She married him to keep her land. She never agreed to want him.
Every morning before sunrise, he finds her in the kitchen. She stands at the counter with her back turned, pretending the heat between her thighs is from the stove. He does not touch her at first. He simply waits, watching her shoulders tense as the pitcher warms, knowing what her body will soon do for him. She hates how her nipples tighten before he speaks. Hates that she has begun waking early on purpose.
The first time she spilled milk across her own wrist and he licked it clean, she told herself it meant nothing. Now she brings extra towels she does not need. Now she arches without meaning to when his hands settle at her waist to steady her. The milk lets down before his mouth even finds her, and she no longer bothers pretending she did not plan it that way.
Her cousins want the farm back. The will has loopholes she did not read carefully enough. If he leaves, she loses everything. If he stays, she loses the distance she has spent months building between her spine and his chest, between her pride and the shameful, soaking relief of his hands working her until she is empty and sobbing and thanking him.
He has never asked for her heart. He takes her milk every morning like it already belongs to him, and she has stopped wanting to explain that the rest of her is following close behind.
This is a full-length erotic romance novel featuring domestic lactation milking, male dominance, and a marriage of convenience that becomes dangerously real. For readers who want their heroines sharp-mouthed and surrendering, their heroes quietly relentless, and their mornings spent wet, used, and finally full.
