Hold her for a second," Nandini whispered, her voice strained. She was struggling with the clasp of her nursing bra, the fabric digging into her shoulder. She was only twenty-one, her body still caught in the awkward transition between the softness of adolescence and the lushness of motherhood. But the pregnancy had changed her; her breasts had swelled into heavy, aching globes that felt far too large for her slight frame, straining against the lace of her lingerie.

Manik took the baby, his gaze drifting from the infant to the way Nandini’s breasts spilled over the edge of the cup. He felt a sudden, sharp pull in his gut. He had always known she was beautiful, but there was something primal about the sight of her—the sheer, ripened abundance of her chest, brimming with the life-giving fluid that kept Anya thriving. He watched as she finally freed one breast, the pale, heavy mound leaping free with a soft, wet sound.