The Scent of Him on Her

Knock.

Knock.

The knocks came again—sharper this time… louder, as if it meant to tear apart the silence.

Luciano’s breath hitched, his jaw tensing as his eyes remained locked with Noora’s. Neither of them moved. The silence was no longer intimate but it had turned razor sharp, like something balanced on the edge of a blade.

Then came the voice.

“Luciano?” It was Charles. “Open up.”

Noora’s body jolted in his arms.

Luciano immediately pulled back, fingers tightening once around her waist before he let go. His eyes, still storm-dark with desire, scanned her flushed, tangled form; hair mussed, lips swollen, the scent of their sin lingering in the air.

“Hide,” he said, the word low and dangerous. “Now.”

Noora didn’t ask where. She didn’t have time. She turned silently, slipping behind the heavy velvet curtain by the tall window… her breath shallow, chest rising and falling in silent panic.

Just in time.

Bang. Bang.

Another knock. Sharper.

Luciano turned and opened the door slightly… just enough to glare at the group outside his quarters.

Charles stood at the front; his arms crossed with his usual regal stiffness. Cindy was just behind him, wide-eyed and all-too-innocent. Lucas stood a step back, his brows furrowed, eyes flicking restlessly past Luciano’s shoulder.

“I’m not in the mood for company,” Luciano said coldly.

“I’m afraid this is not a social visit,” Charles said smoothly. “Cindy claims she saw someone…an unfamiliar figure dressed in black, sneaking into your quarters.”

Cindy stepped forward, voice syrupy. “I was just walking down the hall and saw someone in black slip inside. I thought it was—dangerous. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Of course, it was her!

Luciano’s eyes cut to her. Sharp. Unforgiving. He didn’t speak—but his silence burned, enough to make her flinch ever-so slightly.

Inside, behind the curtain, Noora’s body pressed flat against the cold wall, her breath caught in her throat. She could hear every word. Her heart thundered so loud she feared they’d hear it too.

Lucas stepped forward. “We can’t take risks,” he said, his voice worried. “Not after last time. Let me in, just to check. I promise I won’t touch anything.”

Noora felt her knees weaken.

Not Lucas. Not now.

She took an instinctive step back from the curtain. It was just a flicker of motion. But it was enough.

Lucas’s eyes flicked to the side and for half a second, he saw it. A silhouette. A curvy figure, woman—a familiar woman!

Noor—

But it disappeared just as quickly. Like an illusion. A trick of light.

Still—he blinked.

Luciano saw the subtle shift in Lucas’s face. Saw the way Lucas’s eyes narrowed darkly.

His own jaw locked.

“If there’s an intruder,” Luciano said, voice now iron and ice, “they won’t leave this place alive.”

Silence fell.

Then he added, tone colder than ice:

“Don’t forget—every uninvited person here is an intruder.”

Charles’s eyes darkened. But he said nothing.

Lucas’s lips parted. But he, too, held back.

They knew Luciano. And more importantly, they knew the look in his eyes; a look that meant one thing—back off.

Luciano didn’t wait for another word.

With one sharp motion, he slammed the door in their faces.

The echo of it reverberated throughout the quarters like a final warning.

He leaned against the door for a breath, face blank, but his jaw twitching.

The silence stretched between them like a live wire.

Then, he moved in front of the window, and softly, the curtain rustled behind him.

Luciano didn’t turn towards her completely.

He didn’t move. He stood there, in front of the floor-length window, his back partially to her, the faint outline of her discarded shirt lying like a fallen flag between them. His face was shadowed, half-hidden under his tousled black hair, but the muscles in his shoulders were taut. Rigid. His fists clenched at his sides.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t look.

But he felt her.

Every inch of her glowing like temptation incarnate; skin flushed, marred by the faint imprints of his hands and mouth.

Heard her uneven breaths.

Smelled her—himself—on her skin.

Noora stepped into the sliver of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. It kissed her skin, painting her in silver and sin. Her hair spilled around her face like shadows, and her shirt—ripped, half-hanging; lay at his feet.

Noora wrapped her arms around herself, trying to cover what little she could. The skin between her thighs still pulsed with the imprint of his barely-there touch, and her lips still burned where his breath had hovered. His teeth had marked her like a warning. Or a claim.

And now she stood there. Exposed. Humiliated. On fire. And ashamed for wanting more.

She stepped forward, slow. Deliberate.

Her fingers trembled as she bent to the floor to grab the remnants of her torn shirt. She clutched it to her chest, wrapping it over herself in a flimsy shield of modesty.

Dignity…what was left of her, now hung by a thread.

She moved to pass by him… shoulders squared, spine straight, forcing pride into her posture. But as soon as she crossed him, tried to breathe past him—

And he caught her.

A wrist. Firm.

Her breath stilled. The shirt slipped slightly as she turned her head to look at him.

Luciano didn’t face her. Still didn’t look.

But his other hand moved, slow and deliberate, to his own shirt.

Click.

The button of his shirt came undone.

Noora’s brows pulled together, confused.

Click.

Another. Then another. Until he shrugged off the shirt in one fluid motion, muscles flexing under the pale wash of moonlight.

Still holding her wrist, he stepped closer—not touching her anywhere else, but the heat of him was suffocating.

Then, without a word, he wrapped his shirt around her. Carefully. Deliberately. Pulling it over her arms. Adjusting the collar. Buttoning each one.

One.

By.

One.

Noora couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

His scent invaded her skin again, rich and maddening. The feel of his fingers brushing against her collarbone, grazing the soft skin above her chest, made her shiver despite the heat pooling low in her belly.

He didn’t look at her. Not once.

When he finished the last button, his hand lingered…just a second longer…right above her heart.

Then, finally, he stepped back.

The heat that had bloomed between them in secret, in breathless touches and shameless moments, snapped at the cold distance now stretching between them.

His eyes lifted.

They were cold. Shadowed. Devastating.

“Get. Out.”

The words hit like a whip. Each syllable drawn out, cruel and sharp.

Her breath caught.

The same mouth that had been on her skin minutes ago, now flung her like filth to the ground.

Like a slut whose purpose had been fulfilled.

Like a temptation he regretted surrendering to.