Page 65 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
This whole time he must have not only smelled her but surprisingly didn’t dive into the impulsive need to fuck her this whole car ride. Not only does that show his level of restraint, but makes her feel even more vulnerable and embarrassed that she’s only now catching onto any of this.
She probably looks like a hoe Omega trying to lead him on.
"Oh no," she whispers, mortification spreading through her like wildfire.
Without the suppressant underwear, her scent will be broadcasting her arousal with unmistakable clarity. Already the car must be filling with her pheromones, the heady, sweet musk that signals an Omega's readiness to an Alpha's sensitive nose.
As if reading her thoughts, Meadow inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring.
His eyes close briefly, an expression of almost pain crossing his features before he masters himself.
When he looks at her again, the hunger in his gaze is barely leashed.
"You smell incredible," he says, voice strained with effort. "Like summer rain and wild honey and—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching as he fights for control.
Marigold feels her face flame with embarrassment. She knows her scent is strong, stronger than most Omegas — it's why she's so vigilant about suppressants normally.
Without them, she might as well be shouting her arousal to the world.
To him.
"I forgot my suppressants…well…the underwear…though I have probably been forgetting to take my actual suppressants too. It’s all dawning on me now…" she admits, the words barely audible. "I'm sorry, I'm probably making this worse."
Meadow's laugh is low and dark, sending shivers down her spine.
"Worse? Or better?" His hand leaves her breast to cup her face, tilting it up so she has to meet his gaze. "Don't ever apologize for how you respond to me. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced."
The sincerity in his eyes makes her throat tight with emotion. In a world where Omegas are taught to be ashamed of theirbiology, to hide their responses and mask their scents, his acceptance feels revolutionary.
Dangerous, even.
“You think I don’t like the idea of knowing you’re dripping wet for me?”
His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, and she can't help but dart her tongue out to taste him — salt and skin and the faint trace of leather from his work gloves. Meadow's eyes track the movement, his pupils dilating further.
"The things you do to me," he murmurs, more to himself than to her.
The scent in the car is becoming overwhelming, even to her less sensitive nose.
Her arousal mingles with his responding Alpha pheromones — a heady mixture of pine, wood smoke, and something musky and primal that makes her inner Omega whine with need.
The windows are completely fogged now, creating an illusion of privacy that emboldens her.
Meadow lowers his head again, his mouth finding the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. He inhales deeply against her skin, a rumbling sound of approval vibrating from his chest. His teeth graze the spot where a mating bite would go —not pressing, just suggesting— and Marigold's entire body jerks in response, a fresh wave of slick dampening her thighs.
"Oh God," she gasps, mortified and aroused in equal measure.
Her panties are soaked through now, clinging uncomfortably to her heated flesh. She shifts again, pressing her thighs together more firmly, trying to contain the evidence of her arousal.
But the movement only serves to create delicious friction against her swollen center, drawing a small, involuntary moan from her lips.
Meadow notices — of course he does.
His hand slides down to rest on her knee, not advancing higher, but the heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric of her dress.
It's a question, a request, a promise of what could follow if she allows it.
The car feels too small suddenly, too confined for the enormity of what's happening between them. Marigold's head spins with conflicting desires — the urgent need for more and the panicked voice warning her to slow down.
