Nursing the Alpha, page 4
Then I saw the equipment.
A sleek, top-of-the-line hand pump, all curved edges and silicone-soft parts, set out beside a modern electric double pump with a digital display. Both sparkling clean. Untouched.
My body practically sighed. I already felt the milk nudging at my ducts, preparing to let down at the mere sight of the gear. “You can use whichever setup you prefer.” Faith gestured toward the pumps. “Although the family does prefer… hand expression, if possible.”
I blinked. “Hand?”
“Yes.”
I tried not to frown. “That’s a little unusual.”
“It’s what they requested,” she said lightly, but something flickered in her eyes. She knew it was strange too. “You’re welcome to use the pump if it’s easier or more efficient. But if you’re willing to express at least part of your sessions by hand, it would be appreciated.”
Part? I wanted to ask. With how much milk they were expecting me to produce, hand expression sounded about as practical as milking a cow with a teacup. Still, not weird enough for me to turn down the kind of money they were paying me.
And besides… my chest was already tingling. My nipples were tight, aching, heavy with milk behind the pad-lined compression shirt.
“Sure,” I said, voice strained. “I’ll give it a try.”
Faith nodded and walked to a narrow closet near the door.
“Robes are in here.” She revealed a stack of soft, thick cotton robes in muted shades. “You can change if you don’t want to get your clothes messy.”
“Oh.” I blinked, genuinely surprised. “That’s… convenient. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned back toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “There are refreshments in the fridge. Is there anything else you need before I leave you to it?”
I shook my head. “No, I think I’m good. Everything is great.”
“I’ll check back in an hour. And I’ll bring you some food.”
Huh? “I get fed as well?”
She chuckled, just a quick breath of amusement. “Of course. Pumping’s hard work.”
I smiled, caught off guard by the warmth in her voice. “Yeah. It kind of is.”
She gave a polite nod and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her.
And finally, finally, I was alone.
Alone in a stranger’s home. In a quiet, luxurious room designed for milking me like a prize-winning dairy goat. Or a cow.
My chest ached, and I hadn’t even unzipped yet.
Still, I couldn’t deny it—the robes, the supplies, the quiet care with which this space had been arranged—it felt good. Comforting, even.
I took a breath, then moved to the closet and reached for a robe.
Time to get started.
7
SETH
The moment Flynn entered the premises, his smell hit me.
Sweet.
Creamy.
Honeyed.
That full-bodied unique scent of his milk, heat-soft skin, and something that lived just under his surface. Tenderness, maybe. Or loneliness. Whatever it was, it gripped me by the throat and held tight.
I pressed my thumb to the biometric lock on my desk and flipped the hidden switch. The monitor hummed to life. Four squares of live feed flickered into view—angles from the security cameras mounted discreetly along the perimeter of the house.
There.
Camera Two. Front walkway.
Flynn stood framed by the hydrangeas, tote slung over one shoulder, his shirt clinging softly to the weight of his chest. He’d dressed with care. I could tell. His curls were neater than last time, lips glossed with something subtle. A fresh, dewy look, so unlike the flustered omega who’d landed in my lap three weeks ago and scrambled off like I might devour him.
He looked edible now.
And part of me hated that the housekeeper would open the door. That it wouldn’t be me. But he’d probably think me deranged if he knew the real purpose he was here. Thanks to his chatter that day, I’d known exactly where to find him and how I would get him into my life. My years of working for high-profile clients, organizing their security details, had paid off.
Flynn approached the steps, and the camera caught the angle just right. The faint bounce in his walk, the way he adjusted the strap on his bag, the tightness in his chest pressing visibly against the fabric of his compression shirt, which didn’t hide the slight shadow of a leak.
I was hard already.
His scent was stronger now. Seeping through the walls, wafting into my office like a promise. I curled my hands into fists against the edge of the desk. Why did he still affect me this much? I’d always had a lactation kink, but never had it been this potent, this devouring. It was like his milk was an elixir I had unwittingly become addicted to by the scent alone.
An addiction that ran so deep I’d done the unthinkable, the unforgivable. Lower than stalking him on his morning run.
When he stepped into the house and disappeared from view, something restless twisted low in my belly. I opened the drawer beside me and retrieved the small remote. A press of the button shifted the wall to my right and revealed the interior side of the mirrored glass. The viewing room.
My heart kicked.
The door to the expression room opened.
Faith entered first, giving her usual clipped nod and practiced calm.
And then Flynn.
His arms were tucked in close, his shoulders tense. I caught the slight puff of his lips as he exhaled, the flicker of curiosity as his gaze roamed the space. I’d taken great care in designing the room for this purpose.
I moved to the glass. He was soft in the way that invited touch.
Flynn stepped closer to it. He raised a hand, brushing his fingertips over the surface on his side, unaware I was inches away. Watching. Waiting. I lifted my hand, palm flattening against the cool surface directly opposite his.
He was right there.
Close enough to touch. Close enough to taste. If the damn wall weren’t between us.
My eyes locked on his chest. Milk had already soaked through one side. Not visible to him yet, but the stain bloomed through the fabric like a secret.
Faith spoke. Flynn nodded. Smiled. That smile—that fucking smile—turned something over in me. He was too sweet. Too trusting. And mine, whether he knew it yet or not.
I watched the way his throat worked when he swallowed. The way his hand drifted almost absently over his pec as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. His body was practically begging to let down.
Faith turned to show him the closet and left.
Good. We were all alone.
Flynn disappeared from view for a moment, and I held my breath.
Then he returned, robe folded in his arms. He laid it gently on the edge of the sofa bed. His expression was thoughtful. A little shy. Like he wasn’t quite sure what he was allowed to feel yet.
I waited, heartbeat heavy in my throat.
Waited for him to bare himself.
To give me the show I’d been craving since the moment he sat in my lap on that train and left me haunted by the scent of milk and need.
Flynn turned his back to the mirror as he undressed. Slow. Careful. Like he did everything with thought, like he’d been trained to be quiet and small. He pulled the T-shirt over his head first, then peeled off the damp compression shirt underneath, revealing the full curve of his back. My eyes dragged lower.
The pants went next.
Fuck.
A stretch of delicate black lace hugged his curvy little ass. Not practical. Not something you wore by mistake. Something you wore because it made you feel something. Pretty. Desirable. Controlled. A strip of elegance stretched across two perfect, perky cheeks, riding high and biting soft at the crease where his thighs began.
I leaned closer to the glass, breath misting it before I stopped myself.
He turned.
My knees nearly buckled.
His pecs were engorged, rounded, and tight with milk, the weight of them shifting slightly with every breath he took. His nipples were distended—long, flushed, thick. Darker than I expected, since he was so fair. Wetter than I was ready for.
My cock throbbed painfully in my pants.
Flynn rubbed his palms over both nipples, slow and instinctual, like his body knew what it needed and wasn’t waiting for permission. His mouth parted, lips pink and trembling with what had to be pain-tinged pleasure. I couldn’t hear him, but I felt it. Every soundless gasp, every ripple of heat moving through him.
Droplets of milk slid down the curve of his chest, catching the low amber light as they trailed over his ribs and down his stomach.
“Don’t put it on,” I whispered, already aching.
But he did.
Flynn picked up the robe and slipped it over his shoulders with a wince. His mouth moved.
No.
I didn’t need to hear it. I saw the word clearly on his lips. A soft, helpless protest. Whether at the robe or the ache or the absurdity of covering himself, it didn’t matter. The result was the same.
He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
And it wasn’t just his chest. It was all of him. Compact but strong. Soft without being fragile. His thighs were plush. His belly slightly rounded, not from weight but from fullness, like his whole body was a vessel of nourishment barely held together by skin.
Flynn walked to the cart.
He selected a bottle. Picked up the pump.
My breath caught.
He wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t disobey. Not after the housekeeper had made it clear—
He shrugged. Set the pump down.
And sat.
His legs spread just enough for balance as he cupped one heavy pec in his hand and positioned the bottle with the other. His face twisted in that familiar strain—pressure, then pain—as he dug his fingers into the firm flesh, thumb circling the nipple.
He squeezed.
Milk squirted straight into the bottle.
I bit down on a groan.
Each motion was small, efficient. After a while, he switched sides, expression shifting with the rhythm of it, first discomfort, then the slow melt of relief. His body sagged with every release. His eyes fluttered. His lips pressed together in concentration.
Two full bottles later, he exhaled and picked up the electric pump.
He set it up—fitting the flanges, adjusting the cords, setting the suction.
But then—
He paused.
Rubbed his pecs, slow and gently, like he was easing the tension before suction. A drop of milk beaded on his fingertip. He brought it to his lips.
And licked it.
I came.
No stroking. No touch. Just a slow, sharp, helpless release that racked my entire body while I stared at the omega on the other side of the glass.
My omega.
He didn’t know it yet.
But soon… he would.
8
FLYNN
Fridays were starting to feel like my favorite day. Maybe it was the routine. Maybe it was the library. Or maybe it was the way I couldn’t stop thinking about Seth.
But today? Today I felt good.
The sun was still high when I stepped into the library, clutching my canvas tote full of finished books. The sliding glass doors whooshed shut behind me, and I inhaled the familiar scent of paper, ink, and the faint pine-and-vanilla fragrance they pumped through the air vents. It used to be musty in here, back when I worked the evening shift, and the heating always broke. But things had improved.
Or maybe I had.
I padded past the new arrivals and made a beeline for the returns desk, where Micah flashed me a smile from behind the counter.
“Flynn?” He blinked. “Is that you?”
“Hey.” I grinned, dropping the tote onto the counter. “It’s good to see you back from your break.” He’d gone on Omega Recovery Leave for a week before he gave birth to a bouncing baby girl. I hadn’t seen him since, but he’d posted photos all over social media. Not that we ever got to see her face. Just chubby arms and legs and a riot of red curls like her alpha daddy.
Micah leaned forward, narrow-shouldered and fresh-faced, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. He looked the same as ever—sweet, soft-spoken. He was probably reading a five-hundred-page hardback under the desk.
“Wow, you look—” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he gave me a slow once-over. “Glowing. What the hell? Last I saw you, you were half-asleep and as big as a whale from that surrogacy.”
I laughed. “I’m getting my figure back.”
He gestured at the bag. “Returns?”
“Yeah, and I’ve got holds to pick up too.”
Micah pulled the tote toward him and scanned the stack of books, raising an eyebrow at the titles. His Twin Tentacles, My Womb. Alien Hatchery Heat. Solar Knights of Omega Sector.
“You’re still reading this stuff, huh?”
I shrugged with zero shame. “The aliens treat omegas like treasure. What’s not to love? The smut is top tier, and an omega can hope.”
Micah snorted. “Like treasure? Don’t they usually forcibly breed the omegas with or without their consent?”
“The omegas like it. They just need a little time to realize it.”
Micah’s jaw dropped, and he shuddered. “Honestly, Flynn, I fear for you. Let’s hope you never get abducted because I have a feeling you’d not even put up a fight.”
“Depends. How hot is the alpha?”
“Hotness level does not make it okay!” The librarian gasped. “The answer is always no means no.”
I grinned. “If it ever happens, I’ll tell you what I decided.”
He slowly shook his head. “Don’t bother. He could fuck you while strangling you to death, and you’d shoot your load anyway.” He scanned a few more, then leaned an elbow on the counter. “Alien smut aside, what have you been up to?”
“I’ve been… living,” I said, a little evasively. “Things changed. I got lucky.”
“Lucky how?”
“I found a job that pays well. Something a bit more flexible.” I took my receipt, which he handed over. “And I guess I’ve been taking better care of myself.”
To be fair, it wasn’t all on me. The couple I was providing breastmilk for insisted on me having a balanced diet to keep my milk supply coming in and at its best. Although I was grateful they allowed me a few cheats during the week. It’d been great. I even had more energy.
Micah narrowed his eyes. “Tell me the truth. You found yourself an alpha, didn’t you?”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re glowing, Flynn. Don’t lie to me.”
I bit my lip. Then smiled. “Not exactly. I mean… not like that.”
Micah leaned in, eyes dancing. “But there is someone.”
I checked my watch.
Shit.
“If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss my train.”
“Oh my god, you’re rushing off to him, aren’t you?”
I rolled my eyes, scooping my books into my bag. “We just talk. That’s all.”
On a train ride. Every Friday.
Micah folded his arms. “Mm-hmm. And that’s why your cheeks go pink every time I mention him?”
I didn’t answer. I waved and rushed toward the exit.
The train station was a ten-minute walk, but I half jogged it, heart picking up in pace like it always did on Fridays. It wasn’t technically a date. We didn’t call it anything. We just happened to be on the same train every Friday evening. For the past month.
Seth.
Big. Quiet. Steady-eyed Seth, who barely spoke more than a few sentences each time but still managed to make me feel heard.
He never flinched when I mentioned milk or if I had a stain on my shirt. He never made me feel gross when I shifted uncomfortably on the train, trying to hide a leak. For some reason, I had letdowns when I was around him. Like inhaling his pheromones triggered a reaction in me.
He didn’t push. Didn’t pry. He just sat there beside me, asking how my day was. Sometimes listening to me ramble about books, even if he didn’t say much in return.
It wasn’t love. I wasn’t delusional.
But it was something.
And whatever it was… I liked it.
As usual, the train was packed at this hour of the day. Not just crowded—packed. Elbow-to-elbow, no-standing-room, sweaty-even-in-fall packed. I exhaled, already bracing myself for another ride spent hunched over some stranger’s gym bag, when I saw him.
Seth.
Broad shoulders. Black coat. Eyes on me.
And he had a seat.
Our eyes met. He nodded once, a small gesture, then stood and stepped aside, motioning toward it.
I approached him. I knew by now not to argue with him.
A bulky alpha in a business suit slid into the seat with a self-satisfied huff.
Seth turned his head slightly.
“That wasn’t for you. Get lost.”
That voice—low, rough, edged with steel. A shiver ran down my spine.
The other alpha looked up. Blanched.
“I didn’t know it was—”
“Move,” Seth said.
The man stood. Fast.
He didn’t make eye contact as he melted into the crowd, and I stared up at Seth, stunned.
He’d always been… calm. Quiet. He had the kind of presence that didn’t demand attention but commanded it anyway. But now, with a few words, he’d reminded me what kind of alpha he had the potential to be.
And something deep inside me responded. My nipples tingled, and I groaned. I wasn’t so out of touch with my body that I didn’t realize I was attracted to him.
Seth gestured again.
“Sit.”
Heat flushed my face as I sank into the seat. Seth stood directly in front of me, holding on to the rail. He was so tall his coat brushed my knees. His thighs bracketed my field of vision. And—
