, and the click of her door, signifying he was gone. She liked this new pet name, and she hoped it stuck around. She hoped he stuck around. She needed to get up and turn out the light, needed to set the chain and deadbolt in her door, needed to not be feeling the Pandora’s Box of emotions that were suddenly pressing her to the bed. She couldn’t quite account for the tears that were soaking her pillow, and as an inexplicable sob brewed at the back of her throat, the result of this emotional tidal wave, Violet tried to remember to just keep breathing.