Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Well, well, well. Wasn’t this a delicious surprise?
Atlas had noticed the human before that, neighbors that they were, but only ever in passing.
He was a small thing who dressed horribly and consistently smelled vaguely of despair.
He used to have an equally dull boyfriend nipping at his heels, and neither of them had held Atlas’s interest for more than a few moments.
But then, around the same time the dull boyfriend had disappeared from view, Atlas had heard a pounding at his front door when he’d been…
otherwise occupied. He’d regretfully withdrawn from his bed partner—he couldn’t at this moment recall exactly who that had been—and stalked to his door, ready to chew someone’s head off.
He hadn’t yet decided whether that would be in the literal or figurative sense.
And then Atlas had been treated to the strangely delectable sight of the resident of 3B in red-and-green flannel pajamas, his face bright red to match, anger spicing the air around him.
He’d then caught one look at Atlas, realized exactly what he’d interrupted, and the anger had dissipated, replaced by an even brighter flush on his cheeks and the tangy-sour scent of intense, debilitating embarrassment, with just the faintest whiff of fear.
It had been alarmingly tantalizing.
The thing was, Atlas had never craved the scent of embarrassment before. It was usually an uncomfortably sour smell, the kind of sour that verged on bitter. But 3B’s embarrassment had held an underlying sweetness that had been irresistible. Something alluring and… appetizing.
Prey. 3B had smelled like prey that night. Like a juicy piece of fresh mango drenched in bright squeezes of lime. Atlas had wanted to wrap the human in his coils and rub that scent all over his scales.
But then 3B had turned and run, and Atlas had never caught the scent again.
He’d tried, of course. Tried to catch his neighbor in the lobby or the stairwell, tried to get him into a position where Atlas might provoke a response.
But the little mouse was like any other prey—good at hiding, skilled at avoidance.
And when Atlas had finally cornered him again, months later, 3B had smelled vague and drab once more, in an ill-fitted suit, his briefcase held like a shield between them.
He hadn’t looked like the type to wear cheery flannel pajamas or to smell like a delicious fruit cocktail.
Atlas had let it go.
But now here he was, at Atlas’s door, and the lime-drenched mango scent was back.
Alas, the pajamas were still nowhere to be seen.
Atlas let his gaze wander over every inch of his downstairs neighbor. What was 3B so nervous about? What had him feeling so humiliated, considering he wasn’t interrupting Atlas in flagrante delicto this time around?
Atlas wanted nothing more than to flick a forked tongue in the air and taste with more precision the exact scent of 3B’s emotions, but now wasn’t the time for that particular display.
So he leaned against the doorframe. “If it isn’t 3B,” he drawled, wondering if he sounded as hungry as he felt. “And you have a gift for me.”
He watched as 3B’s fingers tightened around the box he held. The festive wrapping paper was neat enough, but the tape was loose. It had been opened already, if Atlas wasn’t mistaken.
After a tense moment, 3B thrust the box toward him. “This was left at my door by accident. It’s yours.”
Interesting—Atlas hadn’t been expecting any sort of gift—but it still didn’t explain the scent in the air. Why should 3B be so embarrassed about a mistaken package? Just because he’d unwrapped it unawares?
Atlas made no move to take the gift. He nodded to the box instead. “Open it.”
3B blanched and then flushed, his embarrassment flaring even stronger, drenching the air around him.
Candy so sour it would make your lips pucker, Atlas thought. He liked that kind of candy. He liked it even when he ate so much it made his tongue sore, like he’d been licking at something he shouldn’t.
He fought the urge to run his tongue over his teeth now. Then he did it anyway, enjoying the way it made 3B’s gaze dart to his mouth.
3B’s eyes were a very pretty blue, actually.
Not bright but soft, like a pale spring morning.
It was hard to tell usually since he kept his gaze cast downward most of the time.
His dark hair was cut too short to be considered flattering, but if he’d let it grow a little, let it curl down around his delicate little ears…
Well, he’d be quite a tasty thing, wouldn’t he?
With Atlas distracted by his musings, it took him a second to realize 3B was shaking his head at him. “No, thank you. You can open it after I leave.”
Uh-uh. No way. That wasn’t happening. It had taken a year for Atlas to have 3B in front of him again, smelling delicious and looking more intriguing than he had a right to. Atlas wasn’t letting him scurry off again so soon.
He flicked his fingers toward the mystery box. “How do we know it’s really for me? There’s no card.”
3B’s brow furrowed into a scowl. “It’s for you.”
“How can you be so sure?” Atlas leaned forward, gratified at how 3B’s gaze lingered on his bare chest with the movement. “Because it’s from you?”
3B flushed an even brighter red. Did it hurt, that heat pushing through his skin? It certainly looked almost painful. “No. Definitely not.”
“Open it,” Atlas commanded softly.
And 3B was a little mouse indeed because, despite his embarrassment, he unwrapped the gift immediately, the paper falling off easily with the loosened tape.
“And the lid.”
3B lifted the lid.
“I can’t see what’s inside,” Atlas crooned.
He couldn’t see because he wasn’t looking. His eyes were firmly on 3B’s hot, flushed face.
Of course, Atlas could smell what the gift was. Panties. Preworn. How naughty.
3B lifted the panties out with careful fingers, and Atlas finally let his gaze drop from 3B’s mortified expression. The panties were a red lacy number. They could have been from any number of conquests but no one Atlas was interested in seeing again.
He cocked his head, brow furrowed in mock confusion. “Are you sure it’s not a gift from you?”
3B gritted his cute little teeth, the spiced scent of annoyance finally breaking through. “These are ladies’ underwear,” he said slowly, as if Atlas might be too stupid to tell.
“Used ladies’ underwear,” Atlas corrected mildly.
3B had the panties tossed back into the box in an instant. He blanched again, no longer bright red but alarmingly pale. “Oh, god. I need to wash my hands. I need to wash my hands immediately.”
Why, what a wonderful idea. Atlas couldn’t have suggested anything better himself.
He stepped back from the door, gesturing inside. “By all means.”