Page 16 of My Begrudging Scent Matches

Alice is down three flights when another whine escapes from her throat, this one louder than the last. She has to stop for a moment and grip the banister for dear life. There’s wetness on her cheeks and she swipes at them realizing it’s tears.

Above her, Alice hears a door slam open and she forces herself on. It didn’t sound like the heavy metal creak of the roof door, but she can’t be too careful. Her underwear is soaked, embarrassingly so, and she needs to get out, get home, or get to a clinic immediately.

Before she can make it down another flight, she hears a deep voice calling her name— it’s Grant, she recognizes it, and he eats up the distance between them quickly. When his hand falls on Alice’s bare forearm, her knees almost go out beneath her.

“Oh my God, Alice, are you—” He comes closer and his scent pulls another whimper from her chest. Him too? She thinks she might faint, his scent is so strong with hers, more woodsy than Caleb’s, but nonetheless, it feels all the same. His eyes ignite, realizing it too.

Another. Fucking. Scent match.

“I’m going into heat,” she confirms, panting. “I'm not supposed to be.”

“I could smell it from my desk, why aren’t you with your pack?”

“I don’t have a pack,” Alice barks, but another wave of his scent hits her and this time her knees really do go weak beneath her. Grant slides an arm around her waist and pulls her close to hold her upright.

“I can get to a clinic if I really—” Alice gasps because this is when the pain starts in earnest. It’s not light, or a gnawing ache, it’s a sudden and intense bolt of agony directly in her abdomen that makes her whimper.

“How? On the fucking public bus? You won’t make it,” Grant says. Even in her distressed state, she knows that he’s right.

She won’t be able to walk to a clinic, even if it was right next door she wouldn’t manage it. There is no stopping this, and she was delusional to think there was.

“My suppressants aren’t working,” she cries.

“You’re still suppressing? How old are you?—”

“Too old, I know, okay? This is my first heat, so if you’re not going to shut the fuck up and knot me, then I need you to drive me to a clinic or get far, far away from me.”

Grant’s eyes rove over her face for a moment before he curses, then supports her weight as they move towards the door on the third floor.

“Go to the second,” she says. “The developers are remote on Fridays.”

Grant listens, pulling her down another two flights until they’ve reached the second floor. He swings the entry door open. Sure enough, it’s completely quiet, the lights are off, and there’s not a soul in sight. Not even a janitor is around to see them sneak into the bathroom and lock the door behind them.

“Tell me what you need,” Grant says, as soon as they’re inside, and another high, keening noise comes from Alice.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” she whines, though she does know. She knows in a primal way that the only way she’ll find relief right now is if he knots her, and fast. “My clothes—everything.”

His hands descend onto her, pulling her shirt over her head, and then kneels as he slides her slacks down her legs, the cold air on her skin offering no relief. Grant stares wide-eyed at her mostly naked body for a moment. If she was any more in control of herself she might have felt self-conscious at the way his gaze travels across her curves.

“Alice,” he says, and there’s a strain to his voice that wasn’t there before.

“It hurts, Grant. It hurts so much.”

“Tell me what you need,” he repeats, his voice now two octaves lower. “Say it.”

He lifts beneath Alice's thighs and deposits her on the cold stone countertop. His face comes to her neck, his lips kissing and sucking at her burning skin, making her internal inferno rage even hotter. She bites down on her lower lip.

“Tell me what you need, Alice. Tell me it’s okay that I take care of you.”

“Your knot,” She says. “Take care of me. Please.”

As a reward, he pulls her soaked panties aside and presses one thick finger into her, met with no resistance. He curses again and Alice feels herself clench around him.

“God, you're good, aren’t you?” he asks.

She wants to tell him that no, she is not good. She’s a nightmare and the least eligible Omega in the great state of Massachusetts, perhaps the entire country. Instead, she whimpers as he adds another finger and begins to pump.

“More,” she manages to say through the pain cinching around her stomach. “Grant, I need more.”

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