You see, Luke and I are step-siblings, and our love is one that's technically forbidden. We didn't know when we embarked on our relationship two years ago, but when I'd found out, I'd immediately left him, not wanting to smear this powerful, potent man with the shadow of incest.
It'd been too late for me though. I was already pregnant with Georgie, and my joy upon finding out had been so overwhelming I'd nearly cried in relief. I'd never be able to see Luke again, but I'd always have a reminder of him in my beautiful boy with his grey eyes and raven hair just like his father's.
Until one day, Luke had stumbled upon us. Georgie's resemblance to his father had been far too strong to deny, and Luke had immediately swept him up, beginning the whirlwind of activity that I'd always associated with my strong, powerful alpha male.
He'd moved us out of the public housing projects to live with him in his penthouse apartment in this exclusive gated community. But it hadn't all been wine and roses – he'd been so angry with me for keeping Georgie from him for the past two years that he'd raped me, forcing his cock into my untested anal canal.
But I love him, have always loved him, and the rape was nothing more than an act of love between two people furious at one another, but also loving desperately. We had coupled in a wild, instinctual manner that was one hundred percent consensual even though it was out of control and brutal in some respects.
I'd still had his cum dripping out of me when he'd shepherded me off to that charity event. And when I realized that he was going to force a confrontation between myself and Robert Woodson, and reveal to his entire social circle that he'd had a baby with his stepsister, I'd completely collapsed, the world a whirl as the floor came rushing up to me.
And here we were. I must have hit my head on something because I could feel a dull throbbing pain on the back of my skull, and my thoughts were still woozy from shock and disbelief.
How could Luke do this to me? To himself? How could we have normal lives if we were outed to the public? We'd be shamed and humiliated. Even if people were too scared to say anything to the rich and powerful Luke Miller's face, there would always be whispers and sneaky glances, always the hush of "Did you know … ?"
I wasn't prepared to live like that. It's one thing for me to disappear back to the projects where I was born and raised, but I couldn't stand that my baby boy would be forever branded the product of incest. Georgie deserved better, and I needed to make sure my son had a fair shot in the world.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Luke
I was in my study, trying to get my eyes to focus on some spreadsheets. After Alana's accident, I'd worked from home, not bothering to go into Atlantis Records for the past week. Her vitals were good but there was still no sign of life and I wanted to be there when she woke. So I'd become her sentry, sitting by her bed through the night, hovering like a watchful guardian over the beautiful blonde.
The only good part about this was Georgie. I'd held my son as we watched over his mom, and the bond between us was deep and immutable. The little boy had charmed me thoroughly. Even if we hadn't been biologically related, the chubby child with his waving fists and innocent eyes had completely won me over. I was more than in love … I was head over heels with my son, hands down.
I'd tucked Georgie in for the night though, and sat staring at the spreadsheets before me. I'd received calls and emails from various friends and associates, asking about the blonde, curious if everything was okay. And of course, there was the ominous voicemail from my stepdad, requesting a callback.
Fuck it. I was my own man. My stepdad was gearing up for a political run and wanted my help in fundraising. After all, I'm a powerful man in New York City, and any public office is as much a function of money as it is votes. But I couldn't see how to square this away … potential senator has a grandson by his daughter and stepson? Potential senator is a leading proponent of family values, except when it comes to his own family? The press would have a field day. I groaned, the issues so tangled with no clear moral guideposts.
Suddenly, I heard a soft rapping on the door.
"Thanks Conchita, I'll see you tomorrow," I called out. Conchita was our housekeeper cum nanny.
The door creaked open though, and I swiveled in my chair. It was unlike Conchita to come in without being invited, and it must have been something extraordinary. Instead, I saw a ghostly vision of Alana, thin and terribly pale, slip into my office.
Her long blonde hair hung loosely down her back, and she wore nothing but a white silk robe that I'd put next to her bed. Bastard that I was, my eyes immediately roved over her figure, noting the pale face and thin hands, but also the fact that she must have been naked underneath the robe. I could see the tips of her breasts cresting against the white satin, and her thighs were smooth and delicious under the short hemline.
"Alana!" I started, bolting out of my chair. I rushed over to her and grabbed her in my arms, holding her close, being careful not to break her fragile bones. Her scent wafted up to me, sweet and natural, just like a wildflower.
She relaxed against me momentarily before pulling away again.
"Luke, don't … " she said quietly.
I wasn't sure if she meant "don't" physically or emotionally. She was mentally fragile, sure, but it was also possible that she'd felt my burgeoning erection against her tummy. I couldn't help it. Everything about this woman turned me on, even when she was just up from her sickbed.
"Down boy!" I mentally commanded my unruly dick. Fortunately, the gravity of the situation seemed to restrain him somewhat, and he didn't grow further, even if he didn't exactly deflate.
"Alana, are you okay?" I growled. "How do you feel?" My outpouring of love and support was impossible to stop. Now that I knew that this woman meant the world to me, I could hardly mask my feelings, instead carrying on like a twelve year-old boy.
"Luke, I'm okay," she said softly, her hands lying on my chest. She was so tiny against me, a gust of wind could blow her over in an instant. And yet this brave, beautiful woman had borne a child on her own, and raised him as a single mother for two years. My heart turned over again, and I dropped a sweet kiss on her neck.
"Wildflower, tell me how you feel," I rumbled into her ear, nibbling at her lobe and pressing more kisses against her neck. I felt her stiffen but then relax in my arms, growing boneless and loose. I swept her up and sat in the big couch in my office, cradling her like a child.
"Tell me what it is … " I breathed. Bastard that I am, I could feel her little rump against my erection and he was growing hard again. I could also see into the vee of her neckline, and the sight of those pale, creamy mounds didn't help.
"Luke, I'm so confused," she murmured against me, nestling into my chest as if seeking my heat. "How long was I out for? My head still hurts and there's a pounding behind my eyes that just won't stop."
"Honey, you were out for a week. I was so worried. Everyone's been so worried, including Georgie," I said. "But our baby boy is fine," I continued. "He misses his mama, but he's been eating and growing like a hungry two year-old."
"Oh my god, Georgie!" she cried. "I'd been weaning him, were you able to use the extra breast milk that I had?"
"Yes," I hushed. "We found the spare supply in the refrigerator and Conchita has been feeding him a combination of your breast milk and formula. Georgie's never been happier," I reassured her.
I didn't tell her that it'd been a delightful shock to discover that she'd been lactating. When I'd seen that first wet spot on her patient gown, I'd been confused. Georgie was almost two, wasn't he too old to be breastfeeding? But the nurse had explained that some children breast feed for much longer, and evidently my son liked the taste of his mother's milk.
Plus, I'd been in charge of pumping her during her coma. The nurse had explained that she needed to be pumped twice a day, and I'd dutifully attached the mechanical pump to her nipples and let it whir as she lay in her hospital bed. My feelings were mixed and deeply, dangerously dirty. On the one hand, I was sad that my baby wasn't getting his milk straight from his mother, but at the same time, I was secretly coveting the warm, nutritious liquid he drank each day. On more than a few occasions, I'd cleaned her up by lapping at her nipples after a pumping session, savoring the taste of my Wildflower in a delicious new way.
Even now, I could see a damp stain on the front of her white silk robe. The material was so sheer that even a few drops would cause it to become transparent, and I could make out her rosy nipples pressed against the white fabric, her creamy mounds looking ripe and ready.