The Billionaire's Milkmaid
by Meghan Boehners
Copyright © 2012 by Meghan Boehners
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Sometimes "taboo" is just another word for fear...
SHE NEEDS SECURITY
When new mother Jessica Browning gave birth to her daughter, the last thing she expected was for her husband to fall in love with the labor and delivery nurse, Bambi.
Yeah -- Bambi. Like the cliche couldn't get any worse...
Jessica's six month maternity leave was fabulous, and she considered herself lucky, but now that she was a single mom and needed their only income, supporting baby Sofia became even more important. Her first day back at work as a Project Manager was tougher than she expected, starting with one simple thing:
Where could she pump?
HE WANTS TO HELP HER
The company's idea of a nursing station was the bathroom. As she stood in the hallway, confused and swollen, a mysterious man led her to an empty room, a knight in shining armor -- or, at least, Armani -- who turned out to be the new owner, Antonio Bouskos.
THE Antonio Bouskos -- billionaire playboy extraordinaire, courter of princesses and fabled for his aloofness and style. When he turns his charms on Jessica and shows her exactly what he wants, soon he's drinking her in --
Literally.
His intense domination arouses her as he breaks more taboos in one encounter than she's considered breaking in a lifetime. And when he promises more -- oh, so much more -- the Jessica who came to work that morning will leave a very, very different woman...
Read the whole story here in The Billionaire's Milkmaid.
The Billionaire's Milkmaid
Jessica Browning was sick and tired of being sick and tired, but apparently her breasts were going to argue with her no matter what. Her first day back at work after a very-much-enjoyed six month maternity leave was not going well at all, and she was ragingly pissed. The sweet cocoon of home was long gone and now she was back in the office, the drudgery of work setting her off kilter.
First of all, the last thing she had expected was to have the father of her baby fall in love with the labor and delivery nurse and announce, when their daughter, Sofia, was two months old, that he was leaving her to run off with Bambi. Yes, Bambi. Bambi the husband stealer – it had a ring to it.
It was horrifying and humiliating enough to be left for the woman who saw your hoohaw stretched in nineteen different ways and split down the middle, but to have her be named Bambi – well, that was just a cruel joke, a sign that the universe really, deeply hated Jessica.
Add in the fact that Joe, her now-ex, had decided to up and drain all their bank accounts and go off to his ancestral homeland in Slovakia, making him impossible to trace and leaving her nearly broke. Fortunately, he had waited until Sofia was five months old and, blissfully, sleeping through the night, but this shit was getting old. One month later and she still was reeling, the sense of betrayal and hurt so raw she almost winced when she heard his name.
And now her breasts were complaining, too, swollen and tingling from spending too many hours away from her baby. Her mother had stepped up and offered to watch Sofia for at least a few months, to give Jessica time to adjust and give her a little breathing space before finding a day care center, so Jessica knew that if she could just get a quiet office to pump, she could refrigerate the milk and offer it to her baby when she got home.
Unfortunately, her bosses were a bunch of knuck-dragging troglodytes who didn't understand that pumping while sitting on the toilet wasn't exactly a "nursing station." Human resources hadn't been much help, either.
"Uh," the Barbie chicky babe receptionist said between texts, never making eye contact as she used typed, "I guess you could just, like, pump in your car." She had looked up when that statement was greeted by Jessica's gasp of disbelief and twisted her face into a grimace as she stared at the sleek, discreet black carrying case for the pump as if it were a heaping pile of steaming elephant crap. "Lots of women do that until the baby is, like, a few weeks old and doesn't need to do that anymore."
Fat chance.
So there she stood in the hallway outside her cubicle, nearly leaking through her nice, trim cotton shirt, wishing her suit jacket were bigger, wondering who she could bug for twenty minutes of privacy. This wasn't rocket science; she just needed to extract a bunch of fore milk and hind milk from her breasts using a machine. How hard could the corporation make this?
Tears welled up. The weight of the past four months seemed to coalesce into this exact moment and she could feel a sob starting deep in her belly, in that place where arousal used to live, where she was a hot, sexual being with needs and feelings and wants, but that she had killed off in order to get through being a mom.
And then, a hand on her elbow. The scent of after shave. A calm, melody, deep voice of safety and command. "I am guessing that's a breast pump in your hand and you need some privacy?" he whispered, pulling in closer to her, the air seeming to change and crackle with electricity. She turned to look up, into the kind eyes of a stranger, his voice lightly accented – Spanish? Greek? – and his dark eyes inviting.
"Um," was all Jessica could say. She swallowed, hard, and felt her nipples tingle, except this time it wasn't so much from the milk but from her body's slamming response to being this close to whoever he was. Dark eyes framed by perfect eyebrows, his cheekbones high, his hair wavy and perfectly coiffed, one hand on her elbow, still, the other reaching up to push back silky onyx waves. When he smiled the expression reached his eyes and he dipped his head down to reach for her ear, his breath pushing against her blonde curls.
"Come with me. I can help you," he promised, and she obeyed, uncertain but fully at his command. Liquid pooled in her belly and she cursed her corporate drone outfit now, her heels a little too staid, her blouse so boring, her skirt a drab grey. This man made her want to wear red come-fuck-me-pumps, and too much lipstick, to be a whore on her own terms, to let loose and forget she was Sofia's mother, Joe's dumped wife, and to just make love on an island outside, white sand cliffs surrounding them as the ocean breeze took them –
"Excuse me, but you...you are leaking," he whispered as they walked down the hall. He seemed to be breathing a bit harder and his eyes kept shifting down, looking at her breasts. Jessica glanced down and saw two distinct circles of moisture on her nipples, the milk bleeding through her shirt. She quickly shifted the briefcase that held the breast pump and struggled with her buttons. The stranger deftly lifted her case from her hand and raised his eyebrows, the glitter of his Rolex and of what she assumed were true gold cufflinks on a shirt that cost more than her car payment catching her eye.
Shoving her wet breasts into her double-breasted (no pun intended, she thought wryly) jacket, she crossed her arms and prayed the milk wouldn't leak through her thick, wool jacket. "It's just over here, down a stairwell," he hissed, nodding toward the exit with a wink. Jessica trusted him fully and followed, her milk threatening to gush. She pushed away thoughts of what she wished she could do with this man in private. Instead, she would pump, turning her now-hot body into a cow, tamping down the obvious arousal she felt for – who? What was his name?
"Excuse me," she
asked, regaining her manners, "I'm Jessica Browning. What's your name?" Her question echoed through the stairwell and she felt awkward, more insecure than ever, wondering why she was blindly following this guy through the corporate maze and assuming he knew what she needed.
He stopped, slapped his palm against his tanned forehead, and shook his head. "Ah, of course. My apologies." He extended one manicured hand and once again she marveled at the cuff links. His eyes poured into hers, as if with one look he could blend them into one person. "My name is Antonio Bouskos. I am pleased to meet you, Jessica," he added as their hands touched, hers shaking as she met his palm. His grip deepened and then – did she imagine it? – one finger slipped up to caress her wrist, his smile changing from a more formal look to one of intimacy, the grin fading as his expression became more sensual, more an invitation than an introduction.
She lost her words, her hand clinging to his, the hot touch of his skin like a life preserver. How must she appear to him? She knew she was clean, having showered and pulled her hair up this morning, looking no-nonsense and just praying to get through the day. Breastfeeding had been great to her body, giving her a figure she'd never possessed before, with an enormous bust and a narrow waist, hips widened quite a bit by childbirth. Her ass, though, was her crowning glory. Before having her baby she had always had an average, size 12 body but now she was a full-figured 16, proportions so perfect she sometimes pinched herself over how lucky she was. In a word, Jessica's figure had turned quite “juicy” and although Joe had used her weight gain to insult her (“You cow!” he'd hissed when they fought), she had been pleasantly surprised by how much she liked the new her.
The end result made her proud, but she had spent these last few months just trying to get over her anger and hurt at Joe, unable to enjoy the sensuality her new body brought.
Perhaps Antonio could help her.
Stop that, she thought to herself, pulling her hand away reluctantly, the hot hiss of his skin still warming her. "Antonio," she said, "thank you. Where is the room?" If she said more she knew she would blurt out something stupid, words that would reveal what she was really thinking and feeling right now, and if she slipped she would look like a fool.
Or worse. Who was this guy in the corporate structure? She'd never met him, and although she'd been gone for six months, she had worked here for seven years before going out on maternity leave.
"Jessica, you work in advertising, yes?" he asked as they walked down a flight of stairs and he opened the landing door for her. "The room is right this way," he explained. As she passed him she swore he inhaled deeply, making her swallow around the lump of desire that formed in her throat. Taking an unsteady breath, she tried to answer him, the heat between her legs making rational thought nearly impossible.
"Yes. I'm a project manager. PMP." She paused and looked him in the eye, some sense finally restored to her. "And what do you do?"
He laughed, flashing very white, perfectly straight teeth, and a face that looked as if he spent summers aboard a yacht in the Mediterranean. She imagined him, brown-chested on the deck of a boat, white, open shift blowing behind him as he captained the boat, not a care in the world and with more money than God. "Ah, what do I do? I, actually, do nothing here." Now he shot her an impish look and she was wordless once more.
She frowned. "You're a client?" What was a client doing showing her around the building, taking her to a breast pump room? OK, this was starting to get creepy, and yet it wasn't, because Antonio made her want to do things. Naughty things. Acts she'd only read about in books or devoured on her Kindle. He represented a little something – no, a lot something – she couldn't even touch in real life. Smooth skin and a heated look, though, were right here, aimed at her. The cognitive dissonance was too much as her mind and her core fought for control, lust starting to win out as she heated up. She felt discombobulated and was determined to let a little common sense click in, to try to get herself reined in.
"No. I am the owner. Hence," he smirked, "I do nothing." He gave her a quizzical look and she felt the blood drain out of her face. The owner? How could she have missed an announcement like this? She had read through all her backlogged emails these past few weeks, working from home, wanting a leg up before she returned. Keeping her job was absolutely, terrifyingly critical now that she had to support Sofia on her own with Joe gone. What would a change of ownership mean for her and her job?
"I, um, is this new? I read all the company emails and kept up with the daily business reports while I was out on maternity leave..." Her voice trailed off. She felt stupid, suddenly, like a girl out of college in her first entry-level position. Gone was the confident career woman she'd been just last year. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, she told herself.
His face changed, a look of concern deepening in those obsidian eyes, eyes that seemed to want to take care of her, to make the pain go away, to sweep her off to a villa and – "Oh, Jessica, do not worry. The announcement has not been made yet. In fact," he whispered, stepping close to her, his hand slipping casually to the small of her back, "you are the first to know. No – wait. The second. After the board of directors." His chuckle was infectious and she joined him, not knowing why he was laughing. She frowned after, still worried about her job and supporting Sofia, but she tried quickly to make the worry go away.
He stepped back and put his hands on her shoulders, the zing of electricity from his touch shooting through her, emanating and all-pervasive, the intensity literally catching her breath and making the hallway spin out of control as her panties were soaked in seconds from a rush of, well, everything.
He held her at arms length, his warmth so powerful she wanted more, unwilling to pull completely away as she would have with any other man at work. "Ah, I see," he said, nodding. "You are worried about your job?"
"Who isn't in this economy?" she said, trying to pass it off as a joke. But he frowned now, as if he understood, as if the sight before him of a young, blonde woman with a baby at home, a mouth to feed, finally made more sense for him, and he realized that she was just a woman with a pent-up fountain of need...er, milk...that needed to be released.
"You have nothing to worry about, Jessica." He gestured to a conference room and opened the door. The room was tiny, with four cubicles, all mercifully empty. God, how she wanted his hands on her again, her clit tingling now, itching for release, a release she hadn't had with someone else's hands on her in months. More than six months, to be exact.
And she didn't want just anyone's hands. She wanted those tanned, smooth, cultured hands. The hands she stared at. Antonio cleared his throat and she looked up, alarmed, certain the heat of her desire was spelled out on her face like a Scrabble game. He winked, inhaled slowly, and let a smile spread over his face, a Cheshire-cat look that came just short of more.
What did he want to say? And was she ready to hear it? Her throat felt like sandpaper and she licked her lips, the air charged between them. He opened his mouth and paused, closing it slowly. Ah, how she wanted to take it with her lips, to press into him and against him, all friction and heat.
Instead she nodded slowly. “I see,” she said shakily, poking her head in the room, locating a wall outlet. She pointed. “That's all I need.”
“Oh, I am sure that is not all you need,” he said in a low growl. Startled, she jumped and turned to him, her own desire reflected in those dark eyes. And then he bowed like an aristocrat, hand hesitating on the door knob, and closed the door, leaving her trapped in the room she had so desperately wanted minutes ago, but that now felt like a prison.
The breast pump was her guard.
Tiny Sofia was the warden.
She set it on the desktop of one of the cubicles and, like a robot, began unzipping the case, pulling out the cord, and putting together the horns, the tubes, and all the other pieces that, when fit together, helped her to extract milk she would feed her kid. Her pussy was soaking wet now, panties so far beyond damp it was like a monsoon hit her down there, a
nd if she were Anastasia Steele her Inner Goddess would be treading water in a 19-foot tsunami right about now.
That tingle in her breasts was no longer about milk that needed to be expressed. She was so turned on that as she attached the pump's horns to the tubes, then to the bottles that collected the milk, she felt a wave of need rise up in her that made the leaking start all over again. Quickly, she unbuttoned her wet shirt and unhooked the front-clasp bra she wore for easy access. Licking her finger, she ran the wet tip along the inner ring of the horn, the wetness helping to create a nice seal as she carefully cupped her breast with the horns and sat down.
Oh, no.
She was so wet she jumped up, afraid her dipping panties would make a wet spot on the back of her skirt. Ah, this was awkward. Shimmying out of her panties while holding one horn in place, she kicked the underwear off and sat down again. Not much better, but as she put both horns in place over her breasts and turned the pump dial to 2, she felt herself relax a little.
But not really.
Her body ached with a craving for that man. The new owner? How could she want someone with so much power over her? Her clit throbbed now, nearly leaping out of her body as the milk came in, this streams spurting against the side of the bottom of the horn's funnel, the thin, bluish fore milk trickling – then gushing – through the valve in the pump.
The Billionaire's Milkmaid (BBW Lactation Erotic Romance) Page 1