Chapter 27 Ollie
Ollie
Seeing Kane was the best and worst thing that could have ever happened since I first started disguising myself as a guy.
The best because it finally relieved some of the pressure that built up from living with my scent match and not being able to take him downtown.
And the worst because it’s opened up a whole new can of worms. Or needs.
Very wormy needs that means I’m wiggling around all over the place whenever Timber is away.
Much like a tragic maiden on the windswept moors of England, I’ve been drifting around the house, spreading my scent on absolutely anything I can get my hands on.
Thankfully, Timber isn’t exactly a social guy, and the only other people who come to visit are his housekeeper and his personal trainer, who are both betas and won’t be able to tell that the place is layered in a syrupy scent.
It’s hard enough not to rub myself all over him whenever he’s around.
Since we’ve played Street Fighter, Timber has been weird.
He’s more jumpy around me and more conscious of doing things like walking around in his tiny towels, which is a tragedy.
I swear he was going to kiss me when he woke me up after the movie, and now I’m all antsy and touch-starved again to the point where I’m thinking of calling Kane to ask him if we can meet before they leave for their next round of away games.
What’s worse is I’m pretty sure he tasted me in the hot chocolate.
The first time he crushed me against the fridge when he was sleepwalking, he said I was sweet.
So, when he swept hot chocolate from my lip the other day, I don’t know if the flavor came from my skin, or if he literally licked my saliva and I gave him a quick preview of what it would taste like to kiss me.
So guess what else has been rattling around in my head since he left?
I’ll have half a week without them, and then it’ll be time for the dreaded date.
I can’t let myself get too wrapped up in Kane. The more I drift toward him and rely on him, the more chance I have of being caught. Those photos outside the heat room were risky enough.
We also took down the pictures of Luke and me on our website, so it looks like I’m the only one who works there, just in case. We thought we’d covered our bases by changing our socials, and thankfully, Kane was the only one who found it.
Even when I’m lying in bed, hot, hungry, and aching for an alpha, it can’t be Kane.
And it shouldn’t be Timber.
I need a big ‘No Fishing’ sign in front of each of them, so I stop flirting with them. But how can I resist when they look like my next catch?
Luke and I have created schedules for Timber and anyone who might cook for him in the future to make sure he’s getting all the nutrients he needs when he’s away. Though I’m pretty sure he’s going to sneak in as many protein bars as he can.
I’m wiped from a whole day of cooking, so I do what any normal person would do: I take a nap with my regulation lavender-drenched Timber shirt.
I’ve been sleeping in it every night, so it’s lost its tang.
It was good for a while, but now there’s barely any scent left on it, kind of like a really cheap candle.
After a long nap, a sleepy omega who’s living in the house of her alpha but can’t scent mark him was bound to do even crazier things.
Like groggily walking naked out of her bedroom, wandering across the corridor, and ending up in said alpha’s room.
Timber must be rubbing off on me. Like when his monkey brain activates after his hazard alarm goes off, my sleepy brain is very simple.
There’s one thing I want when I wake up, and I’m going to keep going until I get it.
For Timber, it’s milk; for me, it’s my alpha.
And with no 6ft. 4in. muscle machine in the building, the next best thing is to shuffle around his room like a zombie.
I plod across his laminated floor to the sprawling extra king-size bed, which takes up half the room.
It’s made up with pure black sheets that match the rest of the furniture, and a giant fluffy duvet that’s scrunched up in a pile at the end of the bed like he’d kicked it off in the morning. It’s the best thing to make my omega side happy.
I groan as I stumble, tipping forward the moment I get close enough.
Letting out an “oof” as my face hits his pillow, I grab the ends of the duvet and drag it up. It must be a weighted blanket, because the heave-ho almost wakes me up completely as I wrestle to get the damn thing over me.
The instant I lift it, I’m hit with a thick waft of coffee musk, and my eyes roll as need surges through my body.
I bury myself in the duvet, creating a cocoon with it so I can trap myself in there with the scent.
I leave myself a little hole by the pillow to breathe through, but apart from that, I have my own coffee nest.
In my sleepy state, I don’t care if Timber comes home and finds his horny cook snuggled up in his bed, totally naked. I need him so much that he can decide what he wants to do with me if he does. I just hope that something involves his cock.
***
Igroan as my consciousness drifts, heightened by the overwhelming scent of coffee.
It hums and buzzes through my body, giving me the energy I need to wake up and decide I absolutely do not want to move a single inch. Because I’m covered up to my nose in my alpha’s bed, and I never want to leave.
The duvet is so fluffy, his pillows have the perfect level of bounce, and the way my ass sinks into the mattress makes me sure he has one of those space beds, which are so comfy I could get lost in it.
That’s the dream. All I need now is to be crushed by a wall of muscle and have it blended with Kane’s lavender.
I groan at the thought of both of them here with me. And, surprise surprise, my pussy is already working on getting me ready for them.
I quickly flip onto my side in case any slick gets on his mattress. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, or have been slicking for.
As I turn over, I catch sight of Timber’s monster clock, which sits underneath his TV on the far side of the huge room. It’s the size of a basketball and covered in spikes like a pufferfish in defense mode. I’m pretty sure I can see blood on the tips, but I don’t want to know.
He falls out of bed, crawls toward that thing every morning, gets jabbed in the hand, and he still doesn’t wake up?
Maybe if he were crawling toward my pussy, he’d be more enthusiastic.
I groan as happiness buzzes through me as I think of all the other ways I could wake him up.
I’m going to have a black belt in slicking by the time I leave here.
Shaking my hips, I stretch my toes down and my arms up, enjoying a nice yawn. Because, according to his big clock, I still have at least an hour before he comes home.
Is it wrong to use how he can’t smell me to do stuff like this? Definitely.
Would I do this even if he could scent me? Yeah, probably.
I lean back, checking out a patch of drool, then roll my eyes. Of course, I was going to slaver when there’s coffee everywhere. I’ll change the bedsheets before he comes back and pretend it was his housekeeper, so it’s fine for now.
The only thing I can’t do is spread my arms and legs and wave them about like a snow angel, just in case my slick goes a-dripping. My stuff’s like acid, and will soak right in and melt his mattress.
I need to keep up the charade so that we can keep our business going, but there’s a poisonous voice at the back of my mind that’s telling me I’ve scent matched with two millionaire hockey players, and all our debts could be solved if I told them the truth about our finances.
I grab the skin of my forearm and pinch myself so hard I yelp because I’m never doing something like that to them. Not once. Not ever.
My brother and I worked hard to get where we are.
We did everything we could for years to get away from our grandparents so we never have to rely on anyone again.
Our freedom and honoring our parents are all we’ve ever wanted, and there’s no way I’m going to resort to using Kane and Timber like that.
It’s basically gold-digging, but professional. Business-digging.
I know Luke would be on board with it, but it is so wrong. And it would wipe away everything we had done to reach this place… where I’m cross-dressing and slicking in my boss’s bed, worrying about our debt, all because Luke got hit by a van.
I groan as I curl my knees to my chest and hug myself as guilt pierces through me. I’m already lying to Timber about my identity; isn’t that enough?
Pressing my face into his pillow, I draw in his deep scent. I don’t know how much he sweats at night, but it’s so thick and musty that it makes me hope he smells like this when he fucks as well.
One day, he came back from the rink without having a shower, and I thought I was going to dissolve and all that would be left was slick.
It’s the same vibe.
I know I shouldn’t, but the dumbass omega side of me wants him to notice me so badly that I rub my head and neck against his pillow, scent marking it as much as I can. I’ve already drooled on it, so marking the rest is basically the same thing.
As soon as I consider covering his whole mattress like a peanut butter and slick sandwich to see if he’ll notice, I hop out of the bed.
Because there’s only so far I can go. No matter how horny I am and how much I need him to hold me, kiss me, love me, and how much shit I talk about him finding out the truth, I can’t risk it.
I check the clock, and I still have enough time to grab a shower and search for replacement sheets before he gets home.
Well, that’s what I thought. Until, fifteen minutes later, when I turn the shower off and I suddenly hear the loud beep of the security alarm, and the door to the garage opens below the bathroom.
Panic bursts inside me as I towel myself down as quickly as I can.
“Luke?” I hear Timber call from downstairs. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I didn’t exactly leave a trail in his bedroom, but there’s only so much I can get away with.
Though, really, considering Timber hasn’t connected how I showed up and the same week there’s slick in his oatmeal, I could be safe. The man might not be the brightest penny in the box… or maybe he’s sensible enough not to talk to his freaking nutritionist about scent matching with his sister.
I need to get rid of the evidence, but it would take NASA-level logistics to work around this little slice of idiocy.
Maybe if he goes for a shower, I can sneak back in for a quick switcheroo of the sheets? Or if he wants to work out before he goes to bed, then I can make my move. Or just something that means I can dash to his room and squirrel away the pillows I scent marked.
Why am I such a moron?
“Luke?” he calls again.
I poke my head out of the bathroom, but I’m far enough away from the landing that he can’t see me.
“I’ve just had a shower. I’ll be down soon!” I yell. “There’s food in the Tupperware in the fridge!”
Hopefully, he’ll be distracted so I can bolt to my room, slip on my chest binder, and put on some baggier clothes so I don’t feel like such a freaking omega.