"I'm just not as instinct-driven as most omegas. The nesting, the hiding, the hunkering down. I understand it. I just don't feel the pull as strongly.”
He takes a cautious step into the room. My omega likes that. In the interest of honesty, I do, too.
“So you don’t nest when you’re feeling stressed?”
“Not usually. Otherwise, I’d pretty much always be in my nest. Running a start-up is not easy work.”
He takes another step. Both my omega and I perk up.
“Do you think that might be why your heats have been so difficult and long?”
“Explain,” I say.
He shrugs, “I’ve read studies about how unsatisfied omegas can lead to all kinds of body issues. Normally it’s anxiety related. Hair loss, lack of sleep, ulcers—that kind of stuff. But it seems logical that it could impact your heats.”
“So nesting more might solve my heat issues?”
He shrugs again. “Maybe. Of course, now you are with your scent-sensitive alphas, so that might be enough to fix the problem.”
I toss that idea around in my brain for a few seconds before he speaks again.
“Nesting more might regulate your heat spikes.”
“So giving in to my omega may calm the worst of her rages?”
He nods. “Based on what I’ve read on the subject, that would be my conclusion. Plus, you’ll want to add our scents in here.”
The corners of my mouth lift. “Well then you better step all the way in, giant. I need to have your chocolate and hazelnut scent everywhere.”
His face pinks and his warm, hazelnut scent fills the air. I suck in as much as I can. I don’t even try to hide the pleasure it brings me to have the smell of him touching every surface in my nest.
We make the bed together, working easily side by side. Graham unfolds the sheets while I tuck the corners tight, smoothing the fabric. The comforter goes down next, thick and soft beneath our hands.
I sit cross-legged in the middle of it while Graham starts handing me pillows. “Placement is your department,” he says.
“Correct,” I reply, studying the first one critically before settling it into place. Nests are an art form. In the office, I’m Boss BitchLark. In the nest, I’m also Boss Bitch, just with soft things instead of spreadsheets.
He hands me another pillow. Then another. We fall into a comfortable rhythm, passing them over, me arranging them carefully around the edges of the nest.
“Can I ask you something?” he says after a moment.
“Sure.”
“Did you ever do a scent-matching program?”
I glance up. “No.”
He pauses, pillow still in his hands. “Really?”
I take the pillow from him and slide it into place. “Really.”
His expression shifts, disappointment flickering across his face.
“You never hoped to find us?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head. “It’s not that.” I reach for the next pillow he offers. “I just thought the odds were so slim. I didn’t want to spend years hoping for something that might never happen.”
He nods slowly. “That’s actually why I stopped.”
