Chapter 19: Morning Milk Ride
Donghae woke to a dull, sweet ache in his groin and the weight of the world settled on his hips. The grey dawn light filtered through the thin curtains, outlining the silhouette above him. Hyukjae was astride him, her form curved and heavy with a life they’d made in confusion and desperation. The sheets were pooled around her waist, and he could feel the heat of her, the incredible softness of her inner thighs against his hips.
She was already moving, a slow, sinuous roll of her pelvis that dragged a groan from the depths of his chest. He was hard, fully, trapped beneath her and aching with a need that sleep hadn’t diminished. He hadn’t even opened his eyes fully, but his body knew hers, recognized the slick, hot embrace that was already taking him in.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough with sleep.
Her hands were on his chest, fingers splayed. “You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. Not a question. A statement.
She sank down the rest of the way, taking him in one slow, inexorable slide that made his toes curl. She was so wet, so open for him, her body accommodating his with a shocking ease that still stole his breath. The full, ripe swell of her belly pressed against his abdomen, a firm, living barrier between them.
He opened his eyes. Her face was above his, her hair a dark cascade against the pale light. Her expression was focused, almost serene, but her eyes held a dark, hungry spark. A drop of moisture fell from her nipple onto his sternum, tracing a cool path through the hair on his chest.
“Good morning, daddy,” she purred, and the word, loaded and obscene in this context, sent a jolt straight through his cock.
She began to move in earnest, lifting herself almost all the way up before sinking back down, a deliberate, grinding rhythm that had him seeing sparks behind his eyelids. His hands flew to her hips, his fingers digging into the generous flesh there, trying to guide her, to take control, but she batted them away.
“No,” she said, her breath hitching as she moved. “My turn.”
Her pace was maddening. She rode him with a lazy, confident arrogance that was all Hyukjae—the same Hyukjae who’d master a dance floor, who’d tease him mercilessly until he cracked. Now that teasing was a physical torment. She’d rock against him, the tip of him brushing some deep, tender spot that made her eyes flutter, then she’d almost lift off completely, leaving just the head of his cock nestled inside her, before swallowing him whole again.
“You like that?” she whispered, leaning forward, her breasts brushing his face. The scent of her skin, of sex, of that faint, sweet milk, filled his senses. “You like watching me use you?”
He could only nod, a strangled sound escaping his throat. He was completely at her mercy, a fact that terrified and aroused him in equal measure. His hips tried to buck up to meet her, to drive deeper, but she pinned him with her weight and the unyielding curve of her pregnancy.
“I woke up so empty,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a raw, filthy whisper near his ear. “Dreamed you were fucking me from behind, fucking your come back into me where it belongs. Woke up dripping. Needed to feel you stretch me open.”
Her words were a match to gasoline. His control shattered.
With a growl, he surged up, wrapping his arms around her and flipping them over in one clumsy, desperate motion. The mattress groaned in protest. She let out a sharp cry of surprise that quickly morphed into a moan as he landed between her spread legs, never slipping out.
“Enough,” he panted, bracing himself on his elbows above her. “My turn now.”
He drove into her, hard and deep. The angle was different, deeper, and she arched off the bed with a shattered gasp, her nails raking down his back. “Yes! Right there, fuck, Donghae, right there!”
He fucked her with a relentless, pounding rhythm, each thrust a claim, a prayer, a scream against the impossible reality of their situation. Her legs hooked around his waist, pulling him in even deeper. The slap of skin, the wet, sucking sounds of their joining, her ragged sobs of “yes, yes, yes,” filled the small room.
He could feel the tight, firm globe of her belly pressed between them, a constant, impossible reminder. He dropped his head, biting gently at the slope of her breast, and a thin stream of milk coated his tongue. The taste, salty and sweet, pushed him over the edge.
“Gonna come,” he grunted, the words torn from him. “Gonna fill you up. Make it take.”
“Do it,” she screamed, her body tightening around him like a vice. “Give it to me! Give me everything!”
His orgasm was a cataclysm, a white-hot flood that surged from his core through his cock and into the welcoming, clasping heat of her. He poured into her, pulse after pulse, as she clenched and milked him through his own climax, her own release hitting her with a silent, seismic shudder that made her whole body convulse beneath him.
He collapsed, his weight careful, still buried inside her as they both fought for air. Sweat pooled in the hollow of her throat. He could feel his own heartbeat thundering in his skull, echoing in the quiet aftermath.
Slowly, carefully, he rolled to his side, pulling her with him so they faced each other. Their legs stayed tangled. He was still semi-hard inside her, a final, intimate connection. Her eyes were closed, tears glistening on her lashes.
He wiped one away with his thumb. “Hey.”
She opened her eyes. They were deep, dark pools, full of a love and a terror so vast it mirrored his own. “Hey.”
“The baby…” he started, a flicker of fear cutting through the afterglow.
“Is fine,” she said softly, guiding his hand back to her stomach. “Tough. Like his dad.” She paused. “Or her dad.”
The fear didn’t leave, but it settled, becoming a part of him. A part of them. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. The apartment was quiet, the world outside not yet awake to judge them.
A thought, cold and pragmatic, intruded. “Heechul’s last email,” Donghae murmured into her hair. “He said ‘monitor the changes.’ He knows something’s happening. He’s waiting.”
Hyukjae stiffened slightly in his arms. “I know.”
“We can’t hide forever.”
“I know that, too.” She traced a fingertip over his collarbone. “But today… just today, can we pretend? Can we just be this? You, me, and this secret?”
He held her closer, feeling the faint, fluttering echo of life beneath his palm. He thought of the Professor’s cold, curious eyes, the lab that had started it all, the looming threat of exposure, of being studied, of being torn apart.
“Yeah,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the dawn. “Just today.”