the little bundle on her chest squirms, shifting, and the blanket falls away. And holy Shit. I’m looking at Iris’s breast. The nipple is piqued and the color of fresh plums against the dark gold of her skin. A milky drop clings to the tip. I can’t swallow or breathe, but my mouth automatically opens, my body demanding I suck. I should look away. I’m probably creeping hard, but I can’t help it.
