Chapter 20 Melody
Melody
Ishut my bedroom door and press my back against it, as if Gabe’s intense stare might follow me through solid wood.
I stagger away from the door, hands trembling, knees trembling.
My breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps.
My body feels like it’s been rewired, every nerve ending hot and over-sensitized, my skin prickling from scalp to toes.
I collapse onto the edge of the bed because my legs won’t hold me upright, and it takes several seconds to realize I’ve been making a soft, keening sound in the back of my throat…
something so animal and needy I almost don’t recognize it as mine.
Holy shit.
I just watched Finn give Gabe a blowjob.
And Gabe watched me watch them.
The air around me is thick with my scent, but stronger, sweeter, more intense than I’ve ever smelled it.
I’m perfuming.
Heavily.
Like a teenager experiencing her first heat.
Which is impossible. I’ve been on suppressants since I was eighteen. They’re medical-grade. Yet here I am, my body betraying me as if the suppressants are nothing more than breath mints.
I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the persistent throb between them. It doesn’t help. The image of what I just witnessed is seared into my brain.
Gabe, sprawled on the couch, powerful thighs spread wide. Finn on his knees, mouth working him with such obvious pleasure. And Gabe’s eyes, those intense green eyes, locked on mine the entire time.
“OMG!” I whimper, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Except for the way my body is reacting right now, it can only be one thing. It’s like my brain, my cells, my flipping DNA have received a new set of instructions: want this, need this, now.
I bury my face in the pillow and moan.
I’ve heard about this. Read about it. Seen those ridiculous rom-coms where the omega suddenly can’t control her scent around an alpha.
Scent-match.
The biological lottery. The only compatibility that suppressants can’t entirely mask.
Deep down, maybe I’ve always known.
And it’s not just Gabe.
It’s Everett too, with his pine-and-peppermint scent that makes me want to bury my face in his neck. The way my heart races when he’s near. The way my body reacts when he touches me, even just a brush of fingertips. Clearly, my body knew before my brain could catch up.
I force myself to stand on shaky legs and go to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my burning cheeks. My reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and flushed. My pupils are blown wide.
I look like I’m in heat. I feel like I’m in heat.
But I’m not. This isn’t a heat. This is something else. Something deeper. My omega recognizes compatible alphas.
Every part of me wants to go back down those stairs and be welcomed into the space between them. Instead, I strip off, stepping into the shower and turning it to cold, gasping as the water hits my overheated skin. It helps clear my head, but does nothing to wash away the memories.
Gabe’s voice, rough and commanding, telling Finn how good he was being. The raw hunger in Gabe’s eyes when he caught me watching.
The way Finn surrendered so beautifully, eager to please. How sexy he was sucking on Gabe’s massive cock.
Betas don’t trigger these kinds of reactions in omegas. They don’t produce the pheromones that make us lose our minds.
Yet there’s something about Finn’s playful confidence, his sharp wit, the apparent devotion between him and Gabe, and the camaraderie I’ve found with him.
I want them. All of them. In ways I’ve never wanted anyone before.
“This is insane,” I say, turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around my body. “You’ve known these men for a week.”
But time doesn’t matter with scent-matches. That’s the whole point. Your biology knows what it wants, regardless of social norms or reasonable timelines.
I pull on fresh sleep clothes and get into bed, trying to process what happens next.
Holy shit. Christmas just became next level.