Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
OLIVIA
Time is one of the seven fundamental physical quantities . . . some even say it can be distorted or dilated. Here’s a basic physics problem for you to figure out—if an omega is traveling twenty miles at an average speed of sixty miles per hour, how long does the journey take?
Sure, there’s the logical answer, but somewhere between leaving the lab and getting home to change for my second date with Sawyer, time distorted, quickened, pushing me forward, despite the nerves fluttering in my gut.
Re-familiarizing myself with my slowly strengthening vanilla and honey perfume drags me through the minutes, and before I know it, Nigel is letting me out of the car.
The interior is primarily dominated by his earthen scent—mine is still too muted to really make an impact—but for me, the slightest trace is earth-shattering.
I can’t hear what Nigel says over the staccato of my heart.
Though it’s physically impossible for the organ to beat out of its cage, the twinge in my chest says otherwise.
My scent has yet to fully return, and the little bit people seem to notice is already so overwhelming.
What if it changes the way my colleagues see me?
Theoretically, I should adjust to life with my perfume.
I still can’t believe how whole I feel now that it's coming back. I didn’t even realize I missed it.
I breathe in the rich and sweet scent before the breeze can carry it away, memorizing each note so I can compare it to when I’m finally able to scent Sawyer.
Clutching my bag, I tick off everything I packed.
A change of clothes, in case tonight leads to a sleepover, and the notebook in my purse has a blank page waiting for the details.
Snacks and descenting lotion, on the off chance this goes terribly wrong.
Nigel clasps my arm. “Livvy?”
“Hmm?” I drag my gaze away from Sawyer’s front door and look at the man who could be my second father. “Sorry, what did you say?”
His forehead creases. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
“I’m . . . okay, I guess, despite the increasing probability of Sawyer not liking my scent and deciding that he doesn’t want to—” I cut myself off before I divulge the details of our deal.
Nigel can be protective, and I have no doubt he’d march into Sawyer’s house and rip him a new orifice if he knew this whole arrangement has nothing to do with dating.
Nigel chuckles. “Livvy, if that alpha doesn’t like your scent, he’s not the one for you.”
He’s right. Everyone knows scents are compatible for a reason.
The more enticing an omega’s scent is to a pack, and vice versa, the higher likelihood of a successful relationship.
If the scents are incompatible, there’s a greater chance of fighting, toxicity, and general unhappiness.
Imagine living your life with someone who smells like the sewer.
It would be pretty crappy, pun not intended.
Sawyer appears in the doorway with a grin. I bite my lip as Sawyer waves, my stomach a mess of flutters. His shirt lifts, revealing a tantalizing strip of flesh and low-slung joggers. My throat goes dry and the sweetness of my scent ripens. What if he hates vanilla?
“That’s my sign to leave. Call me if you need me.” Nigel glances at Sawyer and does that nod thing that is vaguely a hello but also a don’t forget what I said.
“Bye, Nigel,” I murmur. My eyes are locked on Sawyer. Pulse thrumming, heat crawling up my neck, I take the first step toward the alpha. Please like my scent. Please like my scent.
I know this is all a learning process, but I’d be mortified if he hated it.
He jogs down his steps.
I pinch my eyebrows together and continue toward him, watching him approach and taking note of every physical reaction that occurs before I get a chance to test his smell.
All physical evidence points to infatuation.
It wouldn’t be a bad thing, if not for the fact that Sawyer simply agreed to teach me, not manage my rapidly developing crush.
We stop a foot away from each other. A rush of wind steals our scents away, but maybe that’s okay for the moment. My hands are trembling, and I can’t tell if I’m scared or excited. Perhaps both?
He grins down at me. I smile, willing the warmth in my cheeks to subside, but visceral reactions are hard to control. Even harder when an omega’s heat hits. There’s no controlling oneself in the thrall of that insatiable need.
“Hey, Liv,” Sawyer says, taking me in. “I thought we said pajama party?”
I glance down at my button-up top and matching pants. “These are Chanel pajamas,” I say, meeting his sky-blue gaze once more.
He gestures to his outfit. “These are from the mall.”
“Oh.” Throat tight, I swallow, biting my lip.
The anticipation will be the death of me.
Some of the best scientific advancements were direct results of risk-taking.
Penicillin, gene editing; risk can change the world.
With that logic driving me, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around his neck.
I’m so short that my face rests against his chest. I force myself to focus on how it feels first.
His arms are strong as they band around me. His body is warm, and solid, but his hold carries a sense of safety. And then . . . I breathe in.
The breeze stops. Time simply ceases to exist, leaving me suspended somewhere in the land in between of not knowing his scent and wanting to drown in it.
Cinnamon and sugar, comforting, like those cinnamon rolls you can get at the mall.
So good. My mouth waters, and a little sound drags out of my chest.
A pure, melodic, omega whine.
Given that the scent control is still leaving my system, this is only a microdose, but my body doesn’t give a damn.
I’m already addicted, trembling with the need for more.
Instinct has me crawling up his torso and burying my head against his neck.
His hands grip my thighs, securing me to his body.
I breathe in until his cinnamon roll scent fills my lungs and passes into my bloodstream.
Oh my god, he smells so good. I rub my face all over his neck, marking him with my barely there scent, whimpering as the sugar and honey twine together and the vanilla and cinnamon play with one another.
An ache stronger than I’ve ever known hits my core. My clit throbs, and I whimper, rocking my hips against him. Is this what I’ve been missing?
“Whoa, baby,” he rasps. “We’re still outside.”
The consonants and vowels surely form words, but none of them matter.
I breathe him in again, vaguely aware that we’re moving but I can’t be bothered to see where.
A soft snick echoes, and deeper scents accompany Sawyer’s.
His pack. God, they smell divine too. Hunger tears through me, but the ache has nothing to do with food.
“Liv?”
I rub my scent on him again, rocking my body against his abs.
God, he’s so strong. The pressure of his muscles hits my clit, and I practically moan against his skin.
Taste. Does his scent have a taste? I flick my tongue over his hammering pulse, but much to my disappointment, he’s not a cinnamon roll.
“You’re killing me.” Fingers dive into my hair, scrape over my scalp and ease my head away from his throat.
No! Not yet. I growl in protest and try to dive back, but another hand gently catches me before I can get there.
Chest heaving, I scowl at Sawyer. “I want more.”
“You can have more, but I need a second,” he says, voice strained. “I didn’t think it would be like this.” The hand pressing against my sternum glides up to my neck. “Talk to me, pretty omega. What’s going on?”
Maybe my body is pissed from the years of blocked scent receptors.
That’s the only logical explanation for me pressing forward, testing the restraints holding me back, but before my scalp can scream in agony, Sawyer relents, loosening his grip.
With speed I’ve never possessed before, my face is back in the crook of his neck.
The warmth of cinnamon and sugar engulfs me. It feels safe. Familiar. Almost like home. A throb ricochets through my core. I whine and grind my aching body against his, releasing a shaky breath as sweet relief floods through me.
God, I’ve never felt desire like this. My body is responding so intensely, I half wonder if it’s my heat, but that won’t be for a while yet. I’m in the middle of my cycle. No. This is simply pure, unadulterated lust.
“Liv, I think–”
I bite his neck. A throaty groan and a deep, rumbling purr are my rewards. My omega instincts swoon. I rock my hips again. Something hard greets my pussy, and I gasp in delight. Yes. That’s what I need. With a tiny trill of excitement, I roll up and down the thick length.
“Baby.” A growl chases the word.
My pulse flutters. I quicken my pace, chasing the euphoria ping-ponging inside of me, concentrating in one, perfectly sensitive spot. “Alpha,” I whine, so, so close to a release.
“I’m here, pretty omega.” The reverberation of his words rumbles down my spine right as two strong hands grasp my ass. “You’re doing so good.”
“More,” I beg.
“Not yet, baby, but soon.” His hands drag me up his length before I can protest. “We can do it like this for now. Do you feel how hard you make your alpha?”
My alpha? My heart trips over itself, and a soft “yes” tumbles out of me.
My lips trace over his pulse, and I lose myself in time once more.
It drags out in rough, purposeful movements.
Stretched thin as I move my hips in time with Sawyer’s coaching.
Delicious friction. Again and again and again.
Pleasure scorches my insides, and I happily burn, writhing against him, greedily inhaling his scent, tasting his skin.
As quickly as it extended, time condenses, every movement compounding.
Every touch. Each note of his scent coiling around mine.
It’s all so perfect.