Page 40 of Sweet Heat

More. Please, more.

As though in a trance, I kneel slowly on the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping hottie, and knee-walk until my face hovers just above his enormous, erect cock. I can’t see it all, but my vision tunnels on that glistening droplet. Before I back out, my mouth opens, and I lick it off like a kitten lapping up cream.

My brain short circuits as his flavor explodes on my tongue.Cinnamon. Fried dough. Sugar. Caramel.Somehow, he tastes better than the best churro I’ve ever had. It’s my favorite food; the only thing that still tastes the same since the anosmia took my taste buds. The second his flavor hits, I know I need more. I’llalwaysneed more.

Bringing my hand up, I tug the shaft of his cock through the hole in his boxers, shocked at his enormous length. Relaxing my jaw, I hinge my mouth open as wide as possible, barely able to fit him inside. My lips stretch as I take him in, and my tongue laps at the slit, hoping for more of that glorious flavor.

“Oh. Holy shit. Posie,” he moans, waking. My eyes snap up to meet his. His eyes lock on my lips, pupils completely blown with lust. Miller’s hips buck up involuntarily, jabbing my throat and making me gag. But I love it. The feel of him heavy on my tongue makes my nipples pucker and my pussy pulse like never before. A steady trickle of his churro flavor appears as more pre-cum dribbles from his tip.

Heavenly.

“Teach me. Show me how,” I beg, releasing him for an instant before dropping back down in search of that delicious flavor. I’m like a woman possessed. Fortunately, Miller pauses for only a second before tangling his fingers in my long hair and taking over.

“I like anything you do, baby,” he grunts, setting the rhythm. “This is the first time anyone’s done this for me. Oh God. I’m already close.”

His shocking admission makes my omega preen. That’s right, I’m the only one who’s ever going to suck this cock or take his knot.

Miller uses my hair to control the speed, tunneling further in my mouth with every thrust. I hollow my cheeks and hang on for the ride, loving the way he uses me for his pleasure. Up. Down. Up. Down. The veins of his cock rub against my lips, bruising them in the most delicious way and rewarding me with littlesplashes of pre-cum that make me suck harder and harder. The ridge of his knot is swollen and rough, but it’s still encased in his boxers, and although I’m dying to see it, I’m not sure how to go about releasing it from the material’s confines.

Miller’s moans and appreciative noises fill my ears, and I double down, taking him as much as I can, following the rhythm he’s setting.

“You’re so perfect,” he praises, hitting the back of my throat. This time, I don’t gag, instead swallowing against the intrusion. “Oh fuck. Babe. I’m going to come. Pop off.”

He panics, but I bob faster, loving the sting as he tries to pull me back. Reaching forward, I circle his shaft with my hand, jacking up and down instinctually as his abs tighten and his thick thighs twitch. Nothing is going to deny me his cum.

“I can’t hold back,” he moans, trying to pull me off again. I bat at his hands, slapping his thigh in a silent demand. Miller’s legs shake as he fights the rising tide of his need.

“Give me every drop.” Sucking him as deep as I can, a growl rips from my throat, and my hand moves faster. His cock grows impossibly large, pulsing once, twice before erupting. Thick ropes of cum coat the inside of my mouth, and I seal my lips around him, determined to keep it all inside. I suck hard, my cheeks puffing out, allowing the flavor to take over all my senses. My world narrows to the flavor of churros, and suddenly, something inside me shifts, clicking into place.

Mate.

The room spins, and I let the sweet liquid slide down my throat. For a second, the scent of the dessert slams into me, sending my mind pinwheeling into a free fall. My nostrils flare, and Itry to drag it deep into my lungs.Smell him! I can smell him!A happy cry rushes out of me, acknowledging what I should have known all along. Miller is mine. The person I’m fated to be with—who, in return, will love me with his whole heart.

I release his cock, letting it slap wetly against his abdomen, leaving a shiny trail of saliva in its wake. All I can do is gape at him. I attempt to catch the churro scent once again, but there’s nothing there. Disappointment bowls me over, making tears gather in my eyes. The loss is like a limb being ripped away, and pain surges through me.

“Posie, what’s wrong?” Miller panics, surging up to cup my face. “Did I hurt you?”

Concern hums through the room, his body practically vibrating as he waits for my answer. Strong hands pet my cheeks, and I reach up to grip them, twining our fingers together as more tears spill. I’m not even sure if they are happy or sad.

Are overwhelmed tears a thing?

Unable to wait, Miller pulls me against him. “Whatever it is, Puff, you can tell me.” The care in his voice causes a sob to break free from my chest. I take a moment to get myself together enough to speak. But when I do, only one thing matters.

“Are we scent-matched?” I cry, drowning under the deluge of emotions. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and never thought I could have. How does an omega who can’t smell have a scent match?

The second I ask, Miller stills, and I look up at him. His mouth hangs open in surprise; he appears to be dumbstruck, blinking several times before focusing on me. Tears continue to blur my vision, but even I can see how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows hard.

“Baby—can you smell me?” His voice cracks, and he wraps his arms around me tightly, squeezing me so hard that I squeak, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. And I don’t want him to. The need to be as close as possible flashes through every nerve ending.

“M-maybe. N-no. I don’t think so,” I answer, voice quivering. My nose drops to the crook of his neck and I try my damnedest to scent him again, but come up empty. Growling, I shove my face in deeper, but still nothing.

“Then… what… how?” he asks, cupping the back of my head and pressing me against him.

“I-I… tasted you?” I ask, brows furrowing, wondering if I’m way off-base. “That makes no sense, does it?”

Irritation prickles me, and an itch begins beneath my skin. As much as I want to be closer to Miller, part of me wants to run far away so he can’t tell me I’m crazy. Doctor after doctor explained that this was all in my head—there was no physical reason that my sense of smell didn’t return after the accident. First, it was the concussion—which healed. Then it was my nose, so we did an exploratory surgery that found nothing. So, a psychosomatic response became the reason—but hearing it from Miller will hurt way more.

Knowing I dreamed up a scent match? That might just kill me.

---