Page 5 of Nursing the Alpha

SETH

F lynn was nothing if not consistent.

Like clockwork, his door eased open on a whisper of hinges. He stepped out onto the quiet street, tugging his sweatshirt down over his hips, the morning chill turning his breath to fog.

I watched from the shadowed edge of a side street as he stretched, one arm across his chest, then the other, the faintest wince tugging at his mouth as his pecs shifted under the fabric.

I bet his beautiful tits were flat this time of the morning.

A week ago, standing across the street, staring at his apartment window, I’d watched Flynn, hair mussed from sleep, sitting at the window in nothing but boxers. Pump attached to his chest. His expression soft, almost serene, as milk dribbled steadily into the bottle.

It hadn’t been for me, but my body had reacted all the same.

For the first time in my life, I’d masturbated in public, jacked myself off like a horny teenager who just discovered how good his penis could make him feel.

Now I practically felt the weight that wasn’t there, the tender fullness he’d drained before heading out, and it made something primal stir low in my belly. I wanted to be the one to drain him of his milk. Not some lifeless pump.

Flynn started running.

I followed.

Not close enough for him to notice but enough to match his pace, every step measured, silent on the wet pavement.

The world was hushed this early. Hardly any cars, no chatter, only the steady thud of Flynn’s sneakers against the sidewalk and the faint jingle of his house key in his pocket.

Even from here, I caught the small details.

The way his curls bounced with each stride. How his breath misted the air in sharp, shallow bursts, sweetened by the citrus shampoo he favored. The faint curve of his ass in those fitted jogging pants, flexing with each push off the pavement.

Every movement was burned into me.

I knew the route he’d take. He always did the same loop through the park before heading home. I knew how his pace would falter on the uphill, his chest heaving harder, sweat darkening the fabric between his shoulder blades.

I’d watched enough times to know.

And still, I never tired of seeing him.

Flynn moved like he had no idea how visible he was. No idea how the early light caught on his flushed cheeks, how the faint sheen of sweat made him glow.

How easy it would be for someone bigger, faster, to catch him.

Someone like me. How much fight would he put up?

A small sound left my throat—half groan, half growl— and I swallowed it down hard, clenching my fists in my pockets.

He turned into the park just as I knew he would, his pace steady but slower now, his breath coming harder. The trail curved, leading to a stretch of narrow woods where the morning sun barely filtered through the branches.

This part was always quiet. Too quiet.

Didn’t he know omegas like him shouldn’t be taking this path alone? Or did he secretly take it, hoping that he would meet someone one day?

I followed, steps soundless on the damp leaves, every nerve strung tight.

Flynn’s jog slowed further until he stopped altogether, hands braced on his knees as he bent forward to catch his breath. His curls clung damply to his forehead, his chest rising and falling fast.

God, he was beautiful like this. Flushed. Vulnerable. Alone.

And completely unaware of me.

Not for long.

I wet my lips, already planning it. A sound. Just loud enough to carry in the stillness. Low. Animal. Like something from deep in the woods.

Would he freeze?

Would he call out, trying to sound braver than he felt?

Would his breath hitch the way it did when I stood too close on the train, like fear and something sweeter tangled together in his chest?

I wanted to know.

I ducked into the woods, behind a thick trunk where I could still observe him. And I did it.

A low, deliberate sound rumbled from my throat. Half growl, half sigh. Just loud enough to prick at his instincts .

Flynn froze midstretch.

He jerked his head up, curls sticking damply to his flushed forehead, his wide eyes scanning the treeline.

“Hello?” His voice wavered, small in the thick morning air. “Who’s there?”

He straightened fully, brushing the phone in his pocket like he was reminding himself it was there.

The edge in his voice sent a bolt of heat straight to my cock.

That slight fear. That uncertainty.

I clenched my fist as my mind spiraled fast and filthy.

What would he do if I stepped out of the trees right now? If I grabbed him, dragged him into the brush before he could scream?

Would he fight? Cry? Or would his soft little omega body betray him, slicking up, clenching around my cock like he was made to be dominated by an alpha?

Like those human boys in his alien books, taken to strange ships in the dead of night. Fucked within an inch of their lives until they forgot their own names.

I knew about the books.

Out of curiosity, I’d bought one myself to see what he was into. I’d thought I was prepared for filth.

I wasn’t.

Page after page of huge, ruthless aliens breaking a tiny omega open. Slick dripping from ruined holes, as they were knotted, bred, filled over and over until they were sobbing for more.

In the one I’d got, a title I’d glimpsed from Flynn’s bag, the pint-sized omega had to service a horde of aliens on a ship, which he protested at first. By the end of the book, he was dripping from loads pumped inside him in just a couple of hours and still begging for more like the omega slut he was.

Was it just reader interest?

Or was that what Flynn wanted?

To be abducted. Owned. Used. Forced to spread his legs without a say in the matter while some alpha pumped him full of his seed.

My cock throbbed painfully in my jeans.

I couldn’t picture my little, innocent omega like that. He seemed so sweet.

Flynn’s voice broke the quiet again.

“Hello?” Louder this time, a sharp edge creeping in. “If someone’s there, you’re not funny.”

Oh, baby.

I’m not trying to be funny.

Flynn stood frozen for a moment longer, his chest rising and falling in sharp little pants, his wide eyes scanning the woods.

Then he turned.

His pace was at first quick. Then faster.

By the time he hit the main path, he was running again, not that measured jog from earlier but something more frantic, his arms pumping harder, his breath ragged.

Good boy.

The sight of him retreating—tight ass flexing in those jogging pants, curls bouncing wildly—sent a shiver through me. My cock ached against the zipper of my jeans.

For a split second, I imagined chasing him. Taking those long strides, catching him by the waistband, dragging him off the path where no one could hear his cries. I could feed from him all I wanted.

Would his scent change? Go sharp with fear? Or sweet with heat as his body betrayed him ?

But I stayed in the shadows.

He didn’t look back until he was almost at his street.

Even then, he only turned his head slightly, like he didn’t want to see someone there. Like he was forcing himself not to confirm the weight of eyes on him.

I followed, careful, slow, matching his speed without ever closing the gap.

When he finally disappeared inside his apartment, I let out a long breath.

He was safe.

I adjusted myself through my jeans, wincing at the insistent ache between my legs. My little omega had no idea how close he’d come to being claimed right there in the woods.

Fuck. I’d been reckless. I dug into the pocket of my shorts and took out my suppressant. With two puffs, the adrenaline ebbed away.

Flynn was innocent. I couldn’t be reckless with something—someone—so delicate. I had other means of getting his milk.

With a low sigh, I turned back down the street.

Time to go home. Shower. Get ready for work. Pretend I wasn’t hard as a fucking rock over the memory of Flynn’s voice trembling as he’d called out “Who’s there?”