Page 3 of Nursing the Alpha

SETH

T he train smelled like metal, too many bodies, and disappointment.

Again.

I’d been riding this damn line all week. Same time, same train car, hoping to see him again. The omega. The one who’d fallen into my lap like a fever dream and run off smelling like heartbreak and sweet cream.

But no luck.

Just stale air, bad coffee, and the endless rustle of city movement.

I leaned against the partition at the back of the car, arms folded, breathing through my mouth to avoid the worst of the stench. I should’ve given up by now. Told myself it was a one time thing. A mistake. A body brushing mine and nothing more.

Except it wasn’t nothing.

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 haunted me. 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 swelled fast 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 wanted something . 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.

I saw him.

And worse, I smelled him.

Gods .

Even through the suppressants, it filtered in. His milk. Warm, trapped behind damp cotton. He made a discreet movement that no one else would have noticed. I would have missed it except for the way I watched him. He pressed against his left pec as if trying to ease the buildup.

My tongue thickened in my mouth. I imagined peeling off his shirt. Taking the feeding pads away. Pressing my nose to his skin. Licking the salt and sweetness from his nipples.

Would they be flat and shy?

Or swollen and elongated, like the kind I liked? Fat with milk, leaking if I sucked too hard.

Fuck.

I shifted my stance. Too late. My cock twitched once, hard, and then?—

Goddammit .

I came.

Right there.

In my goddamn pants.

Barely a rub. Just the scent of him and the fantasy I hadn’t even let myself touch all week.

My vision swam. I blinked hard and clutched the seat.

The omega was getting closer. There was movement. Someone vacated the seat next to me, and he glanced around, then slid into it.

I held my breath.

He turned, saw me, and smiled.

Fuck.

He was so beautiful.

Like the sunrise peeking through morning mist. His lips tightened in a nervous line for a moment before stretching back into a soft, hesitant smile.

“Hi,” he said.

His voice was soft. Nervous, maybe. But open .

My cock twitched again. Fucking hell.

I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

“You okay?” he asked, eyes dipping slightly toward my lap, then back up. “You look kind of… tense.”

That was generous. I was about to blow another load in my pants.

“I’m good,” I croaked. “Just… long day.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Tell me about it.”

A moment of quiet fell between us. His scent filled the air, thick and laced with something like cinnamon. Maybe his soap. Maybe just him. I wanted to bury my face between his pecs and plump them together, drowning in his scent.

“I’m Flynn, by the way.” He turned a little in his seat. Putting his chest closer. “I think I sort of… fell on you last week. On the train. That was you, right?”

Ah, he remembered. I nodded. “Seth.”

Flynn smiled again, sweet and genuine. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thanks for the coat. That really saved me from a very humiliating walk home.”

So he lived close enough.

“Anytime.”

God, his lips. Soft and plush and pink. The kind of lips you wanted to suck on until they moaned.

“Anyway, I worked that evening at Saint Agatha’s,” he said.

“I’m, well, I was a wet nurse there. Some omegas have problems chest-feeding or, for whatever reason, chest-feeding isn’t possible, and that’s where I step in.

That day I would have worn pads, but I’d just emptied, so didn’t think that would happen so soon.

You were really a lifesaver, and I can’t thank you enough. ”

A wet nurse. Could this get any better? He practically gave away his milk. Milk I would love to taste, fresh from the source. But did that mean he had a baby at home? Was he already taken, then?

“That’s… interesting. Didn’t know there were wet nurses still, given formulas exist.”

“Formulas aren’t necessarily the right choice for everyone, and that’s where I help out.”

“You said you were. Does that mean you’re no longer a wet nurse?”

He groaned, shifting his back as though seeking relief.

“I thought I was done, but it’s so hard.

” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice.

“For some reason, I lactate harder than natural, so my chest is always swollen, and it makes my back hurt. The pills they gave me don’t work either.

They make me throw up—oh shit, am I saying too much? ”

“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t bother me.” I liked how casually he talked about his milk. A little too much for a stranger I met on the subway, but it showed he was comfortable with me.

“Anyway, a friend told me about the Nourish Collective. It’s a privately owned company that hires wet nurses for families. As much as I enjoy the hospital, the pay isn’t that great. I have bills to take care of.”

“So you’re a wet nurse full time?”

Heat rushed into his cheeks, a blush so delicate it made him look even more ethereal. “Yeah, I was a librarian before, but books and wet don’t really go well together. They let me go after the number of times I required to pump.”

Fuck. He produced that much milk? My mouth watered thinking about it.

“What about your…” Maybe it would be insensitive to bring it up? Maybe he lost his baby.

“Oh, my baby?” His smile was bittersweet. “She wasn’t really mine. I helped a friend and his husband to conceive. ”

Fuck, he was practically a saint. “That’s an unselfish thing to do.”

“Well, I wish they hadn’t moved away after I gave birth. That was a shock.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “They were afraid if we stayed in touch, it would keep reminding them that I was the biological omega dad, so when they asked for space, I honored it.”

“Well, that’s a shitty thing to do after what you did for them.”

“I try not to think about it. If it makes them feel better as a family, then I’m happy for them.” He heaved a sigh. “Too bad it’s left me with this problem of pumping often because I overproduce. There are days I feel like a part of the herd.”

“I see,” I responded, trying to keep my voice steady. The image of Flynn attached to a breast pump, his skin flushed with the effort, milk dripping from his nipples in a warm stream, was driving me mad. My cock throbbed again, eager and insistent despite the suppressant.

I wanted to say something real. Something honest. Like You’re the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever smelled. Or You make me want to lose control.

Instead, I kept quiet, worried the wrong thing would slip out. He would run away screaming if I asked him to show me his swollen pecs on a packed train. He stood, tugging his bag close to his chest, his gesture insecure. I motioned for him to get off before me, then followed him onto the platform.

“You heading this way?” He pointed to the left.

I shook my head. “Other way.”

“Oh.” He frowned as if sad about it, but then he smiled and waved. “All right, then. See you around, Seth. You’re so easy to talk to. I hope my rambling about chest-feeding doesn’t put you off your dinner.”

As if.

If anything, his ramblings only opened up my appetite.

“Have a good evening, Flynn.”

He disappeared into the crowd, shirt damp where his feeding pads had failed. Again. The scent of milk lingered behind him like a promise.

I waited until he turned the corner. Then I followed. Quiet, at a distance. I just needed to know. To see where he lived.

A simple walk.

Just a look.

I didn’t mean to stalk him.

He slipped down a quiet side street and stopped in front of a redbrick apartment building with oversized windows that stared blankly at the road.

Potted plants flanked the worn stone steps, struggling to lend some charm to the otherwise unremarkable facade.

He fished out his keys, his movements practiced, and disappeared inside without a backward glance.

I lingered on the sidewalk a moment longer, the air cool against my skin.

I turned and walked away.