Page 9 of Milk For The Billionaire’s Little (The Lactin Brotherhood #20)
KENNAN
James stood on his toes and pressed a kiss to my cheek. A quick brush of lips, light and adorable. It startled me, not because I hadn’t wanted it, but because of how much I had .
“I’m glad you are,” he whispered.
I nodded, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at me the way he just had, not with recognition, not with ambition, but with warmth. With want.
He fussed with Rosco’s food and water while I stood in the center of his tiny apartment with the fancy box still in my hand, unsure what to do with myself.
The place was cluttered in the way of someone who was always on the go but still took care of what mattered.
The hedgehog. The cartoon mug on the counter.
The blanket thrown just so on the couch.
Everything about James screamed real. This wasn’t a display piece, the way my home had become. It was his safe space.
I gave him his mask, one that complimented my own, and instead of saying thank you, he threw his arms around me and said, “Just like Daddy’s.”
It was difficult not to read too much into those three words, especially when I loved hearing them.
But James was quick to say things he felt when he was most comfortable, and this felt like one of those moments.
I refused to do anything that might embarrass him or make him start second-guessing everything he said to me in the future.
Instead, I tucked those three words away like the gift they were.
When he was ready, we walked down together. The car was waiting out front.
His eyes went wide. “I saw this car… that first day at the motel. It’s your car?”
I nodded. “One of them.”
“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” He chuckled.
“Not usually.” And definitely not with him. There was something about him that tugged at every Daddy instinct I had. I’d be a fool to let him go without giving us a real chance.
His mask was tucked under his arm, and I saw him running his thumb along the edge like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.
I wanted to say something reassuring, but we were already sliding into the back seat, and the driver was pulling into traffic.
I didn’t mind speaking freely around my staff.
I trusted them all completely or they wouldn’t be on my payroll.
But it would be ridiculous to expect James to feel the same already.
As we approached our destination, I put my mask on and then helped him with his.
This man was something to treasure. He was a man who didn’t know who I was when I’d walked into his home. Who’d let me meet his pet. Who’d kissed my cheek like I was a person, not a name on a list.
This was dangerous. I knew it. I just didn’t know how to stop. No. That wasn’t it. I refused to stop it.
The ball was held at the City River Hotel—a place known for its velvet staircases, gilded doorframes, and champagne that cost more than most people’s rent.
I hated events like this. I always had. The weight of expectation was suffocating.
But tonight, with James at my side, it didn’t feel like pressure.
It felt like possibility.
Inside, everything glowed. The lights were low and golden, casting the whole room in an amber haze. Seth was getting far more than a vacation for setting this up. He took a stuffy hotel and somehow made it magical.
James stood just inside the entrance, taking it all in. I reached for his hand and felt his fingers twitch with nerves before relaxing into mine.
“You okay with people seeing us?” he asked.
“More than.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “Are you?”
He nodded but didn’t speak.
“We can leave whenever you want,” I added. “Or fake a call and pretend it’s an emergency.”
“Tempting,” he murmured. “But I’ll be okay with you by my side.”
My heart soared at the trust he was affording me.
I led him onto the floor, not straight to the dance floor, but along the outer edges where conversation was quieter. People nodded in my direction, not completely sure it was me, thanks to my mask. Their eyes were on me and on my hand joined with his. I got more than a few approving nods.
Good. I personally didn’t care about their approval, but this was James’s first time at such an event and I wanted it for him. He deserved a night where he didn’t have to explain who he was or what he wanted. Where he could just be.
We took flutes of champagne, and I steered us toward one of the quieter balconies for a few minutes to breathe. But James leaned in, his shoulder brushing mine.
“You want to dance?” he asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward the floor.
I blinked. “With everyone watching?”
He gave a half-smile. “Isn’t that the point of a masquerade? Not to care who’s watching?”
He had a point.
We returned to the ballroom, and I held out my hand in invitation to dance as we reached the dance floor. He took it without hesitation, just as the music shifted into a slow waltz.
It started simply enough, hands, steps, rhythm. I could feel him figuring it out in real time. He wasn’t bad, not at all. I half wondered if they did fun dance nights at the nursing home he ran. I knew they did bingo. All of them did.
He let me lead, but not because he didn’t know how—because he wanted to.
Around us, couples swirled. Masks flashed. Dresses twirled. And still, the world shrank to just us.
“Is this your thing?” he asked softly. “Fancy parties and secret dances?”
“It used to be,” I said. “Now I mostly show up because people expect me to.”
“Do you like it?”
“I like this. ” My eyes held his. “Dancing with you.”
He flushed, a slow pink blooming across his cheeks. “Smooth.”
“I’ve had practice.”
“You’re not so different from me, you know,” he said, his voice dropping lower as we turned.
I arched a brow. “No?”
“No. You think I’m some sort of innocent, wide-eyed Little, and maybe I am sometimes, but you, you’re just as careful. Just as good at hiding.”
“Maybe we’re both better at showing up when we’re behind masks.”
He didn’t answer. Just leaned his cheek against mine briefly as the music swelled. I caught a whiff of his shampoo, all minty.
The song ended. Another began, slower this time. I didn’t let go of him. He didn’t pull away. We didn’t talk. Just moved to the music, our bodies close.
Halfway through the second dance, I tilted my head and caught him looking at me. Not just looking , watching. Like he was memorizing the moment.
And when I leaned in, so did he. Our lips met… soft, tentative, and perfect.
His breath caught, and I felt it against my mouth.
“I’ve been wanting to do that,” I murmured.
“Me too,” he whispered back.
We finished the song in silence, our bodies still close, foreheads brushing.
When the music ended, James rested his head briefly against my shoulder before stepping back.
“So now what?” he asked.
I smiled. “Now we eat too many tiny desserts and sneak off early.”
“And you keep your mask on the whole time?” There was more to that question than a simple choice of attire. He was wanting to know if I was going to let him in. And I was. But this wasn’t the place for that conversation. So instead, I answered it at face value… sort of
“That depends on whether you want to kiss me again without it.”
He flushed again but didn’t look away. “You know I do.”
“Then I’ll make it worth it.”
We wandered the ballroom for another hour, sipping drinks, laughing quietly at poorly told jokes, and pretending we weren’t slowly migrating toward the exit with each encounter.
When we passed by the dessert table, James grabbed a tiny tart and grinned at me like he’d just gotten away with something.
I couldn’t wait to see him in full on Little mode.
Outside, the night was cool and soft. He tugged off his mask, eyes bright and bold in the moonlight. “Now you.”
I pulled mine free and let it dangle at my side.
James stared at me like he was still seeing something new, even after seeing me this way earlier.
“You’re kind of a sap, you know,” he said.
I chuckled. “You brought out the worst in me.”
“The best,” he corrected. “Definitely the best.”
And just before we climbed into the waiting car, I leaned in and kissed him again. No music. No audience. Just us.
Unmasked. Unhidden.
Real.
A Daddy and his boy. At least, if I had anything to say about it.