Page 5 of Nursing the Alpha
Except itwasn’tnothing.
The moment he landed on me, warm, trembling, soft, I’d caught it.His scent.It had curled around me, hit me low and sharp, buried itself under my skin. That scent had hauntedme. Sweet, like sugar steeped in cream. Rich and ripe. Not perfume. Not soap.
Milk.
Omega milk.
Not just any omega milk.
His.
With a honeyed sweetness I’d never gotten from other omegas. It seeped into my senses, noticeable despite the grunge and grind of the city swaddling us. In all my years as an alpha, never had I anchored myself so firmly to one scent.
The conductors knew me by now. A nod in respect, a cocked eyebrow as if questioning my sanity. Perhaps they were right to question it. After all, I was practically stalking a phantom, a tantalizing ghost whose presence seemed as fleeting as his scent.
Until I smelled him.
Not in the car.
Not even on the platform.
Before I saw him… I smelled him.
A soft breeze wafted in through the tunnel’s air pressure, and the scent hit me like a punch to the gut. I staggered slightly, clutching the edge of the seat beside me.
Thick. Sweet. Creamy.
Milk. Omega.
Him.
The omega with skin as fair as snow and lips the color of freshly picked strawberries. Eyes shaped like a soft tilt of almond, their color deep as emeralds.
He was here, somewhere. Close. The scent was strong. Almost cloying. Yet I couldn’t locate him visually. My heart pounded, drumming a frenzied rhythm in my ears.
My body reacted before I could think. My cock swelledfast and urgent against my jeans. I gritted my teeth, nostrils flaring as I sucked in more of it. The scent wasn’t just familiar. It was fresh. Strong. Ripe with something new underneath.
Arousal.
Or desperation.
No, not quite. But his body wantedsomething. And mine?—
Mine wanted him.
I dug into my coat pocket and pulled out my inhaler. Not for asthma. Suppressant dose. Fast-acting. Discreet. The kind they gave alphas who didn’t trust themselves. Or alphas who had powerful ruts like mine, clawing under the surface. A primal force, barely held in check.
I pressed the nozzle twice into the back of my throat, swallowed hard. The edge dulled, but not enough. My cock still throbbed, aching in its denim prison.
The train doors opened with a groan.
I picked him out instantly. He was shorter than I remembered. Petite. Blue T-shirt, dark jeans. He looked soft. Tired. He was wearing feeding pads this time. Smart. Responsible. But they were already working overtime. Through the T-shirt, the light curve was visible, the faint roundness of his pecs where the pads swelled to contain the leak.
He stepped onto the train, head down, clutching a canvas tote. I caught a flash of his profile—sweet mouth, flushed cheeks. He shuffled into the carriage, blending effortlessly among the mundane Friday evening crowd.
He didn’t see me.
That didn’t matter.
