Page 50 of Nursing the Alpha
Sitting at his window.
Shirt rumpled. Eyes distant. A pump pressed to his swollen chest.
The sight had hit me so hard I’d had to clutch the brick wall beside me, my knees weak, my cock stirring despite the shame twisting in my gut.
I should have left.
But I hadn’t.
I’d jerked off to the sight of my beloved omega pumping milk.
And now here I was again.
The street was quiet, washed in orange lamplight. A drizzle misted the air, clinging to my hair and jacket as I leaned against the cold brick of the opposite building.
His window glowed softly across the street. Curtains open. Light spilling out like an invitation.
I was hard already.
Pathetic.
But when Flynn appeared, barefoot and tousled in his oversized sleep shirt, my chest squeezed so tight it hurt.
God, he was beautiful.
Even with the dark smudges under his eyes. Even with the slumped shoulders that spoke of too many sleepless nights.
Especially like this.
Vulnerable. Alone.
Mine.
My fingers twitched in my pockets as I watched him settle into the armchair by the window. His movements were slow, hesitant, like he didn’t even know why he was drawn there.
He tugged his shirt aside.
My breath caught.
Even from here, I noticed the sheen of milk on his skin, the heavy fullness of his pecs.
And his scent.
Sweet. Warm. Rich.
It hit me like a punch to the gut, and I had to press my head to the rough brick behind me, swallowing hard. My cock throbbed in my jeans, the ache almost painful.
I shouldn’t be here.
Before I could stop myself, I sent the text.
Me:
You look so beautiful tonight.
What harm could it do? I’d already lost him.
He left the window, and I held my breath. I’d just outed myself. These little glimpses of him were my only joy. Now I would lose those too.
