Possessive Gravity : The Alpha's Claim
in the kitchen last night, Bima had just blindly snatched it and put it on.
Now, in the middle of a painfully boring Structural Theory class, Bima was trapped in a lethal delusion.
That scent. Sharp sandalwood mixed with a hint of clean citrus and Arka’s signature, heavy masculine musk. A scent that Bima could usually only breathe in when his face was buried deep in the crook of the guy's neck was now embracing him from every direction, wrapping around him like an invisible shroud. Every time Bima shifted in his seat, his own rising body heat seemed to evaporate Arka’s cologne clinging to the fibers of the fabric, sending sensory waves that made his nerves short-circuit.