Page 37 of The Alpha's Sin
“Poppy?” Logan’s deep voice is muffled through the wood. “Kitten, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
I scrub at my eyes, but more tears fall. “N-nothing! I’m fine!”
“Bullshit,” he growls, though not angrily—just firm. “Sweetheart, open the door. Please.”
I freeze, staring at the locked knob. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want to tell him. But then he knocks again, softer this time.
“Listen, kitten…whatever it is, you can tell me. I swear I won’t be upset. Just let me help you.”
Something in his voice—so steady, so sure—unravels me. With trembling hands, I unlock the door and open it just a crack. He’s standing there, filling the doorway, worry etched all over his face.
“Poppy…” He tilts my chin up, making me meet his eyes. “Tell me.”
My cheeks burn hot. I try to look away, but his gaze holds mine like iron. My voice comes out a mumble, barely audible.
“I think my…my milk came in.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then his brows draw down.
“What?”
I gesture helplessly, ashamed.
“I-it’s true. Look.”
His big hands are gentle as he unbuttons my blouse and eases it off my shoulders. I’m blushing so hard I feel like I might burst into flames, but I don’t stop him. When he unclasps my bra and peels it apart, the evidence is right there—dark wet spots staining the cups, my nipples shiny with beading white droplets.
“Oh, sweetheart…” His voice is low, gentle. Not disgusted. Not mocking. Just concerned.
I look away, my cheeks burning hotter than ever.
“I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says at once, his voice firm and sure. “But this isn’t something we should guess about. I’ll call the clinic. We’ll get some answers.”
“It’s late,” I whisper. “They’ll be closed.”
But Logan is already pulling out his phone.
“Doctor Elizabeth will see us. She’ll make the time—it’s your first Were pregnancy. She told us to call if anything unusual happened, remember?”
And sure enough, after a brief call he snaps the phone shut and looks at me with determination blazing in his pale eyes.
“Come on, kitten,” he says, holding out his hand. “We’re going to the doctor.”
I slip my fingers into his, still shaky…still ashamed. But a tiny spark of relief flickers inside me.
Because whatever’s happening—at least I don’t have to face it alone.
25
LOGAN
God, I hate seeing her like this.
Poppy’s cheeks are still blotchy from crying, and even though she’s trying to be brave, I can feel how tense she is beside me in the truck. She looks down at her lap, her little hands twisting together, clearly ashamed. And I don’t understand why—there’s nothing shameful about what’s happening to her.
Her breasts are fuller now, heavy and lush, and to me she looks like some kind of fertility goddess. Gorgeous. Perfect. Everything about her is beautiful, even the milk. Maybe especially the milk. She’s carrying life inside her—her body is preparing to nourish it. The thought makes my chest ache with a strange kind of reverence.
