Page 27 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

His fingers work more deliberately now, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

The sound seems to spur him on, his touch growing more insistent, more purposeful.

Her dress, once crisp and proper, is becoming rumpled under his attention, the fabric pulled taut across her hardened peaks.

"Meadow," she breathes, his name half-plea, half-warning.

She doesn't know what she's asking for — for him to stop or for more .

Perhaps both…or neither.

She can barely think.

His mouth finds the sensitive spot just below her ear, teeth grazing the tender skin before his tongue soothes the sting.

"Tell me what you need, Little Sunshine, " he murmurs, his breath hot against her neck. The nickname only heightens everything unfolding before her, as if another form of ownership in such a unique label that I’m sure he wouldn’t give to any other Omega.

Need.

The word seems inadequate for the hunger clawing at her insides.

What she needs is his hands everywhere, his mouth on her skin, his body pressed against hers without the barrier of clothes or propriety or the awkward confines of the car.

What she needs is to stop thinking, to surrender to the tide of sensation threatening to drown her.

Instead of answering, she presses her thighs together, mortified by the wetness she can feel soaking through her underwear. The movement doesn't escape Meadow's notice — nothing does.

His eyes darken, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of brown remains.

"Don't hide from me," he says, his voice gentle yet firm with Alpha authority that makes her Omega instincts quiver in response.

A horrible realization dawns on her then, crashing through the haze of desire like a bucket of ice water. Her daily routine has been so disrupted lately that she forgot — completely forgot —to put on her suppressant after showering.

The specialized fabric designed to contain Omega pheromones during arousal is sitting uselessly in her dresser drawer back at the ranch.

Making these just regular lacey panties she normally wears to sleep because they’re “breezy”.

Oh god…

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 their biology, 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.

Her body has made its preference clear, but her mind still struggles to catch up with the rapid evolution of their relationship.

"We can stop," Meadow says, though the strain in his voice belies the casualness of the offer. "Just say the word."

She should say it.

Should ask for time to process, to think clearly without the intoxicating cloud of pheromones scrambling her brain.

But the word sticks in her throat, unable to push past the wall of need that's built inside her.

Instead, she finds herself leaning into his touch, her body making decisions her mind isn't ready to verbalize. The movement causes her dress to ride up slightly, exposing more of her thighs to the cool air of the car.

The contrast between the chill and the heat radiating from her core makes her shiver.

Meadow's gaze drops to the newly revealed skin, a muscle in his jaw twitching with restraint. His hand on her knee tightens fractionally, his thumb tracing small, maddening circles on the sensitive inside of her leg.

"Tell me what you want, Marigold," he says, his voice deeper than she's ever heard it. "I need to hear you say it."

God…

The sound of her name on his lips, rough with desire, nearly undoes her.

The logical part of her brain is drowning in a sea of pheromones and want, unable to formulate the reasons why this might be a bad idea. All she knows is the ache between her legs, the painful sensitivity of her nipples, and the growing, desperate need to feel his hands on her bare skin.

Her dress feels constricting now, the fabric an unwelcome barrier between his touch and her body. The white flowers printed on it seem to mock her with their innocence, at odds with the primal hunger coursing through her veins.

She is anything but innocent in this moment — she is elemental, reduced to pure sensation and need.

The scent of their combined arousal hangs thick in the air, an invisible cloud that wraps around them, binding them together in shared desire. It's intoxicating, overwhelming, and making her dizzy with want.

Each breath she takes is filled with him — his scent marking her from the inside out.

Marigold meets his gaze, finding her courage in the naked hunger she sees reflected there. The intensity between them has built to a point where words seem superfluous, where their bodies are already engaged in a conversation more eloquent than speech.

Yet still he waits, patient despite the evidence of his desire, giving her the power to decide.

It's that restraint, that cares for her agency despite his Alpha nature, that tips the balance. She reaches for his hand on her knee and slowly, deliberately guides it higher up her thigh.

“H-Here…I want…your hand…between here,” she says as slowly as she can, hoping her trembling voice doesn’t make it seem like she doesn’t want this.

Her body is begging for this.

His hand moves steadily, and she dares take a trembling breath at the mere idea of what this can lead to.

Are they going to fuck in this car?

She’s never been so bold…so adventurous. She wasn’t very intimate with Rowan or the others in the pack now that she thinks about it. Did they fuck? Sure, but it was more one-sided. Not with all these moments of foreplay she’d read in books or watch in those heated movies and dramas."

"Should I slow down?" Meadow asks, his voice strained to the breaking point, each word seemingly wrenched from some deep place of restraint. His hand hovers over her entrance, fingers curled into a half-fist as if physically holding himself back.

The tendons in his forearm stand out in sharp relief, a map of his control etched beneath his skin.