Page 22 of Perfectly Naïve
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-slungjoggers. 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 ahellobut also adon’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 ofnot knowing his scentandwanting 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 mygod, 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 softsnickechoes, 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?”
