Page 17 of Nursing the Alpha
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. Afresh, dewy look, so unlike the flustered omega who’d landed in my lap three weeks ago and scrambled off like I might devour him.
