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He shuddered in response and watched me with fascination. I then locked lips with his skin, sucked, and bit at him, and I could hear his gentle groan. After I knew it was going to be a good one, I raised my head to gaze into his bluish green eyes and found they were filled with passion and desire. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself . . .’ I said innocently, but with a grin. He rolled his eyes and I heard my parents coming closer. ‘Shit . . .’ I murmured not wanting to stop this flirting with him. I then turned back to the sink, so I could finish the dishes, with Sly at my side, helping me. Later That Night I tossed and turned on my big lonely bed, thinking about him. No, both of them. Sylar and Sly. They’re so different and yet the same. Who the hell is Sylar? If he does not show me who he is soon, I might be falling for Sly, and it might be already too late. ‘Ugh!’ I cried in frustration, closing my eyes tightly in the process. I threw the covers over my head and I slowly dozed off. My first memory of sucking mum’s tits was as a young c***d; when I was about two years old and I remember it being a regular event ever since; frequently seven or eight times a day. You have probably heard the joke about sharing mum’s tit with a man who smokes; well I can honestly say I did share my mum’s tits with my dad. Several times it led to me often sucking on one breast while he was gorging himself on her other one and this after Mum had stopped lactating. So you see I grew up with the understanding that if I wanted comforting or an instant drink I only had to tug on mum’s top and she would flop out her great tits and I would be allowed to suck myself silly. When I reached sixteen it suddenly took on a new exciting aspect because I began to understand the effects it had on her and more importantly on my young hormone ravaged body. I should point out that when I was twelve I lost my dad in a motoring accident and I without realising it became the head of the family. I never.
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