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Back Nana Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title page
  2. Prologue
  3. Part One
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. Part Two
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. Part Three
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. Get on the Mailing List!
  69. Also by Brandon Massey
  70. About Brandon Massey

It looked as if she was breastfeeding the boy. Soft sucking sounds filled the air. Grace’s eyes were shut, her face upturned to the ceiling, as if she were overcome with rapture.

Monica blinked. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Grace lowered her head, eyes snapping open. “Go back to bed, my dear. I’ll be there shortly.”

“You’re breastfeeding my son?” Monica stepped into the room.

“I offered the breast to Lexi as well, but she wasn’t interested. Junior was most amenable—I assume you breastfed him as an infant and he must have fondly recalled the experience.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course—Nana’s milk is sweet and nourishing.” Grace patted Junior’s head, and carefully pulled him away from her nipple. “I never had the opportunity to breastfeed you. It’s something I deeply regret.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. Junior is five years old! He’s not a baby!”

“I’m not a baby,” Junior said, but his brows were knitted in confusion. “I’m a big boy.”

“Yes, you are, sweetheart.” Grace kissed him on the forehead, lifted him off her lap, and set him on the floor. “But no one is ever too old for Nana’s milk. There is plenty for you as well, my dear, if you’d like.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Monica said, “and I really don’t understand how you’re doing this. How can you be lactating?” She stared at her mother’s breasts. They were smooth, round, and firm, and belonged on a much younger woman. “I can’t believe any of it. I feel as if I’m dreaming.”

“Perhaps you are.” Smiling, Grace buttoned her blouse shut. “You’ve been ingesting heavy doses of my special herbal concoctions. They tend to muddle the perceptions.”

Monica tried to take a step forward and felt dizziness warp through her. She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to regain her equilibrium.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in her bed. Grace sat beside her on the mattress. Her eyes gleamed.

“The children . . .” Monica started.

“Are both tucked in and sleeping,” Grace said. “Nana took care of them, don’t worry yourself, dear.”

“I saw something . . . you were . . . breastfeeding . . .”

“You were obviously dreaming,” Grace said. “You still might be.”

“Oh.” Monica released a deep breath. “I . . . I don’t feel well.”

“You aren’t well, my child.” Grace traced her index finger along Monica’s jaw. “You’re dying.”

48

At home, Troy discovered that the master bedroom door was locked, again.

He smiled to himself. Fine, then. He had the spy cam running. It would record whatever the hell Grace and Monica were doing in there in the evenings, and perhaps he could use the evidence to persuade Monica to trust him—and distrust Grace.

In the meantime, he would do some digging.