Chapter 8: Wet Reclamation
The smell of burnt eggs still clung to June’s skin, acrid beneath the sweet steam billowing in the cramped shower. Lavender soap, once calming, now felt thick and cloying, mixing with the primal scent of their bodies. Hot water sluiced over them, plastering Iris’s long black hair to the slick tiles and June’s blonde strands to her neck. Iris’s pregnant belly, taut and heavy, pressed against June’s hip, a solid, undeniable barrier between them.
June’s breath came in ragged pants against Iris’s ear. The chaos of the kitchen – the taste of Iris’s demand still on her tongue, the phantom kick against her spine – had twisted into something darker, harder. The professional veneer, already cracked, had finally shattered. Need, raw and possessive, had flooded the vacuum.
"You think you run this?" June rasped, her voice guttural, unfamiliar even to herself. She slammed Iris back against the cold tiles, the impact jarring. One hand shot up, fingers splaying wide, then closing firmly around the vulnerable column of Iris’s throat. Not crushing, not yet, but holding. Claiming. "After what you started in my kitchen? After you made me taste you?"
Iris gasped, her eyes flying wide – not with fear, June saw with a jolt, but with fierce, dark excitement. Arousal spiked, thick and hot, pooling low in June’s own belly. Iris arched her back, pushing her heavy breasts against June’s chest, her nipples hard peaks against the wet fabric of June’s sports bra.
"Show me," Iris challenged, her voice husky, strained by the pressure on her throat. Her hips ground forward, seeking friction. "Show me who owns whom, midwife."
The taunt snapped the last thread. June’s free hand plunged down, fingers tangling in the wet curls at Iris’s apex. She found her entrance, already slick and swollen, radiating heat that burned even through the waterfall. No preamble. No gentle exploration. June drove three fingers deep inside Iris’s cunt in one brutal thrust.
"FUCK!" Iris screamed, the sound echoing off the tiles, swallowed by the roar of the shower. Her body convulsed, clamping down on the invading fingers, a fierce, wet vice. Her head thudded back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut.
June held her there, pinned by the throat and impaled on her hand. She felt the incredible tightness, the pulsing heat, the way Iris’s inner muscles fluttered desperately around her knuckles. The power surged, intoxicating, obliterating reason. She withdrew her fingers almost completely, watching Iris’s hips jerk in frantic pursuit, then slammed them back in to the hilt.
"Say it!" June growled, pistoning her hand, knuckles grinding against Iris’s clit with each punishing stroke. The water plastered her shirt to her skin, plastered Iris to the wall. "Tell me whose fucking cunt this is!"
"Yours!" Iris sobbed, her voice breaking. "Yours, June! Oh god, please!" Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle. She scrabbled against the wet tiles for purchase, fingers slipping. Her belly heaved with her frantic breaths. "Harder! Fuck me harder!"
June obliged. She braced her forearm against Iris’s shoulder, using it as leverage to fuck into her deeper, faster. Her thumb found Iris’s clit, a hard, swollen nub, and pressed down hard, grinding rough circles. The wet, slapping sounds of her fingers driving into Iris’s drenched pussy filled the steamy enclosure, rhythmic and obscene.
"You're mine," June snarled, leaning close, her teeth grazing Iris’s earlobe. Her hand tightened fractionally on Iris’s throat, feeling the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath her thumb. "Until this baby tears its way out of you. Every scream. Every moan. Every drop of your fucking come. Mine. Understand?"
"Yes! YES!" Iris wailed, her body bowing off the tiles, suspended only by June’s grip on her throat and the brutal invasion between her legs. "Yours! Always yours! Oh fuck, June, I’m gonna—"
Her words dissolved into a guttural cry that ripped from her core. Her cunt clamped down on June’s fingers with shocking, vise-like strength, a series of violent, pulsing contractions that milked them relentlessly. A hot gush of fluid, more than just her own slickness, soaked June’s hand and wrist, mixing with the shower spray. Iris shuddered violently, her cry turning into desperate, gasping sobs as the climax tore through her.
June fucked her through it, pressing her relentlessly against the wall, grinding her thumb hard on Iris’s oversensitive clit, prolonging the agonizing waves. Iris thrashed, her cries subsiding into ragged whimpers, her body going heavy and pliant against June’s.
Only then did June still her hand, buried deep. She loosened her grip on Iris’s throat, sliding her hand up to cup her jaw instead. Iris slumped, her forehead resting against June’s, eyes glazed, mouth slack, breathing in harsh, shuddering gasps. Water streamed over them both.
"See?" June murmured, her own voice rough, trembling with the aftershocks of power and adrenaline. She rotated her fingers slowly inside Iris’s still-quivering cunt, feeling the fluttering muscles grip her. "Mine."
Iris nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering open. They held a look of utter surrender, mixed with a dazed, sated exhaustion. She tried to speak, but only a soft moan escaped. She looked wrecked. Perfect.
June slowly withdrew her fingers, slick and glistening. She held Iris up with her other arm, feeling the immense weight of the woman and her unborn child leaning into her. The steam swirled thickly. The candle on the sink flickered wildly, threatening to drown in condensation. Outside the shower curtain, the world – the ruined kitchen, the midwife’s bag, the consequences – waited. June pressed her forehead harder against Iris’s damp skin, breathing in the steam and sex and lavender, the possessive claim echoing in her own hollow chest. Mine. Until the end. Whatever that end might look like. The water started to run cold.