YEARN (Ch 24) [Filthy Boy]

 

Chapter 24

Filthy Boy

Dominic

 

I kissed her hard enough to erase the space between us, my mouth devouring hers like I’d been starving for air and found oxygen only in her.

The taste of her flooded my system—salt, heat, defiance—and instinct slid into anatomy.

I moved my hand to her throat and pressed my thumb gently against the flutter of her pulse, feeling her heartbeat spike beneath my skin. It was data and desire in one rhythm—tachycardia from arousal, breath shortening as oxytocin flooded her system.

I knew exactly what her body was doing, could name every chemical that made her tremble and still. . .it felt like worship, not science.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders.

Before she could think to resist, I scooped her up.

The sound of her gasp cut through the dark like a heartbeat on a monitor.

Finally.

The candles blurred as I carried her to the bed, my own pulse syncing with hers, a steady drumbeat of biology and obsession. I laid her down, followed her body with mine, and pressed her into the sheets until she fit the shape I’d been imagining all day.

Yes. All mine and Scott won’t be able to ruin this.

My thumb found her pulse again.

It was faster now.

Arousal is just blood finding its way home.

I kissed her again, slower this time, charting her vitals with my tongue.

After days of waiting.

After hours of pacing.

My own skull trapped like a locked ward.

I finally had Teyonah.

Alone.

Private.

Uninterrupted.

Mine.

The house above us could rot.

The sedatives I dosed Scott with could fail.

None of it mattered.

What mattered was that the patient I’d been starving for.

The cure I’d been denied. . .was now here.

And it was the sweetest victory.

A surgeon’s clean incision.

A diagnosis correctly confirmed.

A patient healed.

Thrilling.

Precise.

Absolute.

My aching cock throbbed, pressing against the inside of my slacks like it was the one organ I couldn’t anesthetize. I was slowly learning that victory had a pulse, and it beat between my legs, demanding release.

God, I want to ruin her.

Her erotic heat smoothed into me.

Her curves were a study under my hands.

Her breasts brushed my chest with every breath, full and soft, making my cock twitch harder against her thigh. Even her stomach—the give of flesh under my palm—tempted me to mark her deeper, but when I slid my hands lower to touch her there, she pushed my hands away with a defiant shake of her head. “No.”

A low growl escaped me. “Why can’t I touch you there?”

Shame flickered in her eyes. “Since. . .I’ve gained weight. . .I’m just uncomfortable with being touched there.”

My chest tightened.

For a split second, rage flared—at myself, at the world, at anything that had ever convinced her she wasn’t enough.

Her shame was a diagnosis I’d never allow to exist.

“No, Teyonah.” I pressed harder on her belly, carefully , so she’d feel the hunger in my palm. “This is fucking beautiful and this is mine too. You don’t get to move my hands when I’m enjoying how gorgeous you are.”

“Dominic—”

“You think I don’t worship every inch of you? This,” I dragged my hands slowly over the soft swell of her belly, “is where I will want to lay my head when I’m done tearing your pussy apart. This is where you’ll carry the life I’ll put inside you in a few months.”

She blinked her eyes. “What?”

“This is mine. You’re mine. Every fucking inch.”

Her breath caught, trembling between disbelief and need.

I leaned down, my lips brushing her ear. “The only ugly thing in this room is the thought of you hiding parts of your body from me. Don’t you dare. Not from me.”

Her hand softened against mine, not pushing anymore. Her thighs opened further, as if her body knew I’d told the truth.

“In fact. . .” I hovered over her, forearms caging her against the mattress. “Do you know what I want to do right now?”

Breathless, she quirked her brows. “What?”

“I want to chart every inch of your body.”

She let out a nervous chuckle.

“I’m serious. I’ve dreamed about this moment.” I kissed down her jaw to the tendon at her neck, then back to her mouth.

She moaned. “Fuck, Dominic. I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t ever say that again. You’re my queen. You’re worthy.” I slid one palm higher, over the curve of her throat. My fingers pressed lightly at the side, where her pulse pounded fast and wild.

I wasn’t just touching her.

I was taking her vitals because I owned them too.

Her eyes met mine—wide, locked, defiant and trembling all at once.

I leaned closer to the side of her face and brushed the shell of her ear with my lips. “Your heartbeat is mine too and it’s fast, erratic, and begging me to keep it racing.”

Did she understand how too far gone I had become?

Did she know that if this heart ever beat for another man, I’d kill him?

Then, I would stop her heart.

Restart it.

Make sure it remembered who kept it alive.

I slid both hands under her dress, cataloguing the first contact.

Thigh.

Heat.

Weight.

Strong muscle I could lift, restrain, hold open. I squeezed, slow and deliberate, as if palpating for tenderness, but the only thing I found was her pulse.

Rate.

Rhythm.

Response.

Her breath spiked, sharp as a monitor alarm. The inside of her knee fluttered when my thumb stroked there. One pass higher, and the slick truth of her pussy answered me—an affirmative test result no lab could ever run.

Slick and hot, her pussy’s wetness coated the pad of my thumb, and it made my cock kick because it clearly wanted to replace my hand.

“Oh, Dominic.” The pressure of her thighs closing around me only sharpened the ache, like she was daring me to break her open.

My body roared with hunger.

I ground my cock into her thigh letting her know just how hard I was for her. “Oh, Mommy. Have I been a good boy today?”

“No. You’ve been very naughty.”

A dark growl left me.

Her breath stuttered, hips shifting up against me as though her body understood before her mind did. “Very, very naughty.”

“Hmmm. Then punish me with your wet pussy, Mommy. Remind my cock who owns it.”

The length throbbed again. It was a dull ache that pulsed. I could already feel the wet spot spreading in front of my jeans where pre-cum was leaking, dampening the fabric and branding my hunger.

I lowered to kiss her again, needing to memorize her taste for the few moments when we wouldn’t be together.

She caught my lower lip between her teeth and whispered against my mouth. “We shouldn’t do this, but I fucking want you so bad.”

Her confession lit me up like a monitor flatlining and spiking again. She didn’t even know what she’d admitted—wanting me wasn’t weakness.

It was medicine.

And I was the only one who knew the proper dosage.

“Teyonah. . .you want me because this is our cure.”

“Some would say this is our sin. I’m married and too old to be messing with you.”

“Fuck them.” I kissed her harder, swallowing the edges of her protest. “If this is a sin, then let it be.”

All I knew was that this was the kind of cure that deliciously burned going down, rewired the body, rewrote the brain. Every press of her lips was another milligram, every moan a clinical trial proving what I already knew—she’d never recover from me and I would always be addicted to her.

I put my hand back on her throat.

Her pulse slammed against my fingertips. It was a frantic drum begging me to keep going.

Yes. Yes. She’s more than ready.

I shifted my hips, grinding my cock between her thighs until her slick heat bled through the thin barrier of fabric.

The ache doubled.

Pain and pleasure braided together, charting in real time what I’d suspected all along.

No pill.

No therapy.

No prayer could give me this.

Only her.

Only us.

Only this dangerous cure—this sin—that no hospital could ever sanction.

Perfect.

I dragged the top of her dress lower until her big brown breasts spilled free, round and heavy, the nipples already peaked for me.

Christ.

They filled my palms.

Warm and perfect.

Designed to nourish me.

Designed to obey my hands.

“Oh, Mommy. Your breasts are so perfect.” I couldn’t stop myself from kneading, squeezing, dragging my thumbs across the dark brown tips.

“Oh!” She whimpered.

“Look at you.” I played with her nipples and the hardened against my fingertips. “My queen. So fucking gorgeous. You’re going to make me come just from looking at them, Mommy.”

“My filthy boy.” Her back arched.

“I’ll only be filthy for you, Mommy.” I bent low, closed my mouth over one nipple, and sucked hard, groaning when she cried out.

“Dominic!”

The sound tore through me.

“My nasty boy.”

Groaning, I sucked harder, sealing my mouth around her stiff nipple.

I’d read up on this at lunch, scrolling through medical journals and lactation forums with trembling hands because it was the only thing that stopped the fantasies of killing Scott.

The science for breastfeeding was simple.

Repeated stimulation to the nipples sent signals up the spinal cord, telling the hypothalamus to release prolactin and oxytocin.

Prolactin would build the milk.

Oxytocin would let it down.

Pressure.

Suction.

Persistence.

That was the formula.

That was the key.

Her nipple hardened under my tongue, swelling against the roof of my mouth, a living response to my obsession. I could feel the texture—silken at first, then firm as I drew harder, the peak of it rolling between my teeth.

It was a perfect specimen designed for me to test, tease, devour.

With a flick of my tongue, she shuddered. “Dominic. . .”

I savored the way that nipple grew slick from my saliva, shining in the candlelight when I pulled back for air, then vanishing again when I swallowed her whole.

The sheer control of it made me ache.

Here was a piece of her body I could command into change with nothing but my mouth.

The more I sucked, the more responsive she became, her nipple stiffening, darkening, straining against my hold as though begging to release.

Oh yes. One day milk will come and I will feast on her every fucking day.

Power surged through me.

I gave the other nipple everything—suction deep enough to ache, tongue strokes to mimic the rhythm of an infant, pressure at the areola to trick her body into responding.

Come on, Mommy. Feed me. I’m so hungry.

My balls responded, tightening, drawing up hard against my body. They already knew they’d be emptying into her soon and continued fucking wait.

Yes, Mommy. Start making milk for your filthy son. I want to drink and pump you with my cock at the same time.

The epididymis swelled.

The seminal vesicles contracted.

It was clinical, biological, inevitable.

She moaned, “Oh God. . .yes. . . right there. Don’t stop.”

Her other hand threaded into my hair. Her nails lightly scraped my scalp, urging me closer. “So filthy. I fucking love it.”

My mommy is so horny right now.

Groaning, I latched down harder, sucking greedily at her nipple until she gasped and her fingers clenched.

“You’re so filthy, baby.” She rocked her hips and I knew that pussy was soaking for me. “Fuck. I might come just from your sucking.”

Her praise broke something inside me.

I growled low, and the vibration humming against her breast.

“Oh. My filthy boy.”

Those words set off a rush of dopamine so sharp I almost came.

Fuck yeah. I love being your filthy boy.

I sucked more, deepening my latch the way every guide described—mouth sealed wide, lips flanged, tongue rolling over the base of her nipple to stimulate the ducts hidden beneath the areola.

Mimicking the rooting reflex, the suck-swallow pattern that triggered let-down.

Programming her body to obey me.

“That’s it, baby.”

Brutal lust vibrated through every cell.

“Keep sucking.”

Oh fuck! How did I get so lucky?

More pre-cum dripped slow and steady from the tip of my swollen cock, soaking my slacks. The wet heat seeped through, and it didn’t feel like a gentle leak. It was a steady excretion my body produced for only her—a more than normal amount of white fluid gathering at my cock’s slit and sliding down the length until the wet spot of my pants spread wider.

Never had I wet myself like this for any other women that I’d been with.

God I want to be deep inside her.

My cock twitched against the fabric. The mushroomed head was so engorged it felt swollen to the point of ache. Every throb dragged my balls tighter, higher.

I knew without looking down at my cock that every vein pushed against the skin, stretching it thin, the pressure so strong it felt like the blood inside was boiling.

The slit at the tip must have been a slick mess.

Oh, Mommy. It’s going to be so good when you nurse me.

The more milk I imagined flowing into my mouth, the more come I felt loading in my heavy sacs.

Thick and restless.

Demanding hot searing release into her warm, wet pussy.

I didn’t just have an erection. I had an entire system hijacked by her. Shaft, glans, balls—every component straining in sequence, programmed to respond to her curvy body.

“Baby, take your cock out,” Teyonah begged. “Fuck me.”

“Not yet, Mommy.” I switched back to the next breast to make sure equal production would occur. Nothing could get in the way of my mission.

“Please, baby. Mommy wants your big, fat cock inside of her pussy.”

DEAR GOD!!

I almost forgot the mission and gave it to her, but I had to remain dedicated.

The other breast was hot and swollen against my mouth, the areolar tissue pliant, engorged with blood as if already preparing for alveoli to flood with milk.

And then she blew my mind with her next words. “Such a filthy boy. . .sucking my tits like you’ve been starved for me all day. But this pussy will feed you too.”

FUCK!

My muscles bulged and trembled against her, and I couldn’t tell what biological reasons made it happen, just that I was now drowning within her control.

What the fuck?

I hadn’t even had her pussy yet and my body was already hers.

Already undone.

Already trained.

No woman my age could’ve done this to me. They’d never had the years in their touch, the authority in their voice, the sin in their moans.

They couldn’t have twisted me.

They couldn’t have made me grind like a desperate horny boy, leaking through his pants.

But her. . .Teyonah. . .she carved me open and rewired me.

I wasn’t the doctor anymore, not the one with control, with the diagnosis.

I was the patient, hooked on a medicine only she could give.

And I knew, even before I buried myself inside her, that I’d never recover.

I was already addicted.

Already marked.

Already pussy-whipped by a queen who hadn’t even let me in yet.

She slid her hand down, tentative at first, then bolder once she found the sheer thickness straining against my wet slacks. “Oh. You’ve made a mess for Mommy? Do I have to lick it up?”

Oh fuck. She’s ruining me.

Heat radiated from my body, the fabric doing nothing to hide how hard I was. When her palm traced the ridge of my shaft, I swore my cock nearly split the seams.

Precum had already embarrassingly soaked through, spreading a dark patch, and her touch smeared it deeper into the cloth until it clung wetly to me. “You’re leaking through your pants like a perverted little boy. What am I going to do with you?”

I dragged my mouth from her nipples. “Stroke me, Mommy.”

“Oh.” She moaned, showing me that our dirty talk was fucking her up too, shoving her right off the edge.

“God,” she stroked up and down over the thick, long outline of me, her thumb circling the swollen head through the barrier of my pants. “You’re so hard, but you’ve been so naughty. I’m going to make you beg to fuck me.”

Her filthy truth broke me open.

My cock jerked under her palm.

She whimpered.

I groaned into her nipple, sucking harder, saliva slicking her. The sensation doubled me over inside—her hand milking me through my slacks while her breasts fed my obsession straight into my bloodstream.

I should have started fucking her right here, but I still had a mission.

I wasn’t just sucking.

I was initiating.

Inducing.

Teaching her ducts, alveoli, and sinuses the lesson I already knew—with enough persistence, she’d flow for me.

Her nipples weren’t just flesh—they were levers. Switches I alone could pull to flood her body with milk, desire, surrender. And when that first drop came, it wouldn’t be milk. It would be proof she had become mine completely.

One day, her breasts would leak at just the sight of me, conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs.

One day, I’d drink from her until my stomach clenched with fullness.

And the idea of it—her warm milk sliding over my tongue, her breasts swollen with supply meant only for me—made more precum leak.

Then she moved my head from her breasts.

I groaned in annoyance. “Why are you stopping me?”

“Because I want to fuck you so bad I’m about to explode.”

“Mmmm.” My mouth curved into a dark, cruel smile. “You want this cock, Mommy?”

“Yes.”

“But you said I would have to beg.”

And to my shock, she didn’t respond with words. Instead, she put her hands on my shoulder and twisted under me fast with sharp, practiced torque, rolled us over.

What the fuck?! How did she get us to roll over?!

My back hit the mattress.

The ceiling swung.

She climbed astride me, dress rucked high at her hips, breath stacking in her chest. “Now Mommy’s in charge.”

Oh shit.