I Smell Like Beef Novels & Stories

Of course Christopher Henry Jameson—also known as Beast- wasn't the average man. He stood 6'5" and weighed three hundred and two pounds. He didn't like the extra three pounds. He rather liked being in the two hundred weight range even if it was by just one or two pounds. Regardless, there wasn't an ounce of fat on his perfect body. Beast was muscles on top of muscles, yet not hulking like some of the others that worked in the Marine Corps division assigned to The Department of Home Land Security, or better known as DHS. Too big made you slow. He'd seen guys bigger than him hospitalized during the CRUCIBLE training.

The jagged chunk of missing flesh on his calf tells me why he most likely killed himself. The second we open the door, the smell hits us, as if we had just stepped into a landfill in the middle of a Texas July. It's overwhelming and all encompassing, suffocating and choking us. I can practically taste it in the back of my throat, and it forces me to gag harshly. Bending over with my hands on my knees, I force myself to take slow, deep breaths through the mouth instead of the nose. We need to search this room for any supplies, but I can't get past my sensitive gag reflex.

She said that I always smelled good. Even though I don't have a husband, I still have to smell good. It reminded me of Oscar. When we were together in bed, he didn't let go of my hug from behind. He nuzzled his head into my neck. "You smell so good, Bea. Your scent is soothing, like a drug that relaxes my mind." "You're overpraising me, Sir. Your wife's perfume is expensive and smells very luxurious." "Yes, you're right, she wears a sweet and fresh perfume. But if you inhale it for too long, it'll be bitter in your throat. As for you, the more you inhale, the more I want to bite you."

“You have steak? Don’t play with me, Matt. If you don’t have steak, I’ll figure out a way to kick your ass.” “That’s my girl. Yes, I do. Now come on, sit up, and I’ll bring it over.” She began to push herself up and looked surprised. “My muscles aren’t sore, and I don’t smell like sex. What did I miss?” “What exactly does sex smell like?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re a wolf, Matt. I know you know what I’m talking about. If you can smell when I’m in heat or when your sweet-talking is making me wet, then you know exactly what sex smells like.”

The sight made me smile despite myself. But more than the sounds of the game, it was the aroma that caught me. It drifted from the kitchen like a warm embrace—rich, savory, and mouthwatering. My stomach betrayed me, rumbling loudly as if I hadn’t eaten in days. The scent of browned beef, caramelized onions, butter, and herbs twined with something creamy and decadent. My body practically leaned toward it without my permission, and before I knew it, my steps carried me straight into the kitchen.

Liam wouldn’t shut up, and I was beginning to wonder just how many cups of beer he’d actually had. “My wolf likes your voice,” he slurred, stumbling as we turned the last corner. “I can feel him stir when you talk. Like, get a little jumpy. Isn’t that weird?” I bit back a laugh. “Very weird. You should probably never repeat that.” “Noted,” he whispered, but didn’t stop talking. “Also… you smell like vanilla and something… sharp.” “Tell me about it.” “Like citrus—orange. And sandalwood, it’s rude.”

So I decided to leave the bed and go look for my boy not for me to start hearing A smell. It was not the smell of toast or eggs or coffee. Not the smell of something cooking. It was stronger. Sharper. Cold. Raw. Like the smell of a butcher shop early in the morning. Like fresh meat that had never been touched by heat. I frowned. My mind told me it was nothing …maybe just my imagination. But my body didn’t believe it. My body stiffened under the blanket. The smell wasn’t faint. It was real. It was here, in the house.

“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?

I stated. “And what’s that mean!?” he demanded, throwing the book at me. “That I’m half-animal and therefore have a heightened sense of smell to go with my large snout. I just agree that you reek. You smell like piss, shit, vomit, blood, and… ejaculation.” I shrugged, furrowing my brow, not even wanting to ask why I could smell not just his own discharge but someone else’s.

After about five minutes of stares, Kenzie couldn't take it anymore. "Why do they keep staring at me like I'm something they want to eat?" she asked Jay. "More like mate with," Jay replied. "I'm guessing it could be your smell or the fact that you're fresh meat." "What do I smell like?" Kenzie asked. Jay shrugged. "Like vanilla, but I'm talking about your natural smell. It intrigues them." “Can they all smell my natural scent?”