Page 60 of Nursing the Alpha
Could Flynn mean?—
19
SETH
At this hour, the street was silent, except for the occasional hiss of tires on wet pavement. Five days.
Five nights of no light in the window. No glimpse of soft skin. No milk left on the mat outside his door.
Flynn had vanished behind those walls, and I was losing my mind.
I stared down at my phone again. The last text from him taunted me:
Flynn:
I’m going to bed.
That was four hours ago. Was he really sleeping? Or was he snuggled up inside, smirking at the thought of me out here in the cold, starving for him? My sweet little omega was proving to be not so sweet after all. It should have turned me off. But it only made me want him more, and not just his milk. Him.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and scrubbed a hand down my face.
I should have gone home. I should have respected his silence.
But respect was something I’d burned through a long time ago.
I was too far gone for it now.
Before I could second-guess it, I crossed the street, boots silent on wet concrete. I pressed down the cool metal handle of the lobby door and slipped inside.
Detergent and stale air greeted me, but under it all was something sweeter, something I would have known anywhere.
Flynn.
He wasn’t the only lactating omega I came in touch with, but his scent was unique. I could pick him out of a room of omegas leaking through their shirts.
I inhaled deeply, my pulse slamming in my throat, and climbed the stairs.
Each step was a drumbeat.
Each breath louder than the last.
My conscience screamed at me to turn back, to leave him in peace.
A door between us has never stopped you from getting my milk.
He’d sent that to me, knowing exactly what it would do.
He knew the kind of man I was.
And he wanted me anyway.
Didn’t he?
By the time I reached his floor, my hands were shaking. Not from fear but from the effort of holding myself together.
There was no bottle on the mat tonight. No small glass offering left for me like a lifeline.
He’d left me dry.
