The Veterinarian's Creamy and Fertile Student

Chapter One

Layla:

The little golden retriever puppy wiggles in Rhys’s arms, her whole body wiggling with excitement and her tail thumping against his chest. She’s so cute it hurts.

But it’s watching Rhys that makes my breath catch in my throat.

The way he talks to the puppy’s owner in that low, calm voice of his.

The way he handles the puppy with such gentle confidence, making the vaccination process quick and painless.

I’m twenty-four years old, a third-year veterinary student, and this externship was supposed to be the highlight of my academic career.

It was, but not for the reasons I expected.

For six weeks, I’ve been shadowing Rhys, learning everything I can, and nursing a secret crush that’s grown into something much more complicated.

Rhys is... well, he’s everything. Six foot four inches of lean muscle and quiet authority.

His dark hair is starting to gray at the temples, which somehow only makes him more handsome.

And those green eyes... when he looks at me, really looks at me, I feel like he can see right through my scrubs and into my soul.

It’s unnerving and exhilarating all at once.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs to the puppy, and the words send a shiver down my spine. The things I would be willing to do just to hear him say those same words to me are absolutely scandalous.

But I shouldn’t be having these thoughts about my mentor, about a man who’s old enough to be my father. I can’t help it though. I watch him and wonder what he’d be like with our children.

That thought hits me so hard I almost gasp aloud. Our children? Where the hell did that come from?

I’ve never been interested in relationships.

Too busy with my studies, too focused on my dream of becoming a vet.

I was starting to think there was something wrong with me, that I was just...

broken, somehow. Then I met Rhys, and suddenly I understood.

I wasn’t broken; I just hadn’t met the right man yet.

But today is my last day. After this, I’ll go back to my studies, and he’ll continue running his practice, and our paths will probably never cross again. The thought makes my chest ache.

Or maybe that’s just my breasts. They feel so heavy and full, a familiar pressure that’s been growing throughout the day.

It’s the stress, the doctor had told me when I’d first gone to him eight months ago.

All the pressure from my studies threw my hormones out of whack, and now here I am, a twenty-four-year-old virgin who lactates.

It’s embarrassing and weird, and I just hope I can make it home before I start leaking through my scrubs.

“Okay, all set!” Rhys says, handing the puppy back to her owner. “She’ll need to come back in three weeks for her next round.”

The woman thanks him, and I say my goodbyes too, giving the puppy one last scratch behind the ears before she’s gone.

Rhys locks the front door behind her, the click of the deadbolt echoing in the suddenly quiet clinic. It’s just us now. The air feels thick with something, tension or maybe just my own imagination running wild again.

We work in companionable silence, restocking supplies, wiping down countertops, running the sterilizer. I keep catching him looking at me, but every time I glance over, he looks away. It’s probably just my mind playing tricks on me, seeing what I want to see.

“Alright, I think that’s everything,” Rhys says, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. His biceps strain against the fabric of his scrubs, and I have to force myself not to stare. “We can head out now.”

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching me. My heart hammers hard against my ribs. This is it, my chance to say something, anything, to make him remember me before I leave this place and never see him again.

But before I can work up the nerve, his eyes drop from my face down to my chest, and they widen in surprise. I follow his gaze, and my blood runs cold.

There, right over my left breast, is a small wet patch. Oh god. I’ve leaked through my scrubs.

My face floods with heat, and my hands fly up to cover myself.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I stammer, my words tumbling out in a rush.

“It’s... it’s not what you think. I mean, it’s not like I’m...

I have this medical condition. Stress-induced lactation, the doctor called it.

All the pressure from my studies, I guess, it messed up my hormones, and now this happens.

Usually, I have it all under control, but sometimes when I get stressed or overwhelmed...

” I trail off, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life.

Rhys is silent, just watching me with an unreadable expression. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. This is it. This is how I’ll be remembered. As the weird student who leaked milk all over herself on her last day. Perfect.

Finally, when I’m out of words and just standing there, mortified, he takes a step closer. His eyes are fixed on mine now, not on the embarrassing wet spot on my scrubs.

“Do they hurt?” he asks, his voice lower than usual, rougher around the edges.

I blink, caught off guard by the question. “A little,” I admit shyly. “When they get this full.”

He takes another step closer until we’re standing just inches apart. I have to tilt my head all the way back to look up at him. He’s so tall, so broad. The sheer size of him makes something primal and feminine flutter to life deep in my belly.

“Let me help,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement.

My breath hitches. “Help?”

“I want to make you feel better, Layla.” His eyes have darkened to the color of a deep forest, and there’s a hunger in them that makes my knees weak. “Let me help you.”

I should say no. I should make some excuse and get out of here so I can take care of this by myself. But I can’t. Because I want this. I’ve wanted him for six weeks, and the thought of walking away without knowing what this could be is more painful than the embarrassment of my condition.

“Okay,” I whisper, my heart pounding so hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and relief washes over me. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, and I lean into his touch like a flower turning toward the sun. His thumb strokes gently over my skin, and I shiver.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those words go straight to my core, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

He takes my hand, his large, calloused fingers enveloping mine, and leads me toward the back of the clinic, to the small office where he does paperwork. And as I follow him, my mind races.

This is really happening. I’m really doing this. And I can’t wait.