**One week later.**
The familiar scent of home hit him the moment he stepped through the door—jasmine, old wood, and the faint sweetness of wine. College had kept him away for seven long days. Seven days of lectures, crowded corridors, and the constant, low-grade ache of wanting her. The fate-edit had rewritten more than his height and his scent; it had rewritten his hunger. Every time he spent himself inside a chosen womb he grew stronger, sharper, more certain of what he was. And the only womb he had chosen since returning from that other world was Kajal's.
He found her on the sofa.
Kajal lay sprawled in drunken oblivion, one arm dangling toward the floor, the other resting loosely across her stomach. A half-empty bottle of wine sat on the carpet beside her. Her saree had slipped during sleep, the pale blue fabric pulled low enough to show the deep valley of her cleavage and the soft curve of her waist. The thin blouse beneath did little to hide the heavy swell of her breasts. Soft snores escaped her parted lips.
Arjun closed the door quietly behind him.
Heat stirred low in his belly at once. It had been only a week, yet the sight of her like this—vulnerable, exposed, completely unguarded—woke something primal. He crossed the living room on silent feet and knelt beside the sofa. Up close the scent of her was stronger: warm skin, faint perfume, the sweet-sour note of wine. Beneath it all was the faint, milky sweetness that had begun to cling to her ever since the first night he had drunk from her.
He reached out and traced the line of her jaw with one fingertip. Her skin was soft, warm. He followed the path down the side of her neck, feeling the slow pulse there. She did not wake. He leaned closer, breathing her in, and felt his cock thicken against the fabric of his trousers.
His hand moved lower, to the neckline of her saree. With careful fingers he drew the fabric aside, exposing the upper curves of her breasts. They rose and fell with each slow breath. Through the thin cups of her bra the dark circles of her nipples were clearly visible. He hooked his fingers beneath the lace and pulled both cups down in one motion. Her breasts spilled free—heavy, soft, the nipples already beginning to tighten in the cooler air.
He cupped them, thumbs brushing the peaks. Kajal sighed in her sleep and shifted slightly, a small smile touching her lips as if the dream had turned pleasant. He squeezed gently, feeling the weight of them, the way they filled his large hands. Then he leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to each one. The faint taste of her skin and the promise of milk beneath it made his mouth water.
He took the left nipple between his teeth and bit down—not hard enough to wake her fully, but enough to draw a soft, involuntary moan. Her back arched a fraction off the cushions. He closed his lips around the peak and sucked. Warm, sweet milk flooded his tongue at once. He drank deeply, pulling in long, greedy draws while his free hand continued to knead the other breast. Kajal murmured something incoherent, her fingers twitching against the sofa as if reaching for him in the dream.
He switched sides, giving the right breast the same treatment. Milk came just as freely. The taste of it—richer now than it had been a week ago—settled something restless inside him. Every swallow seemed to feed the quiet strength the fate-edit had promised. Her body responded without waking: nipples hardening into tight peaks, thighs shifting, a damp spot slowly darkening the fabric of her panties beneath the saree.
He bit again, harder this time, just below the left nipple. Kajal's body jerked. A louder moan escaped her, and her eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat before sliding shut once more.
"Oh… yes…" she whispered, still half in the dream. "Bite me harder, baby… mark mommy…"
Her hands came up, finding his shoulders even in sleep, gripping weakly. Her legs parted. The scent of her arousal rose between them, thick and unmistakable. He pushed the saree higher, exposing the soaked crotch of her panties. The thin material clung to her mound, outlining the swollen lips and the hard little pearl of her clit.
He dragged the panties aside and lowered his mouth.
The first long lick made her cry out. Her hips bucked against his face. He licked again, slower, spreading her open with his thumbs so he could taste every fold. She was dripping—hot, slick, the flavor of her coating his tongue. He focused on her clit, sucking it between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, then grazing it lightly with his teeth. Kajal's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there while her thighs trembled on either side of his head.
"Fuck—right there—don't stop—" Her voice was thick with wine and sleep and rising pleasure. "Make mommy cum…"
He did.
He sucked hard, tongue working her clit in tight circles until her whole body seized. A broken scream tore from her throat as she came, pussy flooding his mouth with a fresh rush of wetness. He drank it down the same way he had drunk her milk, refusing to pull away until the last spasm faded and she lay limp and panting.
Only then did he rise over her.
Kajal watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he stripped out of his clothes. When his cock sprang free—thick, heavily veined, the head already glistening—her gaze locked on it with open hunger. He climbed onto the sofa between her spread thighs, guided the blunt head to her entrance, and pushed in with one long, relentless thrust.
She screamed.
The stretch was still almost too much, even after everything they had done. Her walls fluttered and clenched around the sudden invasion, trying to adjust to the size of him. He gave her no time. He began to move at once—deep, powerful strokes that made the sofa creak and the wet slap of skin on skin fill the quiet house. Her breasts bounced with every impact. The bite marks he had already left stood out dark against her golden-brown skin.
"Harder," she begged, voice raw. "Break mommy's pussy—make it yours—"
He gave her harder. One hand braced on the back of the sofa; the other closed around her throat just tightly enough to remind her who she belonged to. He leaned down and bit the soft flesh of her shoulder, teeth sinking deep enough to bruise. Kajal's pussy clamped down like a fist. She came again with a hoarse cry, juices soaking his cock and the cushions beneath her.
He did not stop.
He shifted, lifting one of her legs higher so he could reach the soft inner thigh. He bit there too—hard enough to leave a perfect imprint of his teeth. She thrashed, another orgasm already building. He moved to the other thigh and bit again, this time deep enough to draw a thin bead of blood. The copper taste mixed with the scent of her arousal and the lingering sweetness of milk. Kajal's eyes rolled back.
"Yes—mark me—make me bleed for you—"
He fucked her through the third climax, then the fourth, until her voice broke and her body could do little more than twitch and flutter around him. Only when he felt his own release coiling tight at the base of his spine did he drive in to the hilt, lock his hips against hers, and empty himself in long, heavy pulses. Thick ropes of cum flooded her womb. He kept thrusting through it, forcing every drop as deep as it would go, while the familiar surge of strength rolled through him like warm lightning.
When it was over he collapsed over her, still buried inside, mouth finding her breast again. He suckled slowly, almost lazily, while her fingers stroked his hair and her heart hammered against his cheek.
---
Morning light filtered through the curtains.
Arjun woke alone on the sofa. The events of the night returned in a slow, satisfying flood—her cries, the taste of milk and blood and cunt, the way she had come apart under him again and again. He sat up, stretched, and followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen.
Kajal stood at the counter in a loose nightgown that did almost nothing to hide the evidence of what he had done. Dark bruises and clear bite marks covered her breasts, her shoulders, the soft insides of her thighs. She poured coffee with steady hands, then turned when she heard him.
A soft, knowing smile curved her lips.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, voice still husky. "Did you sleep well?"
She walked toward him, hips swaying, and pressed herself against his bare chest. Her arms slid around his neck. Up close he could see the faint purple of a particularly deep bite just above her left nipple.
"Look at what you did to mommy," she whispered against his throat. "You left your mark everywhere."
He answered by pulling the straps of her nightgown down. Her breasts spilled free—still full, still marked, the nipples dark and slightly swollen. He lowered his head and took one into his mouth without a word.
Kajal's breath hitched. Her hand came up to cradle the back of his head.
"Mmm… sweetheart. Mommy's milk is all yours."
He drank. The milk came easily, warm and sweet, and each swallow settled deeper into the new strength the fate-edit had given him. Her free hand stroked his hair. Her body softened against his, thighs pressing together as fresh arousal began to dampen the thin fabric still covering her.
"You're getting mommy all worked up again," she murmured. "What are you going to do about it?"
Arjun pulled off the nipple just long enough to answer, voice low and certain.
"No sex. I only want to drink."
Kajal chuckled, the sound soft and fond. She shifted so he could reach the other breast more easily and held him there while he latched on again.
"Just drinking mommy's milk, hmm? You're like a little baby who can't get enough."
She rocked him gently, fingers carding through his hair, contented smile on her face even as her pussy throbbed with ignored need.
"That's it, baby. Drink up. Mommy has plenty for you."
Arjun closed his eyes and suckled in long, steady pulls, one large hand spanning the soft curve of her waist. Outside the kitchen window the morning continued, ordinary and bright. Inside, the only sounds were the quiet wet noise of him drinking and the soft, satisfied sighs of the woman who had already given him everything he asked for—and would give him more the moment he decided he wanted it.