Milky First Time With The Nightclub Owner (Milky First Times #3)

Chapter One

Maya:

The bass thumps through the floorboards, a relentless heartbeat that syncs with my own uneasy pulse. “Are you sure about this dress, Alison?” I ask, pulling at the hem of the short black fabric that barely covers my thighs. “It feels... short.”

Alison grins, her red lipstick bright in the neon glow of the club.

“It’s perfect, Maya. You look amazing. Now come on, let’s get drinks.

” She grabs my hand and pulls me through the throng of bodies, a sea of strangers writhing under strobing lights.

The air is thick with the scent of sweat and expensive perfume, and it makes my nose wrinkle with distaste.

I manage a smile as we reach the bar, the polished wood cool against my clammy palms. The bartender, a guy with intricate tattoos snaking up his arms, nods at us. “What can I get you?”

“Two colas, please,” Alison says, flashing him a smile. She leans closer to me as he turns to grab glasses. “Loosen up! We’re supposed to be having fun.”

I nod, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

I love Alison, I truly do, but this... this is her element, not mine.

I’m the girl who prefers quiet nights with a book and a cup of tea, not deafening music and crowds of people I don’t know.

I agreed to come because she’s been stressed lately and needed a night out, and I didn’t want to let her down.

But now that I’m here, every fiber of my being screams that I would be so much happier at home.

We’ve barely got our drinks when a guy sidles up to Alison.

He’s tall, with a smile that’s probably meant to be charming but comes across as a little too slick.

He leans in close, speaking directly into her ear to be heard over the music.

I watch as Alison’s expression shifts from polite interest to genuine amusement, a flush rising on her cheeks.

“I’m going to dance,” she mouths to me a moment later, grabbing the guy’s hand without waiting for a response.

And just like that, I’m alone, and mild irritation prickles at me, but I can’t stay mad.

Alison deserves her fun. I take a sip of my cola, the bubbles fizzing against my tongue, and start wandering, clutching the cold glass like a shield.

I weave through the clusters of people until I find a small alcove near the back where I can lean against the wall and watch the chaos from a distance.

My eyes scan the dance floor, and it doesn’t take long to spot them. Alison and her new friend are locked in an embrace, bodies pressed close, mouths fused together in a kiss that looks hungry and urgent. A pang of something I refuse to name as jealousy shoots through me, and I quickly look away.

My mind, unbidden, drifts to Jack. Alison’s much, much older brother. Thirty-five to my twenty-one. He owns this place, and my eyes lift instinctively to scan the catwalks above the dance floor, looking for him, but I see only shadowy shapes of people walking around.

The thought of kissing Jack in the middle of all this chaos, of him pulling me close the way that guy pulled Alison, sends a rush of heat through me.

I wonder what it would feel like to have those muscular arms around me, to be completely enveloped by a man so much bigger than me. He would feel so solid, so real.

My thoughts spiral, getting dirtier with every beat of the music. I imagine him backing me up against this very wall, his body pinning mine, his blue eyes dark with his need for me. I imagine him touching me, his rough hands exploring my curves, cupping my breasts...

A familiar ache begins in my chest, a secret shame that has plagued me for months.

My breasts feel heavy, fuller than usual, and I cross my arms over them instinctively.

The doctor called it a “hormonal imbalance,” a condition causing me to lactate despite never having been pregnant.

It’s humiliating, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s a permanent roadblock to any kind of intimacy.

No man will want this. Jack won’t want me. He’ll think I’m a freak.

He’ll never look at me that way anyway. I’m just Maya, Alison’s quiet little friend. The annoying girl who used to trail after them when we were kids. He probably still sees me that way.

“Hey,” a voice cuts through my miserable thoughts, close to my ear. “You here all alone?”

I flinch and turn. A man I don’t know is standing there, a little too close. He’s not unattractive, with dark hair and a decent build, but there’s a smugness in his smile that instantly puts me on guard. “Actually, I’m here with a friend.”

His eyes sweep over me, from my face down to my sandaled feet and back up again, lingering on my chest for a beat too long. “Well, your friend isn’t here right now. So, how about you dance with me? Just one little dance.”

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, turning my body away slightly, a clear signal that I’m not interested. I take another sip of my cola, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He doesn’t. Instead, he moves to stand in front of me again. “Come on, don’t be like that. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be hiding in a corner.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing my arm.

I pull my arm back as if I’ve been burned. “No, thank you,” I say, my voice firmer this time, a spark of real irritation overriding my usual shyness. “I’m not interested in dancing.”

His friendly facade drops. His jaw tightens, and his eyes harden. “Look, I was trying to be nice. Don’t be a bitch about it.” He grabs my arm again. This time his grip is tight, a circle of pressure that’s definitely not accidental. “I said, let’s dance.”

Panic begins to bubble in my chest, hot and acidic. This is bad. This is very, very bad. I try to wrench my arm free, but he’s too strong. “Let go of me,” I say, my voice shaking now.

“No,” he grunts, leaning down so that his face is just inches from mine. His breath smells stale and sour. “But if you don’t want to dance, I’m happy staying here in the quiet corner with you. I reckon we could get to know each other real well.”

He uses his grip on my arm to push me back against the wall, blocking me in.

Without thinking, I throw my drink in his face.

The ice cubes and cola splash across his skin and shirt.

He sputters, momentarily blinded, and uses his free hand to wipe at his eyes, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on me. Instead, it tightens.

“You’re going to regret that,” he snarls, a vein pulsing in his temple.

The look in his eyes is pure fury, and real fear spikes through me, sharp and cold.

My throat tightens, and I can’t breathe.

I’m completely trapped. People are dancing and laughing just feet away, but we’re in our own little bubble of horror, and no one is coming to help.

I can feel my breasts beginning to leak in response to the stress, and I want to die of embarrassment on top of everything else.

How the hell am I supposed to get out of this?