Page 47 of Daddy Erik
“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.
