Her hands were white-knuckle on his.
Her back was arcing.
The flat, mortal-body, full-extension arc of a woman whose spine was doing the involuntary, everything-up, full-report arc of someone at the specific, overwhelmed, nothing-left-for-management position.
Her hair was down.
He had pulled it.
The specific, gathered, present, working-handle pull of someone who had decided the hair was the direction communication system and was using it to establish the angle.
Her head came back.
"—'KYAAANGHHH~!!!'—"
The arc changed.
The full, head-back, throat-exposed, spine-curved arc of a woman whose head had been pulled back and whose body was running full expression of every sensation from this angle simultaneously.
Her chest forward.
Both of them.
The warm, full, milk-running, forward-angled mass of a mother's body at full extension — the milk coming in the flat, continuous, impact-timed, warm arcs of a body that was not managing anything about the process anymore.
