35
Mother’s Milk
Asherley hadn’t been certain, until the precise moment the pearled liquid left the tips of her n*****s, that she’d still be able to produce milk on command.
The year before, she’d birthed a baby boy who died weeks later in his sleep. Her breasts screamed at her afterward, aching for expression, and Byrne had helped ease the physical pain for her. This went on for months, until at last, mercifully, the need waned, and with it, her grief for the child lost. He’d died before she could even have his naming ceremony.
She’d expected none of her plans to fall so neatly in line. Eoghan, known for his artless cruelty, known for his irrational temper, surely possessed some cunning. But showing him what she had to offer had been a straight line toward her goal. She hadn’t needed
