Chapter 9 #2
“I know,” she laughs. “But I could… well, if it wouldn't be too uncomfortable," she says as she rubs the swell of her lower belly.
She sits beside me, one hand absently stroking her stomach. It’s a small gesture, soft and maternal, and something deep in my chest aches with longing I didn’t expect.
“You’re doing really well,” she says, nodding toward the nearly filled bottles on the table. “It appears that your intake has increased compared to last week.”
“Almost fourteen ounces a day on both breasts,” I say quietly. “Maybe more.”
Her eyes widen. “Claire… that’s amazing.”
“Is it?” I whisper. “Is it really okay?”
Grace’s hand finds mine. Warm. Reassuring.
“It’s more than okay. It’s beautiful. You’re building something with Erik, something that the two of you consented to together.”
Consented. The word hits harder than I expected.
I toy with the edge of my shirt. “Before you became pregnant, did you ever want more?”
“More?” Grace asks.
“More with Bjorn.” My voice trembles. "More than the dynamic and relationship between you two."
Grace squeezes my hand. “You want a baby?”
The truth doesn’t hurt. The truth sinks in like a key slipping into a lock.
“I do,” I whisper. “With Erik… I do.”
ERIK
I hear them from the hall.
Women speak softly when they’re telling truths men aren’t meant to interrupt. I let them have that, Grace's gentle warmth and Claire's whispered confessions.
But when I hear Claire say, "I do," something inside me settles with violent certainty.
Good. Then we’re aligned. I head to the kitchen, pour water, and give them their moment. I feel a deep vibration on my phone, knowing it’s a text alert.
BJORN: Got a positive ping. A trace confirmation. Camera 3 was looped for 4 seconds at 06:12. The signature is identical to that of the truck's time and location.
SableCorp. My pulse goes cold. Not a probe. A pattern. They’re getting closer.
CLAIRE
I crash from fatigue hard today. By 2 PM my body feels too full, too heavy; my breasts throb with the need to release them. Erik guides me to the bedroom.
“Rest,” he says, pulling the blanket over me. “Your body’s building faster than your schedule. Let me help.”
After a pumping session and Erik nursing from both of my breasts, the relief is just enough that I’m able to drift into sleep. I’m not sure how much time passes, but it feels like moments pass when warm hands pull me gently into a lap.
“You’re full again,” Erik murmurs, kissing the side of my throat.
I exhale shakily. “Erik…”
“I’ve got you, little one," he practically growls in my ear.
ERIK
My hand glides to her side, then up, above her breast, before I touch her.
“You’re full," I whisper against her skin.
Slowly she blinks her eyes open. Swallows thickly. And then nods. “Hurts,” she mumbles groggily against my chest.
I know her cues by now. The way she starts to squirm if she gets too full for too long. The heat that pools just under her skin. Her body presses tighter into mine when she’s full. Fitting more snugly into my arms, breasts heavy against my chest.
“You slept through your alarm,” I remind her gently, “To pump.”
Her hand drifts down, kneading lightly at her chest through the thin material of her shirt. She breathes in and out as her fingers make contact.
“I was exhausted,” she mumbles.
“I know.”
Slowly I sit up, coaxing her up with me, so I can support her back and allow her to rest without strain. Outside the city is loud. The streetlights shine a dull orange and city noises drift in through the windows.
“Maybe I should pump?” she questions hesitantly.
I tilt my head. “You don’t want to pump.”
She doesn’t argue it, only stares up at me now, really looks at me, and I can see it. The need. Her body is gradually learning to trust me more than that cold, suctioned piece of plastic.
“You help more,” she whispers.
Something protective curls low in my chest at that. My fingertips brush along the hem of her sleep shirt, and I hesitate. “Tell me you want this. Consent is everything to me.”
She nods once. “Yes.” Only then do I peel the fabric slowly away from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor.
The cool rush of air across her skin has her pulling in another breath, deeper this time. She’s obviously fuller than before, nipples taut and pale against her breasts, skin stretched taut, and veins visible under the surface. She hunches her shoulders forward unconsciously from the weight of them.
Gently, I cradle one breast in my hands. Warm. Full.
She lets out a shaky breath as I pinch the underside lightly and lift just enough to give her breast some relief.
“Too much?” I question softly.
“No.” She exhales sharply. “Just… please, give me relief.”
Carefully, I maneuver her on her back so she is flush against the pillows, supporting her back so she isn’t putting weight on her arms. I take off her tank top and bring myself down so I’m hovering over her before I settle my weight down on one arm, careful not to lie too heavily on her.
My lips hover there for a moment. Not out of want, but admiration. I press them to her gently.
I caress my lips along her skin before I slowly take her in, careful with my suction.
She gasps sharply. Hands fisting into my hair without hesitation.
And I don’t pull too hard. Slow and steady. Each suction is learned through trial and error, determining exactly how much she can handle.
It’s unforgiving, that line between relieving her and hurting her. I know it like the back of my hand now.
Within seconds her entire body gives in to it. Soft, shuddery breaths. Back rolling beneath my hands lightly. Shoulders relaxing as her breasts begin to soften under my mouth.
“That’s it, baby.” I breathe before taking her in again. I can feel it. The pull starts to lessen ever so slightly as she lets down. As the milk begins to flow.
Her fingers dig into my hair. “Oh,” she exhales.
I swallow slowly, a little greedy, yet never rushed, as I wish to savor this as much as she does. This moment isn’t about me. It’s about giving her relief. I am allowing her to lean on me and helping her regain her sense of completeness.
She’s beginning to pant slightly. I lightly readjust my position, ensuring that my forearm bears a greater portion of her weight.
My other hand drifts to her other breast, rubbing softly.
Dr. Madsen had instructed her on how to handle situations when she couldn't find time to pump or felt too full to use a breast pump.
She makes another noise that isn’t quite pain, more like release. There’s something between us now, thick in the air as her entire body relaxes beneath me, milk flowing from her as her breasts slowly soften from my touch, pressure diminishing little by little.
Her hips roll forward of their own volition, and I can feel her breathing change. Her breathing starts off shallow and gradually becomes fuller.
I momentarily pull my mouth away to whisper in her ear, asking, "Is it better?" She can only nod, but I can see it in her eyes. They’re darker now.
“Yes,” she hums. “More than better.”
I see in her eyes there is more than just relief; there is need.
I switch sides with her carefully, leaning in to recreate what I just did on the other side. Gentle humming encourages her as her back arches without hesitation this time.
When I’m done, pulling back to watch her chest rise and fall slowly under flushed skin, I realize something… her need has turned into want.
I brush my thumb along her breast softly and look up at her.
“Claire,” I breathe quietly. Lower now. “Tell me what you want.”
She stares at me, and all she can do is swallow before parting her lips. “I want you inside me."
CLAIRE
His hand softly and purposefully touches my knee.
I look at him, and he is looking back at me with dark eyes.
His fingers gently slide up, reaching closer to my underwear. "Please, Erik," I whisper gently, and the words hardly come out. My voice shakes, which shows how much I want it.
He comes closer, and I can feel his warm breath on my ear. "I hear you, little one, and I'll give you what you want soon."
Erik's hand keeps exploring until it discovers the heat that is pulsing between my legs.
I bite my lip to keep from gasping when he touches me through the thin fabric. My knees come together on their own, but he pushes them apart with a powerful, firm palm.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks again, this time with a voice that is both teasing and grave.
I murmur, "No," the word coming out before I can stop it.
He inserts his fingers under the lace and moans softly as he feels how wet I am. He touches me slowly and deliberately, and my head falls back. His fingers move in a beautiful circle that makes me insane.