The Scent and The Siren

‎♡‧₊˚four ‎♡‧₊˚

✧༺♥༻∞

─── ⋅｡ﾟ☆: ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅:☆ﾟ ⋅ ───

𓆩♡𓆪 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𓆩♡𓆪

✧༺♥༻∞

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭

It's him.

What am I supposed to do now?

A lump forms in my throat and fails to dislodge. There's a strange feeling in my belly.

Holding my hand firmly against my stomach, I crane my neck to look at him again—the living, breathing embodiment of my every dream, fantasy, and desire.

In my mind, it feels like an eon has elapsed while I'm on my knees processing his sudden appearance and my uncontainable wild reaction to his allure, though, in reality, it has barely been seconds.

"Go ahead and finish your statement." His rich, dark drawl carries a formidable edge, his dark gaze piercing into me with transfixed attention, ensnaring my soul and holding me still.

His face is firm with fierce control and bears a sternly unwelcoming expression. A sense of foreboding envelopes me like an aura, my abdominal muscles clenching tighter. Everything feels fierce. Intense. Overwhelmingly emotional.

For a moment, I want to forget the situation, our history, and the pain accompanying it. It has been so long... and I have missed this man so much. I have dreamed about him nearly every night and spun countless fantasies involving him. My subconscious has made me wait for him. And now he's here for real. I want to hug him, keep holding him for eternity, ask him how his life has been, tell him how my life has been without him, and there's just so much I want to do, but I can't.

"My statement...?" I repeat mechanically like someone hearing the expression for the first time, thanks to his all-too-consuming magnetism sucking me deep into its vortex. Even the rain slows down, transforming into a mild drizzle as if it also feels threatened in his presence.

"If I recall correctly, you were in the middle of a tirade about my alleged creepiness and perversion before abruptly halting yourself mid-sentence?" He derides me with sweetened scorn that cuts me like a knife blade.

Crap, why did I have to say all those things? I mentally wince.

Icy heat shivers up my spine and down again. Blood surges through me, flooding my face. I seriously need a brain-to-mouth filter. My mother does not have one either. No wonder they call me her replica.

Ugh. This is so frustrating. Now be prepared to face the repercussions of not having one. My alter ego that crashes round-the-clock rent-free in my mind snaps.

He's standing alarmingly close, sheltering his head under an umbrella, exposing his luxurious white gold cufflinks bearing his initials A.D. in dazzling white diamonds while his other hand is firmly wedged in his pocket, his shoulders squared, and his posture so erect it could make a marine proud. Authority radiates off him, and his poise has a natural elegance that cannot be feigned.

The agony of sharing this level of vicinage with this charismatic Greek god is almost too much to bear. I know he is expecting me to respond, but I don't. Still deep in shock from his appearance, I find myself incapable of responding.

"Please continue by all means." His voice is rough with provocation as he delivers a grim, flippant remark dangerously close to the other, sensuous husk he had used a moment ago. It has the same unfurling effect deep in my belly. "I am intrigued. How does a woman like yourself meandering the streets at night in that dress get the audacity to offer such a disparaging remark for someone trying to help her?"