Page 50 of Lycan Prey
“You stole my pillow!” she scowls.
“Ah, no, you just stole my pillow!” I remind her, rubbing the back of my head.
“No, that smells like Freesias. I know the scent of my pillow. The cleaner uses something on mine.” She inhales my pillow deeply and sighs.
“Whatever this delicious scent is?” she pauses, trying to describe the scent. “It’s… It’s… like smokey pine and blue lotus almost but more masculine and spicier. I want to eat it; it makes my mouth water.” She chuckles, and I snicker, folding my arms across my chest.
“Is it now, so it’s mouthwatering?” I ask her, and she nods, burying her face in my pillow and sighing deeply.
“Hmm, hm,” she hums, fluffy out her pillow.
“Does that scent remind you of anyone?” I ask her. She seems thoughtful for a second, and I growl, ripping her toward me. She smacks against my chest.
“What the hell are you doing?” she growls, and I tangle my fingers in her rainbow locks with a laugh, holding her cheek to my naked chest. “Soren!” she growls, biting my pec, her hands clawing at me to let her go.
“I wonder who it smells like? Delicious, she says. Are you trying to make me blush?” I chuckle.
“What are you talking about!” she shrieks, thrashing in my grip.
“Now I know why Max was swapping my pillow every morning. I thought he wanted it because of his night terrors, but now I know he was swapping it for yours.” I tell her, and she freezes, her small hands pushing on my chest. I let her go, and she jerks away before curiosity gets the better of her. She leans forward, sniffing me.
“Do I make your mouth water?” I laugh.
Her eyes widen, and her face turns crimson, recognizing the scent. “I even berated the cleaning lady thinking she was changing my pillowcases since they never smelled of Max despite him swapping his pillow for mine each morning.” She says nothing and is just staring at me as her blush moves down her neck and chest. “But I am glad I smell mouthwatering, delicious even.” I laugh. She looks on the verge of combusting from embarrassment.
“But you don’t smell like that during the day?” she blurts. “You still smell good, but…”
“You’ve been scenting me?” I ask her, and her mouth opens and closes like a fish as she tries to find words. I chuckle and lean forward slightly.
“No… I… your smell is all over Max… I…”
“So, you’ve been scenting my son?” I ask her, loving the way she squirms, trying to explain herself.
“Now you’re putting words in my mouth!”
“No, but I make your mouth water!” I retort. She looks away, her cheeks still flushed. I pull her closer. Our faces are inches apart. I take a deep breath and inhale her scent.
“It’s okay; I think you smell pretty delicious, too,” I tell her. She growls at me before snatching the pillow she stole. “Damian makes me wear a scent masker; don’t ask me why. It muffles my scent or adds to it or something. He sprays it in all the cars, too; I can’t stand the smell of it. Muffles my sense of smell, too,” I tell her.
“I’m still keeping it!” she tells me, fluffing the pillow before moving to the sofa under the bay windows and stealing more pillows and cushions. Does she need to create a Den? Does she have her monthlies? What the fuck is this woman doing now?
I watch her as she makes a long line of pillows down the middle of the bed— this woman and her weird compulsions fascinate me and infuriate me.
“What are you doing now?” I can’t help but ask as the pillow wall becomes higher.
She doesn’t look up from her task. “My ex always complained I moved around a lot in my sleep,” she says, her voice muffled slightly by the pillow in her hands.
“He said that me scenting him annoyed him,” she adds. I want to ask about this ex to pry into who could possibly have issues with such a trivial thing, but she gives away nothing more, skillfully avoiding my gaze and any further questions I want to ask.
With a final pat, she seems satisfied with her pillow barrier.
“Comfy now, or should I ask the maid for more pillows? I can still see if I sit up high enough, don’t want any awkward eye contact,” I tell her.
“Are you usually this annoying when on your own? I see why Damian gets so frustrated with you!”
“No, I just like watching you get cranky, you’re like a Pomeranian all bark and no bite.”
She lifts her head to glare at me over her wall of pillows.
