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.
21
Melody
This dream feels so good.
My body feels hot all over, and my subconscious is giving me exactly what I need, my hips shifting and pressing closer to the delicious length beneath me.
I’m riding Gabe—even with my dream-eyes closed, I recognize his scent. My alpha’s scent. My thighs bracket his hips, the friction delicious as I grind down against something wonderfully hard. Tingles of pleasure race through my body, making me shiver. I press myself harder against my alpha, grinding along his massive shaft.
“That’s it,” dream-Gabe whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “Take what you need.”
God, even his voice is perfect. Deep and rough with need.
I rock against him, my body knowing exactly what it wants. The layer of fabric between us doesn’t matter. The pressure isexquisite, hitting where I need it, sending sparks of pleasure up with every movement.
I breathe him in deeper, filling my lungs with his scent, and I notice another scent—old books and nutmeg. Finn. Dream-Finn must be nearby, watching maybe. The thought makes me impossibly hotter, my movements more urgent, my core tightening with need.
Hands slide up my sides, large and warm. My alpha’s hands. They cup my breasts through my thin shirt, thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that makes me gasp and arch my back.
“So perfect,” the voice rumbles beneath me. “Look at her, Finn.”
