Milky for My Ex's Father (Creamy and Forbidden #10)

Chapter One

Bianca

The sound of my heart breaking is the loudest thing in my tiny apartment. Even louder than the mechanical pump that’s attached to my chest. Through my tears, I stare at my phone until my vision blurs, expecting Cody to call and take it all back.

It’s been two hours since he called me a “disgusting, obsessed freak,” told me it was over between us, and then slammed my door so hard that the framed picture of us on my entry table rattled.

My breasts are full and sore, desperate for each whirring tug from the machine, yet as the letdown comes and my breast milk begins to slowly drip into the clear bottles, all my mind can focus on is my boyfriend.

No, I guess he’s my ex-boyfriend now.

I try to put my mind on the pump’s metronome hum, letting it drown out the aftershocks of Cody’s words.

But I can’t. The apartment still smells faintly of his aftershave, that subtle, woodsy scent clinging to the pillows on my saggy futon.

His coffee mug sits on the chipped kitchen counter, still half full.

I keep expecting to hear his footsteps coming back up the stairs.

He’d barely even listened to my explanation. I’d told him about the job at the lactation clinic six months ago on our third date, thinking it was better to be upfront. At that time, I was only a receptionist, so he didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

Cody only laughed, made a few jokes about milkmaids, and then changed the subject.

But as the weeks went on, and I moved out of my parents’ house into this apartment, I needed to increase my income.

When the clinic offered me triple my salary if I became one of their lactation participants, I jumped at the chance.

Unfortunately, despite the pay being great, Cody got weird about it. All of it. Me, my new body, and my milk.

The morning he found the pump parts sterilizing in my dish rack, he looked at me like I’d sprouted horns. As if my newly huge breasts weren’t already enough of a thing on their own.

I’d tried to laugh it off, told him the clinic paid well, the milk I produce gets sent to hospitals, and I could make my own hours. But then this afternoon, when he showed up at my place unannounced, he went straight for the fridge.

“Where did all these come from? Why are you making so much?” he demanded, holding up two glass jars with my handwriting.

I had written the date, the ounces measured out in permanent marker, and as he realized that I was able to produce a pitcher’s worth within one day, it was obvious he was grossed out by it.

He made me feel ashamed. I stood in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my loosest sleep shirt, and watched his eyes go cold and cruel.

I remember trying to defend myself: “It’s just milk, Cody. It’s not weird.” As if I believed it, as if I wasn’t already haunted by the knowledge that I secretly liked it. I’d never admit it out loud to him, but I loved my new body and what it was able to create.

My phone vibrates, and my heart briefly flutters, but it’s only a notification from the weather app. Rain tomorrow. Doesn’t matter. I could be standing in the middle of the Sahara, and it would still feel like I’m drowning.

I angle the bottles on the pump, trying to get more of my milk to flow a bit quicker into the bottles. But the stress I’m under seems to be affecting my production.

Every time the suction cup pulses, I wince, both from the oversensitivity and the humiliation. Cody’s words replay in my mind: “How can you even work there? I can’t believe this is your life. This is too weird for me.”

The ache builds in my chest, physical and emotional, until a few tears streak down my cheeks. As I’m trying to reassure myself that it’s for the best, that obviously Cody and I aren’t meant to be together, there’s a faint, apologetic knock at my front door.

For the briefest, embarrassing moment, I hope it’s Cody, his pride shrunken down to size and his arms stretched out for me. I shut the machine off, carefully remove the shields from my sore, elongated nipples, then carefully place the machine on the cushion before making my way to the door.

Another knock comes before I can open it. This one a little louder. My heart pumps faster and my blood runs cold when I glance into the peephole.

Nicholas Montgomery stands in the hallway, tall and solid in a navy polo and dark denim jeans.

Why is Cody’s father here?

He looks out of place against the chipped-paint beige hallway, like a magazine ad for expensive cologne that crashed into my sad little building.

I almost don’t answer. I’m sure I must look a complete mess.

My eyes feel swollen, dried tears are staining my cheeks, and I’m not wearing a bra, so my massive tits gently bounce with every slight movement my body makes.

Not to mention the two pebbled nipples pushing against the fabric of my white top.

But there’s also a fuzzy feeling swarming through my body the longer I stare at him through the tiny hole. Though I’m already humiliated enough after being dumped by his jackass of a son, my body is on autopilot, and suddenly I’m standing in my doorway, blinking up at Cody’s dad.

His smoking-hot, enormous, perfect depiction of a silver-fox father.

“Bianca,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “are you okay?”

No, I want to say. Absolutely not.

But I don’t say anything. I just kind of sway in the frame of the doorway, holding both arms awkwardly across my stomach, like if I squeeze hard enough I can hold all the broken pieces in. Nicholas’s gaze drops instantly to my arms, then skips back up to my face.

His eyes are the same as Cody’s, but a deeper brown, older, steadier, as though he’s already seen it all and had time to think about it after.

“I…um, hi, Mr. Montgomery,” I finally manage, hating how weak my voice sounds. “Did you want to talk to Cody? Because he… he’s not here.” The second I say it, I sense the knot in my stomach.

“Call me Nicholas. Please,” he says with a gentleness that makes my throat hurt. “Cody called me. He told me what happened…I just wanted to check if you’re alright.” His eyes flick to my face and then, for the briefest of seconds, to my boobs. My pulse stutters.

I shouldn’t be feeling all warm and tingly around my ex-boyfriend’s father. It hasn’t even been a day since we broke up. Though, truthfully, I always get like this around Cody’s dad.

There have even been a few times that I’ve touched myself while thinking about Nicholas. I’d always feel guilty as soon as the aftershocks wore off, but I guess now there’s no reason to be ashamed of being attracted to him.

I ask him to come in before I remember the state of the living room: pump parts on the couch, my saggy futon blanketed in tissues, the air scented with a hint of my breast milk.

Nicholas doesn’t flinch. He moves with a deliberate confidence, filling the room without even trying. He stands in the middle of my living room, his eyes flickering to the pump and then back to me.

Cody admitted to me a few weeks ago that he told his father about my job. At the time, I was so mortified that I didn’t bother to ask him what he thought about it. Right now, it doesn’t seem like he’s bothered by my milky body at all. He gives the pump another almost curious glance.

Why isn’t he weirded out by it like his son was?

“I’m sorry he involved you in our breakup,” I say, because it’s the only thing I know how to say in moments like these. “You probably have better things to do than check in on me.”

He smiles, slow and sympathetic, and shrugs. “I’m not in any rush. You sure you’re alright?” His gaze is steady and intense. “Cody can be…immature. He told me some of the things he said to you. I’m sorry for my son’s behavior.”

I cross my arms over my chest. A hot flush creeps up my neck as I sense the familiar tingling rush of warmth right at my nipples. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Really.”

He tilts his head. “You don’t seem fine.”

There’s a moment of silence, the kind that grows until it’s almost sentient.

Then Nicholas steps closer to me, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of the way my shirt sticks to my chest, the way my nipples throb and stand at attention.

He looks at me. My legs, my chest, and then straight into my eyes.

Which makes my body feel things it never has before.

Extremely inappropriate, dirty things.

“Look, Bianca,” he says, softer this time, “I know you probably don’t want to talk to anyone right now. But if you need…anything. Help. Or just someone to listen. I’m here for you, ok?”

Before I can respond, he moves even closer and then wraps his arms around me. A shiver creeps down my spine when I breathe him in. God, he smells incredible. Like warm spices, amber, and something masculine.

His huge body feels amazing against mine. I can’t help but lean into his touch and hug him back, subtly pressing my face into his hard chest. He doesn’t let go right away as I expect. Instead, he gently caresses my upper back in a way that could be seen as friendly yet feels very intimate.

The embrace drags on long enough for me to feel a flutter beneath my ribcage. And for a moment, I feel something else. Something very hard and thick jutting out from his pants.

My breath catches in my throat.

Does Nicholas have an erection right now? Is it because of me?

I’m too stunned to glance down; I don’t want to ruin the moment.

When he steps back, there’s a genuine warmth in his gaze. “It’s okay to be upset, you know,” he says. “You don’t have to pretend.”

My eyes flicker down, and there’s no mistaking it.

I want to say something witty or nonchalant, act like I don’t notice it, but everything inside me feels like I’m on the verge of exploding.

“I’m just…embarrassed,” I force out, trying to keep my mind on the subject at hand and not on Cody’s father’s massive cock.

“This whole thing. The lactation, the clinic, Cody making it sound like I have some kind of…problem.”

Nicholas’s lips press into a thoughtful line. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all.” His gaze is so fierce it almost makes me flinch. “Anyone who makes you feel that way isn’t worth your time. Not even my son.” He says it with such conviction that for a moment I almost believe him.

When my gaze briefly lands on his erection once more, the effect it has on me is immediate.

Prickly warmth spreads through both of my breasts, then a second later, it happens.

A sudden rush of milk drips from my tits and a dribble leaks straight through my shirt, creating a wet circle over my left nipple and then my right.

Oh, of course. Because this day isn’t humiliating enough.

I close my eyes, mortified, but the second I open them, Nicholas is looking straight at the spot. He doesn’t avert his eyes or pretend not to notice like most men would. He stares at me with a kind of intensity that makes my entire body tighten. There’s no pity or disgust. Not like with Cody.

All I see on Nicholas’s face is admiration, care, and maybe even desire. My cheeks are burning, and I want to turn away, but my feet don’t move. Instead, I stand there, nipples painfully stiff and aching, my shirt ruined, and let him look at me.

“Sorry,” I say. The word is almost a whimper. “For some reason, my pump hasn’t been much use today.”

He steps closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “Don’t apologize.” His eyes are locked on my chest, then flicker to my face and hold. “It’s not something to be ashamed of...ever.”

My pulse hammers. The heat between my legs is unbearable. I cross my arms over my chest, which only compresses my breasts against my ribcage, making another trickle of milk bead through the thin cotton. I can practically smell it in the air. Warm, sweet, and a little nutty.

Nicholas leans in, so close I can feel his breath on my neck. “If you’re hurting, there are…other ways to get relief, you know. Do you want me to help you?”

There’s too much arousal bashing through me for me to speak, so I give a slow nod.

As long as it involves him touching me, I’m willing to let him do anything to me.