Every Two Hours

Lena's tits hang heavy, veins threading under the skin. Mark watches her like a man who's already lost. Every two hours she feeds him. No baby. Just the two of them and the wet sound of his mouth working her nipple until milk beads and drips down his chin. She thought this was his thing. Now she can't stop her hand from sliding between her legs while he sucks. Fingers slick, she works herself open while he drinks. Her hips twitch every time his tongue flicks the sensitive tip. She comes hard, thighs shaking, and the second she catches her breath she pushes his face back to her other breast. The need keeps growing. Two hours, then one, then sooner. Her fingers are never not wet now. Mark's eyes stay dark. Neither of them says what happens when the craving stops being about fixing anything.