“What’s wrong, Omega?” he called after me, voice low and lazy. “Your Alpha didn’t f**k the brat out of you this morning?”
I stopped walking.
I spun around on my heel so fast I almost tripped, marched back up to him like I was about to throw hands—and maybe I was—but then he leaned down slightly, smirked again, and whispered:
“You smell like him.”
I blinked.
“What?” I breathed.
“Your scent,” he murmured. “It’s not clean. It’s not pure anymore. You reek of Alpha c*m
He said it like it was a compliment. Like I should be proud of it. And the worst part? The absolute worst part? My body reacted to it. My skin got hotter.
I opened my mouth to tell him to f**k off, to remind him I had a whole Alpha Daddy who could snap his neck like a pencil and not even flinch—but he didn’t let me. Of
