The moment her fingers threaded through his hair, Ye Fei felt the full weight of her mother-love crash over him—pure, unconditional, and so damned arousing that his pulse spiked. He lifted his head anyway, playing dumb. "Mom? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, baby." She smiled as if he were six months old again. "I just remembered—when you were tiny, you used to nurse like this every day."
"Really?" His eyes lit up. "So I was already a good boy who knew how to make Mommy feel good?"
Liu Yiru gave a half-laugh, half-groan. "Silly, you weren't 'making me feel good'—you were hungry."
"Same difference," he grinned. "I sucked you then, and I'm sucking you now. Why'd you make me stop when I grew up?"
She rolled her eyes. "Because you grew up—and Mom doesn't have milk anymore."
"Bet I can find some if I try hard enough." He dipped back down, sealing his lips around the stiff little nub and pulling slow and steady, cheeks hollowing like he was latched to a faucet.
