I Smell Like Beef Novels & Stories

Whiskey. I hate this place. I hate this smell. The stench of wet dog and fear. It’s repugnant. When someone dies suddenly, they leave behind the stench of their last thoughts. I've come to find that most of the time those thoughts are ones of fear. I hate the smell of it. It's what comes after, that I like the most, the scent of death. Blood, mixed with pain and a hint of helplessness, all thrown together with the scent of decaying flesh. That is the smell I like. That is what I want to be able to smell all day. If I could, I would infuse the horrendous stench into a perfume and wear it daily. The bringer of death, carrying with her the scent of your doom. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

"Looks like you can't cook even if you wanted to." Footsteps came from behind me. Adam walked into the kitchen. As he approached, that oppressive feeling struck again. But he didn't look at the refrigerator. Instead, he suddenly frowned, his nostrils flaring twice, as if sniffing some scent. Then he showed an extremely disgusted expression. "What is that smell on you?" His voice was cold as ice shards. I instinctively sniffed my sleeve. "Oh, it's disinfectant smell, and dog scent. There were several big dogs at the clinic today who were particularly clingy. I played with them on the floor for a while..."

he said, "Every wolf has a different smell and only their mates can smell their scent strongly." "I know, but you don't have to sniff me!" I exclaimed. "What do I smell like?" Jeffrey asked, laughing. "I don't know." "You do know, just say it." "I don't." Jeffrey stopped walking and hugged me tightly. "Now you do." I laughed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of him makes me dizzy and boosts my ego. I opened my eyes and said, "Fine, you smell like shampoo and cologne." We started to walk uphill. "Are we there, yet?" I asked.

He smelled of baby soap, sweet milk, and something deeper, the rich mix of cedar and vanilla that belonged only to our home. Dominic reached over, his big hand covering both of my hands on Liam’s stomach. "He smells like you today," Dominic said, his thumb moving over my wrist. "He smells like both of us," I said, looking at him. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a breath. In the days when I used strong medicines, my skin had no smell, cold, flat, and chemical. I used to scrub my wrists in hotel sinks, scared that a single drop of my smell would give my true dynamic away to the league.

He guessed, stepping aside to let me in. A huff escaped my lips. Then I simply just stepped into the dimly lit garage. The place smelt heavily of grease and sweat, like Derek always did. There was also something distinctly like him. Yeah, I knew what he smelled like. My body always craved that woodsy musk that always clung to his smooth skin. Probably from the stuff he worked around with all day long in this dump. He didn't say anything for a second. He just strolled over to the mini fridge in the corner. I watched his biceps flex when he pulled out two cold cans of beer.

“No. Hell no. He had it coming. I’ve let him and his precious little fan club step on me for years. If anything, I was nice about it.” With a huff, I stomp my foot, spin on my heel, and march forward again. My legs are just dragging me wherever they please at this point. Maybe straight into the jaws of a rogue. Wouldn’t that be poetic? Also—I smell like death. Not like actual death, more like… the essence of it. Spoiled tomatoes, stale milk, something fruity and rotten I can’t even identify, and, what’s that? Oh yeah. Roasted chicken. What kind of disgusting buffet am I carrying on my skin right now?

Greatttt. The moment I walked in I'm hit with the most amazing smell ever, it's like cottonwood and apple trees in the summer. See your mate will smell like one or more of your favorite things. For me living on a farm one summer with my grandparents is one of the best memories of my life. I remember loving the smell of the apple trees and cottonwood that grew there. So the smell on him is simply intoxicating. 'Mate'

I placed the remainder of the leg of lamb back onto the plate and licked my fingers clean. "I took a crap," I said. "The first one in over a year." He sat up and pushed his hair back, and it fell right back into his eyes. "You smell different, too." "Different?" "Not so neutral, like you might want to shower." I sniffed my underarms and grimaced. Definite B.O.

the prince advised quite sternly. "I'm feeling completely better now. I think it's probably because I am far away from the smell of the steak," I replied with a shy smile. "Has this ever happened before? Are you usually sensitive to the smell of meat or beef?" the doctor asked patiently. "I guess not. I feel like this is the first time that this has happened," I replied after a moment of thought. The doctor looked like he was about to say something, but the duchess beat him to it.

With a sigh, I start toward him. “Leave the bag over there. I could do with a break from the smell.” I’m ready to argue, but then I stop. I’ve spent a large portion of this little adventure arguing, and truth be told, I’m kind of sick of the smell of raw meat, too. At first, it didn’t bother me in the least, but after a while, it’s a bit much. Maybe if I was a wolf, it’d still smell pretty good to me, but right now, I prefer my steak to be a little more well done than body warm.