The afternoon sun poured through the sheer curtains of the nursery, casting a golden glow over the crib. Eli was fussing again, his little fists balled, cheeks red from crying. Stiles sat in the rocking chair, her blouse already unbuttoned. She cooed softly, easing the baby against her chest.

“Shhh, baby… are you hungry? You want milk, don’t you?”

Her fingers tugged down the thin lace of her bra until both her heavy breasts spilled free—round, full, the nipples swollen and beaded with milk. She guided Eli to one pink nipple, sighing softly when he latched on. His little mouth suckled greedily, his chubby hands pressing against her skin.

The sight was intimate, raw, and motherly—but on Stiles, it looked sinful. Her blouse hung open, both breasts bared though only one was in the baby’s mouth, the other glistening with droplets of milk. She didn’t rush to cover herself. No—Stiles enjoyed being looked at. She always had.

And she wasn’t alone.

The door creaked, and she didn’t need to turn to know who was there. The weight of his stare told her everything.

Derek hale.

He stood frozen at the threshold, one hand on the doorknob, his chest rising and falling faster than usual. His eyes were locked on her breasts—on the way Eli’s lips wrapped around her nipple, the way milk dripped slowly down the curve of the other.

Stiles pretended not to notice at first. She hummed, rocking gently, her fingers stroking Eli’s soft hair. But a sly smile tugged at her lips. She shifted in the chair, arching her back just enough to push her breasts forward, making them look even rounder, heavier.

The effect on Derek was immediate. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes darkening. He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Stiles finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “Oh… Mr.  hale,” she whispered sweetly, as though she were surprised. But her eyes glittered with mischief. “Did you… need something?”

Derek’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white around the doorframe. “I—I heard Eli crying. Just wanted to check.” His voice was low, rough, betraying how hard it was to speak.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “He’s fine now. He just needed milk.” She glanced down at the baby nursing greedily. Then, deliberately, she shifted him to the other breast—pulling her nipple free, wet with milk, before guiding his little mouth to the other side.

Her free breast bounced lightly with the motion, slick and glistening. Stiles’s lips parted just enough to let out a soft sigh.

Derek’s eyes snapped to the exposed nipple, lingering.

Stiles saw. She felt it. And she loved it.

“You can come in,” she said gently, as though inviting him closer was the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t have to stand all the way over there.”

Derek hesitated. His mind screamed that this was wrong—that Sara was just downstairs, that this was only the nanny. But his body betrayed him. His feet carried him a few steps inside, until he stood closer to the rocking chair, towering over her.

Eli suckled noisily, tiny gulps filling the silence. Stiles watched Derek from under her lashes, pretending her focus was on the baby but deliberately adjusting her blouse so it slipped further off her shoulder, exposing more skin.

“You’re… very good with him,” Derek said at last, his voice hoarse.

Her smile widened. “I love babies. They need softness… warmth. And,” she glanced up, eyes locking with his, “I have plenty to give.”

The words hung between them, heavy with double meaning.

Eli’s little hand kneaded her breast, squeezing lightly as he drank, and Stiles let out another sigh—this one softer, breathier. She knew exactly what she was doing. She loved the way Derek’s eyes burned, the way his jaw tightened as if he was fighting himself.

“Mr. Hale…” she whispered, almost teasing. “You’re staring.”

His breath hitched. For a moment, he looked away, guilt flashing across his handsome face. But then his gaze returned, hungrier than before.

“I—” He swallowed, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, you did,” Stiles said, her tone playful but laced with heat. She arched her back again, making her breasts stand out proudly. “And it’s okay. Men always stare. Especially taken ones.”

Derek’s breath left him in a rush.

Downstairs, Sara’s laughter echoed faintly through the halls—carefree, unaware.

In the nursery, the air grew thick with unspoken desire. Stiles rocked slowly, feeding the baby, her body on display, and Derek stood rooted in place, fighting a war he was already losing.

And Stiles knew it.

She smirked faintly, licking her lips.

This was only the beginning.