He shifted in his chair, the massive muscles of his chest tightening under his fur. "Jolie... you're not here to sweep floors and wash dirty laundry."
I tried to connect the dots, but it didn't make sense.
He leaned forward, his voice a dark purr that had that naughty girl inside me perking up.
"You're here to be mymilkmaid."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
"But... you're a man?"
One thick brow lifted.
"I'm aware."
I shook my head, my hands fretting in front of me as I tried to figure out how to get my thoughts across without offending my new employer. "I mean... men don't have—you know—udders."
Heat raced up into my ears, and I wished for the floor to swallow me whole.
The master watched me, though. Quiet for a while before finally explaining.
"You will be milking me, Jolie." His voice didn't rise, but it didn't have to. It crawled over my skin, warm and heavy. "Twice a day. And no, I don't have udders."
I stared at him. Confused... and oh-so-curious.
"Milking... what, exactly?"
A long silence. Then his tail flicked once, slow and deliberate.
"My cock, little flower."
My breath left me in a sharp, helpless sound.
He didn't elaborate. Didn't soften the blow, or backtrack, telling me it was all a joke. He simply watched me absorb his words.
"Why?" I managed to whisper.
His jaw clenched, and I realised I'd made yet another mistake. It wasnotmy place to question the master. Beatrice had made that clear.
"How does it work?" I wanted to know, not thinking about why on earth I wasn't running for the hills.
He stared at me for another long moment and I worried that I'd overstepped again.
But then something in his expression shifted.
Bloody hell, did the monster just soften?
Not much, mind. But enough that the air between us felt different.
"It works," he said slowly, "the same way it would on any overfull man."
My stomach flipped.
"My body produces far more than it can safely contain. If it isn't drained regularly..." His expression darkened. "The consequences are unpleasant."
For him?
For me?
