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Four weeks later, the morning sun was peeking over the horizon when Lottie’s fussing woke the couple. Tina groaned and hugged Bette to her from behind, kissing the warm creases of Bette’s neck then her cheek. “Good morning, Sweetheart. God, you smell good…”
“Hush, Tee. I’m sleeping…”
Tina chuckled but wormed her way deeper into the back of Bette’s body, into the curls, into the warm skin, into the smell. She felt rather than saw the smile coming from her brunette wife and that only encouraged her, her hand traveling over the pajama top gently …her chin moving hair off the soft cheek so she could kiss there. “Sleep is overrated, my Love…”
Charlotte agreed, her cries reaching a new sense of urgency and it was Bette’s turn to groan, turning to hug Tina to her, taking a second to enjoy the feel of the blonde’s body pressed to hers, holding her tight, sighing into Tina’s body.
“I’ll get her” Tina whispered, kissing Bette on the lips with an appreciative moan before rising out of the bed to say good morning to their daughter.
Tina changed Lottie before bringing her to Bette, hungry and ready to be fed. One advantage of having a big baby was that she slept well but fed almost constantly, exhausting Bette even as she herself was still recovering from the long labor and delivery. Lottie took to nursing like white on rice as Tina liked to say, spending a considerable time feeding, which was endlessly entertaining to Tina, who told Bette that Charlotte was one smart baby, Bette’s breasts an alluring sight.
“I mean, who can resist those?” she would ask, and Bette would roll her eyes, but she loved when Tina talked like that.
“Voracious” is how they described Lottie’s eating habits and today was no exception, Bette smiling at Tina as she held her daughter, her pajama top open, her back against a carefully constructed arrangement of pillows.
Tina always brought Lottie to Bette with just a diaper on, knowing Bette loved to feel the softness of naked skin on her own, the way Charlotte would curl in towards her, giving a little sigh of contentment like the milk Bette produced was all she needed in the world, her mouth rooting for a nipple.