MIA
He's across the small bathroom in two strides, dropping to a crouch beside me. The towel gaps. My gaze flicks once-thick base, heavy shaft, the head already half-swollen-and my cunt clenches so hard I make a tiny sound.
His hands are already on me. One big palm under my elbow, the other steadying my waist. The heat of his bare skin against my wet side makes my nipples tighten even more. Another bead of milk rolls down and drips onto the tile right between us.
Marcus's nostrils flare. He sees it.
He helps me stand, but my knee buckles again. He catches my full weight easily, pulling my soft, dripping body flush against his chest for one heartbeat. My tits smash against hard muscle. My dripping cunt brushes the front of his towel. I feel him twitch.
"Sit," he orders, voice rough. He lifts me onto the bathroom counter like I weigh nothing. Cold marble kisses my bare ass. I try to cover myself with my arms, but he gently pulls them away.
"Marcus-please, I'm naked, I don't want you to see-"
"I'm a doctor, Mia. And you're hurt. Let me check."
He sounded completely professional.
I wished I could believe that was all there was to it.
Because when our eyes met, something passed between us that had nothing to do with my injured knee.
He looked away first.
Marcus examined my knee and frowned. "You're going to have a bruise."
"Great."
"And you're not walking to class like this."
"I have an exam."
"Then I'll drive you."
The word Daddy sits on the tip of my tongue. I never say it out loud. Only in my head, late at night when my cunt throbs and I press my face into the pillow so no one hears the needy sounds I make.
He stands between my spread thighs, towel tenting obscenely now. His eyes stay clinical even as they drag over every soft, wet inch of me. "Where does it hurt?"
"My knee," I lie first.
I wanted to tell him everything.
At the same time, I wanted the floor to swallow me.
How was I supposed to explain that the man standing in front of me was the reason I had barely slept for three weeks?
He was my stepfather.
I wasn't supposed to feel any of this.
Then, voice tiny, shame burning hotter than the steam, "And... everywhere else. My chest has been aching for three weeks. And... lower. I think something's wrong with me. I'm leaking and it throbs every time I hear your voice and I don't know how to make it stop and I'm scared-"
His expression changed when I mentioned how long the symptoms had lasted.
It was subtle.
So subtle I might have missed it if I hadn't spent the last three weeks watching every reaction he gave me.
"Three weeks," he repeated quietly.
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.
"You know something?"
He didn't answer.
Marcus goes very still. His expression changed immediately. "How long has your knee been hurting?"
"Since I fell."
"Can you move your ankle?"
I did.
"Good. Any dizziness? Did you hit your head?"
"No."
His gaze sharpened. "And you said your breasts have been hurting for weeks?"
I nodded.
"Both sides?"
"Yes."
"Any medication? New supplements? Anything else unusual?"
I shook my head.
Marcus looked away for a moment, jaw tightening. "Mia, we need to figure out what's causing this."
His voice was controlled, but something about his expression made me wonder if he was fighting his own thoughts.
Then he stepped back. "This isn't something we should try to figure out here." He paced for a while running his hands through his wet hair. Then he stepped forward again and his eyes dropped to my chest. "Show me."
I hesitate, then drop my arms. My heavy, soft tits spill free, nipples dark and tight, a fresh bead of milk already forming on the left. His jaw flexes hard.
"Any pain when I do this?" He cups the underside of my left breast, lifting the weight, then squeezes firmly from the outer edge toward the nipple. Milk beads instantly and rolls over his thumb. My head falls back with a broken moan I can't swallow.
"N-no... it feels... better when you squeeze."
He switches to the right, methodical, clinical questions tumbling out even as his cock visibly thickens under the towel. "How long has the leakage been happening? Any fever? Tenderness here?" Another firm squeeze. More milk. He reaches for a clean washcloth, runs it under warm water, and presses it gently against first one nipple, then the other-innocent, careful, professional.
But the cloth isn't enough. The ache is deeper.
He drops the cloth. Bare hands return. He squeezes again, slower this time, watching the milk bead and roll. Then he leans in, close enough that his warm breath ghosts over the wet tip, and sucks the bead straight off my nipple with a soft, wet sound.
"Just confirming the fluid," he mutters against my skin, but his tongue flicks once, tasting, and my hips jerk forward without permission.
He doesn't pull away. He sucks harder, drawing a thin stream, while his other hand roughly thumbs the opposite nipple, rolling and tugging until both tits drip steadily onto my soft stomach. My fingers clutch the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles ache. My virgin cunt clenches around nothing, juices running down to the marble beneath me...
Marcus suddenly pulled back.
His expression had completely changed.
"What?" I whispered.
He stared at me for several seconds.
"You said these symptoms started three weeks ago?"
I nodded.
"Mia..."
Something in his voice made my stomach drop.
"What happened three weeks ago?"
