Milky First Time With The Bodyguard (Milky First Times #1)

Chapter One

Jason:

The stage lights catch the sweat on Summer’s collarbones as she moves, her voice soaring over the thousands singing along with her. Twenty-one years old, and she already owns the world. Every sway of her hips, every flip of that long brown hair, the crowd eats it up like it’s their last meal.

And me? I’m watching from the wings, hands clenched at my sides, trying to ignore the familiar ache in my gut.

Two months I’ve been her bodyguard. Sixty-one days of pure torture.

Every morning I watch her yawn and stretch in that tiny bunk on the tour bus, all soft and unguarded before she puts on her pop star armor.

Every night I stand here, watching her command the adoration of thousands while I’m stuck in the shadows.

I’m forty years old. Old enough to be her father. But every cell in my body screams that she’s mine. That she should be mine.

Then I see it. A ripple in the crowd near the front barrier.

My training kicks in before the rest of my brain even processes it.

My eyes scan, spotting the problem immediately.

The security barrier buckles. A section collapses.

And then they’re pouring through. A wave of humanity surging toward the stage.

The venue security tries to hold them back, but it’s like trying to stop a tidal wave with their bare hands. I’m already moving, my long legs eating up the distance. My focus narrows to Summer. She’s mid-song, eyes closed, lost in the music. She hasn’t seen it yet.

“Summer!” I roar, but the music swallows my warning.

A guy makes it onto the stage. Wild-eyed, probably high out of his mind. He lunges for her.

That’s when Summer sees him. Her face goes pale, her music cutting off with a choked gasp. She freezes. A deer in headlights with thousands of predators closing in.

I reach her a split second before the fan does. My fist connects with the guy’s jaw before he can lay a finger on her. He crumples to the stage like a rag doll. No hesitation. No thought. Just pure instinct.

Summer is still frozen, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. There’s no time for gentleness. I throw her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, one hand gripping the back of her thighs to steady her. Her small body curves against mine, a perfect fit.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” I grunt, already moving toward the backstage exit.

I ignore the chaos erupting around us. The screams, the other security guards rushing the stage, the band members scrambling away. None of it matters. All that matters is the woman slung over my shoulder, the scent of her perfume filling my senses.

The back exit is clear. Thank God for small miracles.

My black sedan is parked right where I left it, dark and inconspicuous.

I open the passenger door and carefully set Summer down on the seat.

Her hands are shaking as she fumbles with the seatbelt.

I brush them aside and click it into place myself, my knuckles brushing against the soft skin of her stomach.

She’s trembling, small sniffles escaping her lips. Her stage makeup is running, leaving black streaks down her cheeks. I start the engine, peeling away from the venue before anyone even realizes we’re gone. For a few blocks, the only sounds are the engine and her quiet sobs.

I reach over, placing my hand on her thigh. Her skin is warm, even through the fabric of her costume - a pink crop top and skin-tight black pants. “You’re safe now, Summer,” I say, my voice rough. “I won’t let anyone lay a finger on you.”

My thumb strokes her skin, a small touch of reassurance. But fuck, it’s hard to keep my head clear when I can feel the heat of her through my palm.

That’s when I hear it. A fresh wave of sobs, this one different. “Of course this would happen now,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

I glance over at her, and that’s when I notice it. Dark patches forming on the front of her top, right over her nipples. Growing larger by the second.

My breath catches in my throat. My mind races.

A thousand thoughts collide in my head at once.

All those doctor visits recently where I’ve had to sit outside and wait.

The way she’s been more careful with her wardrobe lately.

The way she sometimes presses her arms against her chest when she thinks no one is looking.

Oh, fuck.

She realizes I’ve noticed. A choked gasp escapes her as she frantically tries to cover herself with her arms, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. The embarrassment rolls off her in waves.

Blood rushes south, my cock thickening instantly in my slacks.

My obsession with her has always been intense, but lately it’s taken a darker turn.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about putting a baby in her.

About seeing her belly swell with my child.

And those fantasies have led to others. Ones where I’m the one nursing from her full breasts after our baby is done.

But she’s lactating. Now. The knowledge hits me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My cock pulses against my zipper, demanding attention. A growl builds in my chest, one I have to swallow down.

Now is not the time.

“We’re almost at the hotel,” I manage, my voice strained. “Just hold on.”

She’s still trying to hide herself, but it’s useless.

The wet patches are spreading, dark against the bright pink fabric.

My mind is a whirlwind of images. Summer, pregnant with my child.

Summer, in my bed, her breasts heavy with milk.

Summer, feeding me from her body like I’m starving and only she can satisfy the hunger.

Fuck.

I pull up to the hotel’s private entrance, flashing my credentials at the doorman. He nods, waving us through into the underground garage. I find a secluded spot and kill the engine, the silence suddenly heavy.

She’s still crying, quietly now, her shoulders shaking. “Why now?” she whispers, more to herself than to me. I strip off my suit jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

“Here,” I say, my voice gruff. “Put this on. Cover yourself.”

She shrugs it on, the jacket swallowing her small frame. It’s almost long enough to be a dress on her. The sight of her in my clothes does something to me. Possessiveness flares in my chest, hot and sharp. She looks like she belongs to me.

“Come on,” I say, getting out of the car. I round to her side and open the door, offering her my hand. She takes it, her small fingers trembling in mine. “Let’s get you inside, sweetheart.”