Page 18 of Nursing the Alpha
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. Andmine, 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 wasthoughtful. 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.
