Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CLAIRE
Another morning fog hangs low over Houston, soft as breath, turning the world into a gray-colored wash. I hold the folder to my chest like it’s fragile, because in a way, it is. This moment was a start I never thought I'd achieve.
Erik drives with one hand on the wheel, the other steady on my knee, grounding me without saying a word. Chamomile steam curls upward from the to-go mug he insisted on making for me. I sip, but my stomach is already fluttering.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m thinking.” My voice wavers. "I'm contemplating the significance of this appointment."
“We’ve spent the past month discussing our desired kinks, fetishes, and how we desire for our dynamic to unfold,” he answers. “We have worked on this choice being both of ours.”
Something in me softens at that. He consistently delivers the truth with clarity, stability, and safety.
We pull into the small lot outside the office of Dr. Nyla Madsen–Lactation they will take your vitals, and then Dr. Madsen will be right with you.”
Erik stands beside me like he’s physically holding the world back. When I slip my hand into his, I don’t do it for protection.
I do it to steady my courage.
“I feel so nervous,” I whisper.
“I know, and that is okay. More importantly, is this still what you desire to move forward on?” His fingers tighten.
“But I want you to understand something, little girl: no matter what, your body is always your choice, as your mind is your body. If you decide to pause and step back from this aspect of our dynamic, know that I fully support your decision. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir,” I finish softly with a warm smile.
His eyes are warm. “Good girl.”
After the paperwork was filled out and we were shown to our room, a sweet medical assistant took all my vitals just like the receptionist said, and we waited for some time before we were able to see the doctor.
Dr. Nyla Madsen is in her fifties, with silver-blonde curls and intelligent eyes. She exudes confidence, as if she has guided hundreds of women through significant decisions without ever flinching.
“Claire and Erik,” she greets warmly. “Tell me what you’re hoping to achieve.”
I inhale, but Erik speaks first, his voice low, controlled, and gentle.
“We’re exploring induced lactation. Safely. Supervised. We don't have an infant… yet; this is about connection, care, and preparing for the future.”
Connection. The word lands inside my chest like a spark.
Dr. Madsen nods. “Good. Intent matters. It determines how responsive the body becomes.”
She turns fully to me. “Tell me what you’re feeling so far.”
I swallow. “Hopeful. Nervous. Ready. I’ve always wanted to explore this with someone I’m in a romantic relationship with. The situation feels right with Erik.”
Dr. Madsen scrolls through my chart slowly, thoughtfully, not rushing the silence. The room smells faintly of antiseptic and lavender hand soap. The paper crinkles beneath me when I shift.
She hums softly. “Based on your preliminary labs, I suspect you may be what we call a fast responder.”
I blink. “Fast… responder?” Erik’s hand rests on my knee. Warm. Grounding.
Dr. Madsen turns the tablet toward me slightly, but keeps her tone gentle and educational rather than clinical.
“There are three reasons I believe that,” she says, lifting one finger.
“First, your baseline prolactin level is already sitting in the upper-normal range for a non-lactating woman. That doesn’t mean you’re producing milk now.
It means your pituitary gland responds efficiently to hormonal signaling.
Some women require aggressive stimulation to increase prolactin.
Your body, on paper, looks primed to cooperate. ”
Primed. The word settles somewhere low in my stomach. She lifts a second finger.
“Second, your estrogen and progesterone levels have shown gentle and stable cycling over the last year. No major endocrine disruptions. Your thyroid panel is excellent. Your fasting insulin and metabolic markers are healthy. When we induce lactation without pregnancy, we’re essentially convincing the body that it has carried and delivered a child.
Hormonal stability makes that simulation far more effective. ”
Erik nods once, as if he understands every word. Maybe he does.
“And third,” she says, her voice softening slightly as she sets the tablet aside, “your breast tissue exam.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Dr. Madsen rolls her stool closer and snaps on a fresh pair of gloves. The sound is soft but precise.
“Alright, Claire,” she says gently, “go ahead and lie back for me. Place your hands behind your head.”
The paper on the table crackles beneath my shoulders as I recline. The overhead light shifts slightly, brightening my chest.
“I’m going to begin with a visual inspection,” she explains. “I’m looking at symmetry, skin texture, vascular patterns, and nipple structure.”
Her eyes move clinically. “You have excellent symmetry,” she murmurs. “No visible dimpling, no skin retraction, no discoloration. That’s excellent.”
I swallow.
“I’m now going to palpate the outer upper quadrant of the left breast. This is where most glandular tissue sits. You may feel firm pressure.”
Her fingertips press in small, slow circular motions, moving methodically from the outer edge inward. She uses the pads of her fingers, three fingers together, exactly as I remember from my own time working in medical offices.
“I’m assessing for masses, fibrotic changes, and cystic pockets. Everything feels smooth.”
Her hand shifts slightly deeper, pressing toward the chest wall. “Tell me if anything is tender.”
“It’s fine,” I whisper.
She continues the pattern, moving in a clockwise spiral, covering every section. Upper outer quadrant. Lower outer quadrant. Lower inner quadrant. Upper inner quadrant.
“No nodularity. Good distribution of glandular tissue.”
Then she moves toward the areola.
“I’m going to gently compress here.”
Her fingers apply light pressure around the nipple, testing elasticity.
“This helps me assess duct integrity and projection.”
Heat floods my face even more.
“Elastic tissue,” she notes calmly. “Good resilience. No inversion. That’s promising for latch compatibility and mechanical expression.”
Mechanical expression. I feel Erik shift in his chair. Dr. Madsen continues narrating.
“I’m now checking beneath the breast fold.” Her fingers glide along the infra-mammary crease.
“No lymphatic swelling.” She sits back slightly.
“I’m going to repeat everything on the right side.”
The process is identical. Methodical. Complete. She presses deeper near my underarm this time.
“I’m palpating the axillary lymph nodes. We check these during any full breast exam. No enlargement. Excellent.”
I exhale slowly without realizing I’ve been holding my breath. When she finishes, she removes her gloves and speaks gently.
“You have well-developed glandular architecture,” she explains. “Your tissue density suggests you may respond quickly to hormonal induction and stimulation protocols. Some women require months to see measurable output. I suspect your body will adapt faster.”
I sit up slowly, my chest still tingling faintly from the exam. There was nothing inappropriate about what she did. Nothing invasive beyond what I consented to.
She told me everything. Every movement. Every reason. Every finding.
I felt seen. I felt respected. And I didn’t realize until that moment how much that mattered in a medical setting.
Erik doesn’t react outwardly, but a wave of intensity shifts through him, quiet, protective, sharpened.
Dr. Madsen hands me a thick packet.
“This is your protocol.”
I skim it.
· Prescribed medicine
· Two herbal supplements
· Massage schedule
· Hydration reminders
· Pumping every 3 hours
“Early sensations may include tingling, warmth, and heaviness,” she continues. “Drops of colostrum can appear earlier than expected in fast responders like you.”
Warmth spreads in my chest at the possibility.
She turns to Erik. “Your role is supportive.”
“I understand,” he says immediately. And I can tell he does.
“Good. I’ll see you both in two weeks.”
ERIK
Outside, the fog has thinned into weak sunlight. Claire clutches the packet like it’s both treasure and responsibility.
“That went better than you expected?” I ask.
Her smile is small but real. “Yes. She was kind. And… you were amazing.”
Amazing. I don't usually use the word "amazing" to describe myself. But with Claire, something shifts. She studies me with that tilt of her head that strips my armor.
“Why do you want this?” she asks softly.
The real answer is sharp and private: Because Halvorsens build legacies. And I am choosing to build a legacy with you.
What I say is, “Because you want it, and I want this with you because I want to be with you. And I’ve never seen you look more alive than when you talk about creating something like our shared lactation kink.”
Her breath catches. Her fingers fist my shirt, pulling me in. I mean to kiss her gently, but she meets me halfway, hungry and certain.
When we finally separate, she’s flushed, her breath trembling.
“We should… head back,” I murmur.
She nods, but her hand stays in mine until she steps into the car.
CLAIRE
By the time we arrive at the bookstore, it’s been hours since lunch and my first dose of the medication. I know that it’s far too early for anything to happen. Anything measurable. Dr. Madsen explained that to me. But something feels different in my body, nonetheless.
There is a gentle tingling sensation in my chest that wasn’t there when I woke up this morning. Fullness. Maybe sensitivity? Definitely sensitivity.
It could be anticipation. It could be how Erik’s hand hasn’t left my lower back since stepping through the door. Perhaps it's the excitement of knowing exactly what we're creating together.
Whatever it is, it’s happening. And I definitely notice. Erik parks and turns toward me, his presence filling the SUV.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “No… maybe.”
His warm hand covers mine, his thumb stroking once. “You don’t have to prove anything. If you ever want to stop…”
“I won’t.” The words spill out. “This feels right with you.”
Heat and reverence flicker through his gaze. “Then I’ll keep you safe while we do this together.”
When he walks me to the door, the alley camera above the side lot blinks, too fast and too sharp.
“Looks like the camera is out again,” I murmur.
“I’ll fix it tonight.” His tone shifts, danger coiling behind calm.
“Top bolt, little one.”
“Yes, Sir,” slips out unbidden.
He tilts my chin, reading me effortlessly. A soft kiss to my forehead seals the promise.
“Dinner at seven. I’ll pick you up at closing time. Text me if anything feels off.” I nod, lean in, and give him a peck on his gorgeous lips before I slip in and lock the top bolt. He jogs over to his car and takes off a few minutes later, as he always does.
Inside, I boot up the register. A system notification flashes: Administrator X is responsible for scheduled system reboots.
We don’t have an Administrator X. A cold ripple crawls up my spine.
I text him fast:
My computer system just rebooted itself, stating that Administrator X is in charge, and I don’t have anything like that set up. What do I do?
His response is instant:
I’ll have Axel look into it. Keep the shop locked up until opening and closing. If there is anything else out of sorts, call me immediately.
ERIK
Back at the Halvorsen building, I’m reviewing contracts when Claire’s system pings twice into my inbox with no subject line and one corrupted attachment.
I open the first alert, and that is when I watch the video feed from her camera: Static, a flicker, then…
a figure can be seen in her alleyway feed.
Tall, still, and watching. The second alert is letting me know what Claire had texted me about: that ‘Administrator X’ had made changes.
My blood boils as I try to wrap my head around what the fuck is happening.
Axel was diligently collaborating with Stellan to establish robust firewalls for her entire computer system.
Still… things felt close, too close, and this prompted me to want to reach out to Bjorn.
As if he read my mind, my phone vibrates from a text message.
Bjorn: I’ve just seen the feed to Claire’s alley near her shop. You seeing this too?
Me: Yes. Run the trace.
Bjorn: Already on it. Perhaps there's nothing to report, but it's important to remain vigilant.
Probably nothing. We have heard that before, right before Grace was kidnapped.
This isn’t anything. I grab my laptop and keys and head for the elevator.
Me → Bjorn: Send Soren to monitor the feed. I’m heading to her.
Bjorn: Copy. Backup on standby.
I activate the windshield fluid to remove the building pollen, which is abundant during this season. With Claire in mind, I gun the engine.
“You picked the wrong woman to watch,” I mutter. And I mean every word.
BJORN
From my office, the encrypted feed reroutes through our servers, jittering like a heart monitor out of rhythm.
It feels like the interference is deliberate, almost measured.
My intuition suggests that SableCorp is closely monitoring us and applying pressure. It shouldn't be surprising to me or any of my brothers. We’ve been anticipating the strong possibility of retaliation after we rescued Grace from her kidnappers and involved both federal and local law enforcement.
I’m glad we’ve become friends with a few of the law enforcers that helped us during Grace’s rescue. I'm glued to the screen, trying to record every detail I know Soren and Ivar will require as they use their technological prowess to solve the mystery. I force an override, and the frame clears.
The alley behind Claire’s shop is empty. But the timestamp lags six minutes behind real time.
That’s someone recording over live footage.
I text Erik instantly:
She’s fine for now. But eyes open, brother.
His reply arrives instantly:
Always.
I stare at the ultrasound photo on my desk. Twelve weeks have passed, and I find myself loving the slight swell of her lower tummy. The future is pounding beneath Grace’s tummy.
Every generation, a Halvorsen fights for the women who carry the next shield. Some with weapons. Some with willpower. Some with both. Erik’s turn has begun, and I hope that whatever SableCorp is up to, we can handle it with enough fire to burn them alive!