Page 25 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

When she could easily ride his cock that would be hard and thick, just for her…

He can’t imagine knotting in her, and that has him mentally shaking his head out of the mere idea.

I have to stop.

The realization prompts me to change course.

Instead of continuing straight towards the ranch that’s five minutes away, I make a turn that will take us behind the local pharmacy.

It's not the most direct route home, but it gives us options — and time for me to find the right words for the conversation we need to have.

I signal the turn at the last possible moment, earning a small gasp from Marigold as the car swings behind the pharmacy's squat brick building.

The lot back here is deserted — employee parking during business hours, but empty now save for a single dumpster squatting in the corner like a metal toad.

The headlights sweep across blank asphalt before I cut the engine, plunging us into a darkness broken only by the distant glow of the street lamps from the main road and the faint illumination of the dashboard.

"Meadow?" Marigold's voice carries a note of confusion, perhaps concern. "Why are we stopping here?"

I don't answer immediately.

Can't answer.

My heart hammers against my ribs like something caged and desperate for freedom. Each beat sends blood rushing in my ears, drowning out rational thought. I focus on my breathing — in through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and measured, a deliberate counterpoint to the chaos inside me.

The confined space of the car has become a pressure cooker. Her scent surrounds me, seeps into the fabric of my clothes, and burrows beneath my skin.

With the engine off, there's nothing to mask the sound of her breathing, slightly faster than normal. Nothing to distract from the subtle shift of fabric as she turns toward me in the darkness.

"Are you all right?" she asks, and I feel rather than see her lean closer.

I nod, still not trusting my voice.

My knuckles are white against the steering wheel, and I force myself to loosen my grip. To relax my shoulders.

To appear normal when everything inside me is screaming.

"Do you need something because you got hurt?" The genuine worry in her voice finally breaks through my silence.

I turn to face her, and it's a mistake. In the dim light, her features are softened, her eyes wide and concerned. But it's her lips that capture my attention — slightly parted, the lower one fuller than the upper, a perfect bow that begs to be traced with fingertips. With tongue.

Fuck…

"I'm not hurt," I manage to say, my voice rougher than I intend. Lower. Dep pr imal authority seeping through the cracks in my composure.

She doesn't pull back, doesn't retreat from the naked want that must be evident in my gaze. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, a questioning gesture that exposes the elegant column of her throat.

My focus shifts there, to the pulse point where her heartbeat visibly flutters beneath pale skin.

My Alpha instincts roar to life, demanding action.

Claim her. Mark her. Make her yours before someone else does.

I dig my nails into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me momentarily.

This isn't about me or what I want.

This is about her safety. Her well-being.

I need to remember that, to hold onto that truth like a lifeline in a storm.

"Marigold," I say, and her name feels sacred on my tongue. "I need to ask you something, and I'm sorry if it seems... inappropriate."

Her brow furrows slightly, a small vertical line appearing between her eyebrows.

"Okay," she says cautiously.

The words stick in my throat.

How do I ask this without sounding presumptuous? Without revealing too much of my own response to her? Without making her uncomfortable?

"It's just that I noticed..." I begin, then falter. My gaze drops briefly to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "You seem uncomfortable. Restless."

A flush spreads across her cheeks, visible even in the dim light.

"Oh," she says softly. "I didn't realize it was so obvious."

"It's not," I hasten to reassure her. "I'm just...observant."

That's an understatement.

Every cell in my body is attuned to her, alert to the smallest change in her posture, her expression, her scent. Especially her scent, which continues to evolve in subtle ways that make my blood run hot and my self-control fray at the edges.

"I'm fine," she says, but her voice lacks conviction. She shifts in her seat, a small adjustment that sends a fresh wave of her scent toward me. "Really."

I close my eyes briefly, gathering my resolve.

When I open them, I find her watching me with an intensity that matches my own. Our gazes lock, and something passes between us — an acknowledgment, perhaps, of the current running beneath the surface of our careful interaction.

"The pharmacy will be closing soon," I say, nodding toward the building. "If you need...anything. Before they do."

Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed swiftly by embarrassment.

"Oh," she says again, the single syllable carrying a weight of realization. "You think I'm?—"

"I don't think anything," I interrupt gently. "I just want to make sure you have what you need. Just in case."

She looks down at her hands, then back up at me. In the shadows, her eyes are pools of darkness, fathomless and unreadable.

"That's very... considerate of you."

The word hangs between us, insufficient for the moment but all we have. Considerate. As if my actions stem from some impersonal sense of duty rather than the overwhelming need to protect her, to care for her, to be whatever she needs me to be.

"Part of the job," I reply, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.

This has nothing to do with my role at the ranch as her “boss” and everything to do with the way my body responds to hers, with the connection I felt from the moment she stepped into my office looking for a place to start over.

She's silent for a long moment, studying me in the darkness.

I wonder what she sees — a professional doing his job?

A man barely holding onto his control?

Something in between?

"I appreciate your concern," she says finally, her voice soft but steady. "But I'm not... that is, I don't think..." She takes a deep breath, as if gathering courage. "I've never experienced that…actually. Well, going into Heat, I guess. As an Omega. At least…not fully."

Oh.

The admission hits me with unexpected force.

Never experienced that. A full Heat, she means.

It's not unheard of — some omegas have irregular cycles, especially those who've been on suppressants for extended periods or who've experienced significant trauma.

And Marigold has certainly had her share of trauma.

"I see," I say, though I don't see at all. I'm navigating blind, with only fragments of information and my own instincts to guide me. "But you're feeling... something?"

She nods slowly, a barely perceptible movement in the darkness.

"It's different. Since coming here. I guess…I thought it wouldn’t really bother me since it’s not like I had a heat with Rowan and…."

She doesn't finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between us.

Since meeting me — meeting the men of my little pack.

The thought sends a surge of possessive pleasure through me, followed immediately by caution. I can't assume. Can't presume to know what she's feeling or why.

"The change in environment can affect hormonal balance," I offer, falling back on factual information to mask the intensity of my reaction. "New surroundings, different water, altered routine."

"Is that all it is?" she asks, and there's something in her voice — a hint of challenge, perhaps, or curiosity — that makes my pulse quicken.

Our eyes meet again, and this time, I don't look away. Can't look away. The space between us seems to contract, the air growing thicker, charged with potential.

My gaze drops to her lips, then back to her eyes. I watch as her pupils dilate, dark centers expanding to swallow the iris.

I want to reach for her. To close the distance between us.

To discover if her lips are as soft as they look, if her skin tastes as sweet as it smells. The urge is almost overwhelming, a physical ache that starts in my chest and radiates outward, settling low in my abdomen.

But I don't move. Don't reach. Don't take.

Because despite the signals her body is sending — the quickened breath, the flushed cheeks, the sweetening scent — I don't know what she wants.

What she needs.

What's best for her in this moment of vulnerability.

And her needs must come before my desires.

Always.

So I sit perfectly still, locked in this moment of exquisite tension, waiting for a sign, a word, any indication of what she wants me to do.

The silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. The only sounds are our breathing — hers slightly faster than mine — and the distant hum of traffic from the main road.

Time seems to slow, each second expanding to contain multitudes of wanting, of restraint, of possibility.

Outside, a car passes on the street, its headlights briefly illuminating the interior of our vehicle. The flash of light breaks the spell, and Marigold blinks, drawing back slightly.

"I should probably go home," she says softly, though she makes no move to straighten in her seat, to put distance between us. “I can always come to dinner another time.”

I should agree with her.

At least, I want to, but I can’t stop myself from being rebellious.

"What if we…do something that can cool things down a bit?” he whispers, offering the suggestion slowly, realizing what he’s potentially asking of her.

“Defy cooling off?” she whispers, and I can see it in her eyes that she knows exactly what I’m referring to.

What I’m potentially asking.

Neither of us moves.

The moment hangs suspended, fragile as blown glass, perfect in its incompletion.

I know I have to make the first move.

She’s begging me with those eyes of hers, all doe and so fucking hot.

As if i need more of a sign, she slowly licks her lips as if they’re dry like the Sahara Desert, while her eyes lower to mine, so briefly, so subtle.

Yet, the message is so fucking clear.

I wanted to be civil.

To claim I don’t act before using logic.

But that simply goes out the door when it comes to Marigold.

And I can’t dare to regret what I do next.

Which is why I’m leaning in before I can second-guess

Claiming those delicate lips like my life depended on it.