Page 22 of Milk For The Billionaire's Little

James sat on the floor with his stuffie, who he named Junior, and I sat behind him, gently guiding him into my lap. He fit there perfectly, leaning back against my chest.

“Would you like some milk, Jimmy?” I asked softly, testing out a Little name for him. He said he didn’t have one but that he never really thought about one either. Now he would get to see if he liked it.

He nodded. “Yes, please.”

I unbuttoned my shirt slowly, and once it was, I helped him turn so he was lying across my lap, cradled securely in my arms. He looked up at me, wide-eyed. I stroked his hair back.

“I’ve got you,” I said, and he nodded again, then leaned in and latched onto my nipple, first circling it and then bringing it into his mouth for the first long pull.

The way his body relaxed against mine flooded me with emotions. The first time he’d drank from me, it had been fabulous. But this time, it was on a whole other level. I couldn’t even pinpoint what was different about it, but I wanted to hold onto these emotions with both hands.

I felt the rush of milk respond, and his soft hum of satisfaction. It was everything.

I leaned my head back and started to tell him a story about a hedgehog prince who got lost in a library and had to find his way home by following a trail of glitter stars. I made sure my voice was soft, rhythmic, soothing.

As I spoke, I felt his body sink further into me, the tension draining from his shoulders, the little sighs between swallows. He looked up at me once, milk-drunk and sleepy, and I smoothed my hand over his cheek.

“You’re safe,” I whispered. “I’ve got you. Just rest.”

His eyes fluttered shut again, his suckling slowing. He was full now, and sleepy, and warm.

When he finally slipped into sleep, I held him there, brushing my fingers along his hairline, the rhythm of his breath against my chest slow and steady.

And for the first time in a long time, the mansion didn’t feel too big.

It felt just right.

12

KENNAN

“Are you sure you don’t want me to handle any of this, sir?” Seth had offered for the fifth time this week. He’d been watching me, frazzled, as I tried to get everything organized for James’s birthday.

I wanted it to be special—beyond special—but also, I wanted it to be done by me. I was his Daddy and throwing money wasn’t giving him what he needed.

“I have it under control, Seth,” I said.

I might have been lying. I wasn’t quite sure.

James wasn’t impressed by money, so simply buying him a nice watch, a new car, or anything like that wasn’t going to make him happy—and that was the goal, right? To make him happy.

Instead, I made a list of everything that he enjoyed, everything we enjoyed together in the six months we’d been a couple, and any idea that I could come up with. I’d narrowed it down, but not enough.

So far the only task that was done was redecorating a guest room to become a playroom for us. I had it matching his favorite pajamas, and it was wonderful. Even so, I wasn’t sure how that would go over. We hadn’t really discussed a quote “nursery” for him. But moving the coffee table every time we decided to play in the living room or changing the comforter on the bed when he wanted to be in Little space wasn’t really practical.

So that part was done, but in the back of my mind, it kept nagging at me that the playroom was for both of us. We both enjoyed those kinds of times together. It wasn’t for him. I needed to do better.

“Sir, I assure you I don’t mind helping,” Seth tried again.

“No is a complete answer, Seth.” He meant well, but the man was driving me bonkers.

“I’m getting coffee.” He started to turn on his heel.

“Wait, you’re not offering me coffee?” I was attempting to lighten the mood.

“Sir, with all due respect. You have lost your mind.”

“Nope. I lost my heart… although it’s not really lost, it’s over at the nursing home.”

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