Crave

Chapter 1: Her Body, His Hunger

The chandelier glowed like fire above them, casting gold on marble and silk. The palace had gone quiet - the staff dismissed, the nanny asleep, the child tucked into the cradle of velvet and lullabies.

But Veer was wide awake.
And so was his hunger.

He stood by the French doors, shirt undone, sleeves rolled, collar biting into his thick neck. His dark eyes, almost black, watched Anaya as she stood near the crib - her soft robe clinging to curves that hadn't stopped tempting him since the day she gave birth.

Her breasts were swollen, heavy. She'd just fed their daughter, and the fabric of her satin nightgown was soaked slightly at the nipples.

Veer inhaled sharply.

"You're leaking again," he said, voice rough, low - like gravel laced with lust.

Anaya flinched slightly, arms instinctively crossing over her chest. "I'll change..."

"No." His voice was sharp. Commanding. "Come here."

Her breath hitched. The look in his eyes wasn't just love. It was claiming. That possessive, alpha hunger that made her knees weak and her stomach coil.

"Veer, you promised-"

"I promised I wouldn't take what wasn't mine," he murmured, stepping forward. "But you're mine. And this?" He reached out, brushing his knuckles gently along the wet fabric over her breast. "This belongs to me too."

Her heart pounded. His touch was soft, but his presence was heavy - like velvet and iron.

She whispered, "You don't need it-"

"But I crave it."

He kissed her then.

Not like a husband. Like a man in need. His mouth was greedy, lips dragging along her collarbone, tongue teasing the edge of her nightgown. She gasped as he pulled the fabric down, exposing one tender, milk-swollen breast.

"Fuck, Anaya..." he breathed, eyes fixed on her nipple, glistening with drops of milk. "Do you even know how perfect this is? How made for me you are?"

Her legs trembled.

Then-without asking-he cupped her breast and brought his mouth to it. A slow suckle. Then a deeper one.

Anaya moaned, back arching, fingers tangled in his hair.

The sensation was like nothing else. It was intimate. Forbidden. Soft and yet filthy. The way his tongue swirled, the groan he gave as milk filled his mouth, the possessive grip on her waist as he drank from her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

"You taste like heaven," he growled. "Sweet. Warm. Mine."

She whimpered. "Veer... this isn't normal-"

"Nothing about the way I love you is normal," he snapped, lifting her effortlessly and laying her on the velvet chaise lounge. "I don't want normal. I want you-dripping, aching, crying out my name while I milk every inch of your surrender."

And that's exactly what he did.

(⚠ Mature Content - skip if uncomfortable)

Veer knelt between her legs, nightgown bunched around her thighs. He kissed down her stomach, slow and reverent, whispering sinful things about how perfect her body had become since carrying his child.

Then his mouth returned to her breast, suckling while his fingers slipped lower, between her thighs.

Her moans filled the room - soft, high, helpless.

"God, you get wetter when I feed," he growled. "Do you even know what that does to me?"

He moved down, tongue replacing fingers, making her cry out as pleasure and milk blurred into ecstasy. She climaxed with his mouth on her breast and his tongue inside her - sobbing his name like it was salvation.

And Veer? He didn't stop until she gave him everything.

Afterglow:

Later, when he lay behind her, arm draped possessively over her waist, he whispered against her skin:

"Every inch of you is mine, Anaya. Your body feeds our daughter... but your milk will always be my worship."

And she-drunk on pleasure, love, and surrender-only nodded.

Because in that moment, she knew:

This wasn't a marriage.

It was a devotion.

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