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Suspicious. As she should be. She looks way too hot in that tight skirt; and her white blouse lets me know exactly what kind of bra she wears… The lacy kind with those half-cups. I gulp down another mouthful of drool.
“Just wanted to offer to walk you to the parking lot. Never know what kind of crazies are lurking around here. Wouldn’t want such a sweet beta like you to get into trouble.”
The omega-in-disguise bites her plump lower lip, speaking around it. “Okay… but hands in your pockets, and you’re only walking me to the door.”
I nod, making a show of sliding my hands into my joggers, fisting the seams of the pockets. I even flash a smile. “You got it, gorgeous.”
Light pink fills her face, her scent edging away from burned sugar. An intense burst of fresh peach swirls into the cart while she perfumes.
Holy shit it is good.
It. Is. Good.
Oh God.
I have to fight the urge to drop to my knees and bury my head between her thighs right now.
Letting all that sweet nectar go to waste is a tragedy. I want to snarl. My balls throb while I choke down the menacing growl and cough to cover it.
“Sorry,” she whispers, hanging her head.
My teeth clack together. I hate that I can’t touch her. Hate that she has to apologize for something so natural. Hate that we live in such a fucked-up world where people like her and my sisters are constantly in danger.
Hate that, right now, I am that danger.
I almost shout THANK GOD when the doors inch open. The definitely-not-a-beta scurries out, needing two steps for every one that I take behind her.
That’s biology, too. Her body tells her to run. Let me chase.
And, fuck me, I honestly don’t know if I would be able to stop myself from hunting her down if she took off.
Stepping out of the building, leaving her perfume behind us, helps. The oppressive Florida humidity presses in. I hope it stifles my scent. God knows how strong it must be right now.
Fuck the meeting.
I need to go home and take another shower. A long one. With a bottle of lube.
The peachy omega has her keys in her hand one blink later. The lights on a small, white Fiat flash, four spots from the door. I’m relieved she doesn’t have far to walk.
I think she’ll rush off, but instead she bites that luscious lip again. Her eyes bore into mine, imploring. “So… thanks for walking me. Sorry again about my… new body spray.”
Hmm. She wants to pretend her scent is just one of those store-bought perfumes betas use to lure in alphas.
But how can I act like I haven’t scented her arousal when it feels like thirty seconds in the elevator with her re-wired my entire brain? How can I walk away when I desperately want to ask her to come to our pack house and let us all take turns eating her?
Honestly, I’m so close to the edge, I can’t even let myself breathe anymore.
She walks away, one last whiff of perfume—a stronger, cleaner one, without all the scent-neutralizers inside to block it—swirling into my face. My nerves snap, my instincts lunging against their binds.
It can’t be.
I have to be wrong.
But… what if there is a reason she smells like that? A reason her scent feels ten times more concentrated than anyone else’s. A reason why watching her back her car out and drive away feels like yanking the sun out of the sky and shattering it on the pavement.
Oh my fuck.
Did I just find our omega?
