The baby’s cry pierced the silence, sharp and insistent, pulling you from the haze of pleasure that still lingered in your body. You shifted beneath him, your heart torn between the need to tend to your child and the weight of his body still pressed against yours. His breath was warm against your neck, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of his own release.

“She’s hungry,” you murmured, your voice soft but urgent. “I need to feed her.”

He didn’t move immediately. Instead, he lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was something in his gaze—something possessive, almost primal—that made your stomach flutter. His hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast before he finally spoke.

“Feed her,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “But do it here. I want to watch.”

Your breath hitched. The idea of him watching you like that—so intimately, so openly—sent a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, but the baby’s cries grew louder, more desperate. You nodded, your cheeks flushing as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position.

He moved back slightly, giving you space but not leaving the bed. His eyes never left you as you reached for the baby monitor, pressing the button to alert the nanny to bring her in. Moments later, the door opened, and the nanny entered, carrying your daughter in her arms. She handed the baby to you with a knowing smile before quietly slipping out of the room.

You cradled your daughter close, her tiny body warm against yours. She latched on immediately, her cries quieting as she began to nurse. The sensation was familiar, comforting, but it felt different now—more exposed, more vulnerable—with him watching so intently.

His gaze was heavy, almost tangible, as it roamed over your body. You could feel the heat of it on your skin, tracing the curve of your breast, the way your nipple disappeared into your daughter’s mouth. His breathing deepened, and you could see the way his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was fighting the urge to touch you.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “So fucking beautiful.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something raw in his expression, something that made your body ache with need despite the exhaustion that still lingered in your limbs. You shifted slightly, adjusting your position, and his eyes followed the movement hungrily.

“Do you know what it does to me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Seeing you like this? Knowing that you’re mine?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Tell me,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “It makes me want to take you all over again,” he murmured. “To feel you around me while you’re feeding her. To make you come so hard you forget everything else.”

A moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you felt your body respond to his words, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the baby in your arms. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your free breast, teasing the nipple until it hardened under his touch.

“You’re so sensitive,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Every part of you responds to me.”

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds that threatened to escape as he continued to tease you. Your daughter continued to nurse, oblivious to the tension in the room, but you could feel yourself growing wetter with every passing second.

“I want to taste you,” he said suddenly, his voice thick with need. “Right now. While you’re feeding her.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head slightly. “I can’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a look that made your protest die in your throat.

“You can,” he said firmly. “And you will.”

Before you could argue further, he shifted down the bed, positioning himself between your legs. You gasped as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned in closer. His breath was hot against your core, and you could feel the wetness there, the evidence of your arousal.

“Don’t stop feeding her,” he commanded, his voice low and firm. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded, unable to speak as he pressed his mouth against you, his tongue sliding through your folds with a slow, deliberate stroke. A moan escaped your lips, and you bit down on it, trying to stay quiet for the sake of your daughter.

But it was impossible. His tongue was relentless, teasing and probing, finding every sensitive spot that made your body tremble with pleasure. You could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue.

“Oh God,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please…”

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he intensified his efforts, his tongue circling your clit with a precision that made your toes curl. Your hips bucked against his mouth, seeking more friction, more pressure, but he held you firmly in place, refusing to let you take control.

The dual sensations were overwhelming—the gentle suckling of your daughter at your breast and the intense pleasure of his mouth between your legs. It was too much, and yet not enough. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling with the need to let go.

“Come for me,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled but no less commanding. “Let me feel you come.”

And just like that, you did. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, sweeping away every thought, every worry, until there was nothing left but the sheer, unrelenting pleasure of it. Your body convulsed, your back arching as you cried out, unable to hold back any longer.

He didn’t stop. He continued to lick and suck at you, drawing out every last shuddering wave of pleasure until you were left gasping and trembling in his arms.

When he finally pulled away, you collapsed back against the pillows, utterly spent. Your daughter had finished nursing and was now sleeping peacefully in your arms, her tiny face serene and content.

He moved up beside you, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he looked down at you. “You’re mine,” he said softly, his voice filled with a possessiveness that made your heart race. “All of you.”

You looked up at him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “Always,” you whispered