36. KATIE
Chapter thirty-six
KATIE
M ax’s eyes are completely black. His pupils are blown out, and all I can see is his raw hunger.
Fuck, these Alphas really are like animals.
And it's kind of … hot.
The way he’s looking at me as though he could devour me whole. But his touch is gentle, not demanding. Not owning .
“I forget that this is all foreign to you,” he says, almost apologetically. The towel sweeps across the path of my exposed cleavage. Not lecherous, just attentive.
Max would be an attentive lover. Definitely.
“Scents are as important as sight– many Omega matches are made almost exclusively on scent. It’s why I can’t have his shitty smell all over you– it’s hiding you. He’s using his scent to try and lay a claim on you.”
Max shakes his head, and the agitation that had begun to melt away comes back. “You’re not a thing to claim, Katie. You’re my Omega, but I won’t ever claim you like that if you don’t want it.”
I nod, wanting to redirect away from this agitation. Away from the dangerous topic of feelings .
“But why be bothered by other people's scents? You’re surrounded by them all the time here, aren’t you?”
“But they’re not on you,” he says pointedly, then sighs. “Scents help us read people, their emotions and intentions. Who is friend or foe. If someone smells badly to you, then you’re not genetically compatible. If someone familiar’s scent changes, then their emotions might be off. Like you,” he pauses, taking a deep breath, and sighing, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“When you’re angry or upset, you smell like burned sugar.”
“You can smell that much detail?” I ask.
Jesus, I must be like an open book to them. Smelling feelings? Fuck, that’s horrifying!
“Of course; Katie, Alphas are supposed to care about their Omega. That Alphahole clearly hasn’t been housebroken. But we want, no not want– need to take care of you. When you’re upset, we want to help. When you’re hurting we want to ease the pain.”
He runs the towel gently over my cheek. He’s closer to me now, somehow we’ve moved toward his giant desk. I press a hand on his chest, and he runs the towel from my shoulder up my arm, stopping at my fingers.
“I can fight my own battles,” I huff at him.
“But you shouldn’t have to – at least not alone,” He says. “One day you’ll want to take care of us too. It’s a give and take between a Pack. Love, affection, respect, care. All of us giving and all of us taking.”
Give and take. How long has it been since I’ve be allowed to be the one to take instead of give and give and give?
My body is hot, and I can smell the thick sweetness of cinnamon and syrup– my perfume. My knees tremble, warmth spreading out from my chest into my arms and legs.
We are so close now. Close enough to feel the heavy thudding of Max’s heart under my palm. Close enough to feel the slick sweat on his skin. Close enough to taste the salt of him.
Every nerve ending blares to life as his whiskey and leather scent fills my nostrils.
I look up at him. His pupils are still dilated, blown to midnight. The press of his erection is unmistakable, and his grip on my hip is firm, but not unbreakable. When did he grab my hip?
I could push him away. I could untangle myself. Max is leaving me an out. He has always left me an out.
But right now, that’s the last thing I want.
“Tough Girl. I want to mark you with my scent. Can I do that?” Max’s voice is husky. He drops the towel and runs the back of his forefinger over my cheek.
Something inside me splinters, like a forgotten door to a basement of desire and wanting bursting open from that single, tender touch.
“Not if I mark you first.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean up on the balls of my toes and kiss him. At first it’s chaste; Max’s lips are full and soft, and the contrast to the rough sensation of his stubble is surprisingly arousing.
Then I part my lips, an invitation.
His tongue sweeps in, not hesitating. He backs me up three steps until I’m pushed against his desk, my ass sitting on the edge. He presses his hips into mine and his hard length bucks against my thigh.
I press back into him, not letting him take control. I suck on his lower lip and he moans. A tuning fork buried in my core vibrates at the sound, sending pleasure pulses out to each individual nerve ending.
Jesus Christ . I might come and he hasn’t done more than kiss me. If this is some Omega gene rewiring, I will absolutely take it.
Max presses hot kisses along my jaw and neck.
“I want you to let me kiss you,” he growls. “Let me kiss you until you’re limp with pleasure.”
“Fuck yes,” I gasp. Max sucks on my earlobe, his breath warm on my damp neck.
“Good. My Tough Girl can take directions. I promise next time you get to have the reins.”
He nuzzles the top of my head, and I can almost feel him spread his scent over my hair.
Then he pushes my hips back onto the desk and sinks to his knees.