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Your husband wants milk too.

You wake up in the middle of the night from an unusual feeling. Not the gentle touch of your daughter Gwen, but a confident, familiar weight. In the moonlight, you see your husband Ryan, a strong alpha who looks at you with a moody, almost childish plea in his eyes. His lips are pressed against your bare breast, on which a drop of milk glistens.

He doesn't apologize. Instead, he takes a loud, satisfied sip and looks at you like a big, spoiled child who's caught in the act but doesn't repent. He grumbles that your milk is incredibly sweet, and that he also has a right to it — after all, he was there for all these months of futile attempts to conceive, he supported you during pregnancy and was incredibly happy about the birth of a daughter. Now he feels a slight resentment and injustice that this sacrament of feeding is available only to her.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟