Page 47 of Nursing the Alpha
But even more than that, I needed him.
I pushed the thought away, curling tighter in on myself.
I hated that Seth’s name still felt like home in my head. Hated that my skin still burned for his hands, his mouth.
God, I was so messed up.
With a low groan, I swung my legs out ofbed. The sheets were damp where I’d leaked through my sleep shirt. Again. I didn’t even bother changing. I padded barefoot across the cold floor, rubbing my eyes with the back of one hand.
I grabbed the pump I’d placed on the nightstand. I no longer could be bothered to go to the kitchen or the bathroom to express. If Seth were here, I wouldn’t have needed to leave the bed at all.
My feet carried me toward the window like they always did at this time of the morning when I needed to get some relief. The city beyond the glass was quiet and still, streaked with pale amber from the streetlights. A thin mist hung low, curling over the pavement like fingers searching for purchase.
I sank into the armchair by the window, pulled my knees up, and tugged my shirt aside. My nipples were taut, the skin hot and aching to be touched.
I placed the pump to my chest. The suction started with a gentle pull, then a deeper one. Milk beaded, then flowed, and I exhaled shakily as some of the pressure ebbed.
But my relief was short-lived.
Because all I could think about was Seth.
The first time he’d nursed from me, his mouth hot and greedy, his hand cradling my chest like it was precious. The low, guttural noises he’d made when my milk hit his tongue.
I bit my lip hard, but it didn’t stop the tears from pricking my eyes.
Did he miss my milk?
The thought made me flinch.
Made me ache.
I gripped the arm of the padded bench with my free hand, knuckles white.
I miss you.The words burned through my chest like acid.I miss you so goddamn much I can’t breathe.
He’d done something unforgivable. Something perverted.
And yet?—
Didn’t people make mistakes? Horrible, earth-shattering mistakes they’d do anything to take back?
Was it really so bad to forgive him if he was truly sorry?
But then… what kind of person did that make me?
I choked on a shaky sob.
Maybe my books had ruined me.
In those stories, the heroes never flinched. They admitted what aroused them. Even when it wasn’t right or consensual.
Wasn’t I just as bad as Seth if a part of me—some dark, hidden part—thrummed with heat at the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at me like I was his whole world?
I shuddered as the pump drew another slow, steady pull from my chest.
“I’m so messed up,” I whispered into the empty room.
I pressed my thighs together.
