Chapter 6: Morning Devotion
The scent clung thickest in the grey light filtering through the lace curtains. Sex. Sweat. Lavender. And beneath it all, the faint, metallic tang of dried release on skin and sheets. June stirred, consciousness returning in fragments. The unfamiliar weight across her hips. The deep, rhythmic breathing beside her. The profound ache between her own thighs, a pleasant echo of the night’s ferocity.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting. Iris lay sprawled half on top of her, one heavy arm flung possessively across June’s stomach, her dark hair a wild spill across June’s shoulder and the pillow. The vast curve of Iris’s belly pressed warmly against June’s side. In sleep, Iris looked younger, softer, the fierce determination momentarily smoothed away. Vulnerable. June’s chest tightened. This intimacy, tangled in the aftermath of raw, obliterating pleasure, felt more dangerous than the sex itself.
Carefully, trying not to disturb her, June shifted. The movement caused Iris to murmur, her brow furrowing slightly. Her arm tightened instinctively around June’s waist, pulling her closer. June froze, holding her breath. Iris’s eyelids fluttered open. Sleepy, dark eyes focused slowly on June’s face. A slow, utterly satisfied smirk spread across Iris’s lips.
"Morning," Iris rasped, her voice thick with sleep and something else – a low, predatory hum.
Before June could respond, Iris moved. It wasn't graceful; her pregnant body required leverage. She pushed herself up onto her knees beside June, the sheet pooling around her waist, exposing the heavy swell of her belly, the dark triangle of curls below. The lamplight from the previous night was off, replaced by the cool dawn, casting long shadows across her skin. Her gaze, now fully awake and blazing with intent, locked onto June’s.
June’s breath caught. "Iris—"
"Shhh." Iris placed a finger gently, possessively, against June’s lips. Her smirk deepened. "Don't talk." Her other hand slid down her own body, fingers disappearing between her thighs. She sighed, a low, throaty sound of pleasure as she touched herself. "Mmm… swollen." She withdrew her fingers, glistening wet in the dim light, and held them up for June to see. "See? Morning dew."
She leaned forward, bracing one hand on the pillow beside June’s head. With surprising agility for her condition, she swung her other leg over June’s shoulders. June found herself pinned beneath Iris’s hips, the vast belly hovering above her chest, the scent of Iris’s arousal – musky, ripe, unmistakably Iris – flooding her senses. Iris settled her weight fully onto June’s face, her wet cunt pressing directly against June’s mouth and nose.
"Breakfast," Iris growled, the word vibrating against June’s lips. "Is served."
She didn't wait for acceptance. She ground down hard, her swollen folds mashing against June’s mouth. The heat, the slickness, the sheer overwhelming presence of her was instant, intoxicating. June gasped beneath her, the sound muffled against Iris’s flesh. Her hands flew instinctively to Iris’s hips, fingers digging into the soft skin above her ass, not to push away, but to hold on.
"Taste it," Iris commanded, rotating her hips in a slow, deliberate circle. Her juices smeared across June’s chin, her cheeks. "Taste how fucking wet I woke up for you." She lifted slightly, then slammed her hips down again, forcing her cunt harder onto June’s mouth. "Open."
The command, raw and demanding, shattered any lingering hesitation. June opened her mouth beneath the hot, insistent pressure. Instantly, Iris’s taste flooded her – deeper, richer than the night before, thick with sleep and primal need. Iris groaned, a sound of pure satisfaction, as June’s tongue surged forward, licking hungrily at her entrance, seeking the source of that intoxicating flood.
"Yeah… fuck yes," Iris hissed, grinding relentlessly. "Lick me. Lick my fucking cunt clean." She reached back with one hand, fingers sinking into her own curls, spreading herself wider for June’s mouth. "Get your tongue in deep. Deeper!"
June obeyed, driven by a hunger that matched Iris’s own. Her tongue plunged into Iris’s slick channel, lapping at the velvety walls, tasting the unique, musky essence of her. She sucked hard on Iris’s outer lips, then focused her attention on the swollen, throbbing bud of her clit, flicking it rapidly with the tip of her tongue. Iris cried out, her hips bucking wildly against June’s face.
"Just like that! Oh god, June… suck my clit! Suck it hard!" Iris’s voice was ragged, desperate. She braced herself with both hands on the headboard now, riding June’s face with abandon, her belly a heavy, shifting weight on June’s chest. "Make me fucking come! Right now!"
June redoubled her efforts. She sealed her lips around Iris’s clit, sucking fiercely while her tongue lashed the sensitive nub. Simultaneously, she slid two fingers deep inside Iris’s cunt, curling them upwards, finding that rough spot she knew drove Iris wild. She fucked her hard and fast with her fingers while her mouth worked her clit.
The sounds were obscene – wet, sucking, squelching noises punctuated by Iris’s sharp cries and gasping breaths. The bed creaked beneath their frantic movements. Iris’s thighs trembled against June’s ears, squeezing her head.
"Fuck! Fuck! YES!" Iris screamed, her body locking rigid. Her cunt clamped down like a vice on June’s fingers, pulsing violently as her climax ripped through her. She ground her hips down onto June’s mouth with brutal force, soaking her chin and neck in a fresh gush of release. Her cries echoed off the walls, raw and unrestrained.
June rode out the storm, her mouth still working, gentler now, lapping at the aftershocks, her fingers buried deep as Iris shuddered and gasped above her. Slowly, Iris’s frantic movements subsided. She slumped forward, her upper body collapsing onto the bed beside June’s head, her breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps. Her hips still rested heavily on June’s face, her wetness cooling on June’s skin.
June slowly withdrew her fingers, slick and glistening. She gently eased Iris’s hips up enough to turn her head, gulping in air. She looked up at Iris’s profile. Eyes closed, lips parted, face flushed and utterly spent. Beautiful. Ruined. Hers.
June lifted a trembling hand, wiping Iris’s wetness from her own chin. She touched Iris’s hip. "Okay?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Iris managed a weak nod, her eyes still closed. "More than," she breathed. A slow, sated smile touched her lips. "Fucking starved me." She shifted her weight, rolling heavily off June to lie beside her on her back, one arm flung over her eyes. "Christ."
June pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down at Iris. The dawn light illuminated the sweat-sheened curve of her belly, the dark trails of her release drying on her inner thighs. The air still thrummed with the aftermath. But beneath the scent of sex and lavender, another reality intruded. The faint, rhythmic thump-thump-thump from the Doppler machine, left on the nightstand yesterday afternoon. The baby’s heartbeat. Steady. Unaware.
June’s gaze drifted from Iris’s blissful face to the small, professional bag sitting near the bedroom door. Her midwife’s bag. Containing charts, measuring tape, sterile gloves. Tools for assessing Iris’s health, the baby’s progress. Tools that belonged to a different world than the sweat-soaked sheets and the taste of Iris still on her tongue.
The warmth in her chest curdled into cold dread. What the fuck was she doing? This wasn't comfort. This wasn't blurring lines. This was obliterating them with a wrecking ball. She’d pinned her client. Fucked her senseless. Let Iris claim her just as fiercely. And now, lying here in the wreckage, the reality of her oath, her responsibility, slammed into her with the force of a physical blow.
Iris sighed contentedly, her hand drifting to rest on her belly. "Mmm… someone’s awake too," she murmured, feeling the movement beneath her palm. She turned her head, opening her eyes. Her smile was soft, intimate. "Hungry for real breakfast? I make killer eggs."
June stared at her. The intimacy in Iris’s eyes was a knife twisting in her gut. She couldn't meet that gaze. Not now. Not with the ghost of her stethoscope hanging over them. She looked away, towards the window, the growing light feeling harsh, exposing.
"Yeah," June managed, her voice tight, unfamiliar. "Eggs sound good." She swung her legs out of bed, the cool air hitting her naked skin like a reproach. She didn't look back at Iris as she stood, searching the floor for her discarded clothes, her movements stiff, automatic. The cozy apartment felt suddenly claustrophobic, the scent of sex now suffocating, the echo of the baby’s heartbeat a relentless accusation in her ears. She needed coffee. Strong coffee. And space. But mostly, she needed to figure out how the hell she was supposed to be Iris’s midwife now. After this.