Page 10 of Nursing the Alpha

FLYNN

“ H ey. You haven’t fallen asleep, have you?”

The cab driver’s voice snapped me out of my head. I blinked, startled, then fumbled for the door handle. “Sorry. Sorry. Long day.”

“Yeah, well, some of us have places to be.”

I muttered another apology and climbed out onto the curb, heart still thudding. Not from the cabbie’s annoyance but from everything else swarming in my head.

Had I imagined it?

That moment earlier, lying on the sofa bed at work, on the verge of waking up. That shape hanging over me and the strange, thick warmth that had pooled in my gut. I remembered the impression of a mouth, soft lips. Suction. Wet heat over my nipple. A deep, aching sense of need.

But it couldn’t have been real… right?

It was a figment of my imagination. My body reminding me that it had been almost two years since I’d slept with anyone.

Each heat I’d gone through with the help of suppressants.

Still, the longer I thought about it, the more my skin prickled.

There was something off about my employer’s house. About the job, really.

No baby, no toys, no sounds.

Nothing but an oddly private room and instructions to express by hand. No one had ever asked me to do that before. It was too specific. Too personal.

I’d never run into the owners of the house either.

And now this.

I sucked in a breath, staring at the restaurant in front of me.

It was too much. The building stood like a beacon of luxury on an otherwise quiet street.

Muted gray stone, curved glass windows, soft golden lighting spilling onto the pavement like a red carpet.

The valet out front was dressed in a full suit. So was the couple he’d just greeted.

I looked down at myself.

Black slacks, fitted button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearm. Polished boots. No nursing pads tonight. I’d made sure to express right before leaving so I wouldn’t have to deal with leaking. I wanted to feel sexy, not like I was still stuck in postpartum life from over a year ago.

I took a breath.

I could do this.

It’s just dinner.

I pushed through the doors.

The air inside was softly chilled, perfumed with something earthy and subtle, and I was hit by the quiet hum of money.

Not noise.

Not clutter.

Money.

Muted jazz played from hidden speakers. Polished marble floors gleamed under soft lighting.

Tables were spaced generously apart, each one draped in pale linen and dressed with a single flickering candle.

The chairs were real wood, not padded banquettes.

A sculptural chandelier dangled overhead, hanging like a ring of stars.

It was the kind of place you reserved months in advance for anniversaries or proposals.

I swallowed and approached the reception desk.

A hostess with a sleek updo and a blazer smiled.

“Hello, welcome to Opuz. May I have your name, please?”

“Flynn. Flynn Peterson.”

Her gaze flicked to her tablet, then brightened. “Of course. Right this way. Your party is already here.”

I followed her, trying not to gape too hard. Waiters glided across the floor like dancers, never bumping into one another, trays held high with plates that looked like edible art. The clientele was just as curated. Suits, evening dresses, nothing casual in sight.

Who even gets into places like this?

My heart made a giant leap.

Seth.

Seated near the back in a small, intimate booth tucked beneath a row of vertical garden lights. As soon as he spotted me, he stood, tall and cut from shadow. Black shirt rolled at the sleeves, tailored slacks, collar unbuttoned at the throat just enough to hint at skin.

My stomach flipped.

He looked good.

Too good.

And for the first time, I got the creeping sense that there was more to him than he let on. Something about the way the staff nodded at him, the way the hostess gave him a different kind of smile—deferential. Like they knew who he was .

Like he belonged here.

Seth stepped forward and pulled out my chair. “Flynn, you look amazing. I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, sitting down and trying not to look uncomfortable at the opulence. “Why do you think I would bail on you? I promised you I’d come.”

“Well, you know. Things happen.”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” I smiled shyly.

He let out a relieved breath. “Good. After we separated, I couldn’t help wondering if I’d pushed too much.”

“You didn’t. I’m glad you asked me out. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to be the one to ask, but I’ve thought about it.”

“Really?” His eyes softened, the corners crinkling slightly as he flashed a warm smile. “That’s good to know.”

A waiter appeared at our side. His uniform was crisp and immaculate, and he presented the menu with an air of elaborate ceremony. After explaining the chef’s specials in a well-practiced monologue, he left us alone to consider our choices.

The menu was full of fancy dishes I couldn’t even pronounce. The simple act of ordering suddenly felt intimidating.

Seth seemed oblivious to my discomfort and chatted amiably about his evening, then asked about mine. I tried my best to concentrate on his words, to keep my eyes from wandering across the room.

“Hmm…” Seth put down his menu. “You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just…” I bit my lip. “This place is different from where I normally eat.”

“And what do you normally eat?” Seth prodded gently .

“I’m not that good a cook, so simple meals until recently.”

“What changed recently?”

“The people I work for want me to eat healthy, so they provide meals.”

“Do you find that controlling?”

“I would have, but they’re thoughtful too and ensure I have some options just for pleasure.”

“If this place makes you uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else.”

“Oh no.” Did he think I was complaining? I’d said too much. “This is more than fine. It looks great. How did you get in?”

“My team is responsible for the security features. I can get a table whenever I want.”

“You’re in security?” He’d never really talked about himself. Hell, most of the time, he allowed me to ramble, and when I was around him, I lost my filter.

“Yes. I started out doing personal security. As a bodyguard.”

“No way. Have you been a bodyguard for anyone famous?”

Seth grinned. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

I laughed, easing into my seat more. “Classic alpha line.”

He gave a mock bow from across the table. “Guilty as charged.”

By the time we ordered—him, a perfectly cooked steak with some kind of smoked root vegetable mash; me, a delicate pasta with seared scallops and saffron cream—I’d forgotten, almost completely, about my weird day. About the lingering thought that something wasn’t quite right.

Talking with Seth was… easy. Warm. He didn’t interrupt me when I rambled, didn’t look away when I tripped over my stories or circled back three times to make a point.

He actually listened.

Not in that fake, nod-and-smile kind of way either. His eyes stayed on mine, soft with attention, even when I got excited describing the sci-fi romance series I’d just finished reading.

“Wait.” He halted his wine glass inches from his lips. “Alien princes with knotting dicks and biological mating collars?”

I flushed, half laughing. “Hey, don’t judge me. You asked what I’ve been reading.”

“I’m not judging,” he said, smile lazy and slow. “I’m impressed. I’ve never seen someone so passionate about alien smut.”

“It’s well-written smut.” I pointed a fork at him. “There’s world-building. There’s lore.”

“There’s definitely something being built.”

I snorted, nearly choking on my scallop.

This was nice.

The restaurant faded. The nerves faded. It felt like we were in our own little bubble, like we’d known each other longer than a few train rides and friendly smiles. Seth leaned in, his voice low and a little rough around the edges, as he continued to tease me into endless laughter.

Until he abruptly stopped talking.

I blinked. His gaze had shifted, his smile faltering.

“What is it?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, and I followed the direction of his eyes. Down.

My stomach dropped.

A wet spot had formed on my shirt. Small but still damp and obvious .

Shit.

I felt the color drain from my face. The last time this happened, my date had been disgusted. I’d been so comfortable with Seth I’d been drinking too much. Until then, I hadn’t been aware of the soreness in my pecs and the tingling in my nipples that indicated my ducts were swelling.

I slapped a hand over my chest. “I-I’m sorry. I thought I expressed enough before I came. I?—”

“Flynn—” Seth reached for me, but I pushed back my chair.

“I need to use the restroom,” I muttered.

I didn’t wait for his response. I ducked between tables, heart hammering, cheeks burning, hand clenched against my shirt like I could will the milk back into my body.

God. Of course. On tonight of all nights.

I should have worn the nursing pads. Vanity was a bitch.

The restroom was dim and luxurious, all dark tile and gold fixtures. I shoved open the door to the nearest stall and leaned against it.

I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the nursing pads I’d stuffed in there as backup. My hands were shaking. I unbuttoned my shirt, hissing as the cool air hit my chest, and pressed the pads against my already aching nipples.

Warmth bloomed almost instantly.

Too much.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered, eyes widening as milk leaked into the fabric. It was soaking fast, far too fast, and I didn’t have another set on me.

Why did I leak so much when I was around Seth? Was it his pheromones?

I leaned against the door, chest heaving, frustration and embarrassment thick in my throat. The evening had been going so well. Until it wasn’t.