Page 4 of Milk & Cookie

“There. See?” She offers a friendly smile. “Now we’re not strangers, so you can stop being nervous.”

I give her a wary sideways look, not trusting myself to relax. “I don’t think I could ever not be nervous around you.”

“Why not?” She looks oddly offended, and I stop in the men’s changing room doorway, almost certain she was about to follow me in.

“Honestly?” I ask.

“Honest would be the only kind of communication I’m interested in.” She folds her arms again.

I wipe my hands with my towel and look around for someone in their right mind I can wedge like a buffer between us, but there isn’t a soul in sight. “Well, for one thing, it’s sort of freaking me out that you don’t seem at all worried about my giant, inappropriate hard-on.”

She drops her gaze to the straining seam of my tented shorts.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” She lifts her attention to my face.

“You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” I admit, looking her over with open appreciation, since she doesn’t seem to mind.

She glances at my erection again and shrugs. “Then what’s so inappropriate about your body showing it? It’s only natural.”

God, I definitely fucking love her.

Fuck.

I shake my head. Time to back-paddle. “Um…” I scratch my beard and furrow my brow. “It’s not really the accepted thing, though, is it? By society’s standards, I mean. I should hide the thing, and I would if I could, but?—”

“Society can shove its opinions elsewhere.” She snorts and gestures for me to keep walking. “The idea of what’s acceptable by the masses is up for negotiation between individuals when they’re alone, and not even the law gets to dictate how you or I feel. You enjoy the look of me, and I’m the opposite of offended by that. We’re not breaking any laws, so we can feel and do whatever we want.”

Whatever we want? I can never do what I want. I’m too fucking big.

She presses a guiding hand to my back, but I plant my feet, rendering myself immovable. “Fred, I’m kind of scared about where this may be going.”

She squints up at me, scrunches her nose sweetly, and quirks her eyebrows. “To the showers?”

I look that way, and then back to her. “Yes. Maybe. Do you want to shower together?”

She presses her lips into a line and rocks back and forth on her heels. “Are you asking me to? Or checking if that’s what I had in mind?”

I have no idea how to read her face or interpret her tone. She’s giving nothing away with either. I go with my gut. “Both?” I ask, on the cusp of wincing again if it’s the wrong thing to have said.

She twists her mouth to the side, plumping her lower lip slightly, as she considers me from top to toe. “I only have time for a quick one today.”

A quick what? Shower? Or what that shower implies when she thinks we’re doing it together? And if today needs to be a quick one, is she suggesting we should have longer ones together another time?

How have I not alarmed her to the point of running away yet? She should be scared out of her skull at the sight of my giant cock. I’m fucking scared for her. I’d probably rattle her ribcage from the inside if I could even breach her. She can clearly see that I’m bigger than most horses, but she’s still acting like she wants to ride me. Either she doesn’t understand the physics, or she knows something about the capabilities of her body that I can’t even imagine.

That thought makes me so curious, I want to spread her thick little thighs wide and assess the situation myself, because I’m dead keen to fuck her like a wild man, but I don’t want to hurt the poor girl.

Which I will. Why am I even entertaining this fantasy? “Fred, I thi?—”

“Hold that thought.” She pulls a vibrating phone from the side pocket of her cotton tights. “Mom?”

The woman on the other end of the line calls her Frederica loudly enough to be heard over a lot of crying in the background.

“Yeah, I hear it.” She glances at me, and the obvious disappointment on her face quickly morphs into something more concerning — a frown. She mutters under her breath, and I search her face with bated breath, unwilling to accept that this phone call will bring an end to the most intriguing feminine encounter I’ve had.

Fred throws me an apologetic look, and her cheeks gain a sweet flush, as her gaze drops to where two wet circles are blooming over her breasts.

She’s lactating. And the crying on the phone is definitely baby-like. She’s a mama.

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