Unforgivable Woman Perfume Novels & Stories

I was no longer the pathetic woman who begged for a man's love. I was the biggest underground perfume supplier in the Mediterranean. My new product, "Siren's Kiss," a perfume that induced extreme hallucinations and forced confessions, had already cornered half of Europe's black market. My assistant, Camilla, approached, her head bowed respectfully. "Boss, the private jet is ready. The New York crew is waiting." A cold smile touched my lips as I drained the glass. "Let's go. It's time to take back what is mine."

Melinda felt annoyed because the conversation had not been completed, but Afgan had already hung up the call unilaterally. As a consolation for her heart, she immediately sprayed the perfume she had just bought. “Ihh, cheap taste, doesn't smell good at all. How can Afgan like a scent like this,” Melinda said with a pouty face and raised lips while looking at the perfume bottle she was holding. “Wuek.” Melinda stuck out her tongue and felt disgusted. Melinda was surprised and doubtful about the perfume she had just bought. Not only did it smell too strong, but in Melinda's opinion, it was not a fragrance that could lure any man.

“You don't perceive the smell because she has taken this girl's body, but whoever is inside is not real. She has a very particular smell, and she smells faintly of an explosive that smelled like gardenia perfume.” I raised my eyebrows and looked at the young girl, who looked embarrassed. “How do you know it's explosives?” asked Connor. “I don't smell like anything but gardenias.” “It's an explosive perfume,” Aris said confidently. “It was created to confuse wolves because of a perfume that became popular at the time. It turns out that the perfume is sprayed on the body and reacts like a detonator because there is a spell that makes it only recognize the person it wants to harm. She tries to

She was a flame—one that refused to die even as the wind turned cruel. One wonders why accept this suffering when she can just open up about who she is? Everyone would go silent. I wonder the same, and I admit, this intrigues me. I loosened my tie, my eyes never leaving her. Her perfume clung faintly to the air: sandalwood and lavender—fresh and magnificent, I must say.

I watched the rain trails winding down the darkened window, when suddenly I caught a dissonant note—a lingering trace of absinthe and bergamot upon the silk scarf at my neck. This was not my scent. I wore no perfume. Julian had once said, his lips against my pulse, "I want only your skin's natural scent, like porcelain after rain." This fragrance belonged exclusively to Gia. Last week I had seen that square crystal bottle of Guilty Absinthe on her vanity. She smiled and said, "Celeste, this is called Peccato. Julian said it suits my complexion." Suddenly, a dull pain spread across my heart, as if someone were slowly excising me with a blunt knife.

She needed one willing test subject. Me. Tonight, the lab empties out, and she locks the door after the last person leaves. “Iris,” she says, leaning against her workstation, “I'm creating an entirely new fragrance line. The entire collection will be built around the raw, honest scent of female arousal. From the first spark... all the way to the moment a woman completely loses control. I need someone who can be honest with her body. Are you that woman?” I stand there in my work blouse and pencil skirt, my pulse hammering.

A few people on the side agreed, but some objected and expressed disdain, "Come on! Do you honestly think Mr. Parker made that? Just because it’s written on the bottle doesn’t mean it's true! They just want to see who’s a kiss*ss.” "Didn’t you sense something weird with the perfume? How can you call yourself a perfumer? Just go home and take care of your kids!” It was a woman who got mocked. She instantly went red in the face as she retorted, "What makes you think I couldn’t tell the difference? Mr. Parker’s perfume uses a variety of floral fragrances, and the essential oils in it were specially prepared. If you don’t understand it, don't mock others! Also, don't mock women. Your mother is a

She waved her hand and continued, "Could you please stay away from me? The pungent of your cheap perfume made me sick." The woman's expression changed as she shouted in a sharp voice, "You know nothing about perfume. The perfume I wore today is Dior and worth hundreds of thousands yuan." Hua Qingwu smiled coldly, sneered, and said disdainfully, "Really? Then I would suggest you take a bath in perfume or you won't be able to cover the rotten smile on you." Obviously, the woman was not Hua Qingwu's match in term of quarrel. She trembled with anger after hearing those few words of Hua Qingwu.

I never allowed someone taking advantage of me and this worthless woman here is wasting my time and making me hard unconsciously. I don't have a choice but to carry and put her on the guestroom. As much as I don't want to touch her, I can't attain seeing her around while I am doing my business here. I scooped her and walk upstairs. As her body touched mine, it made an impact on me. It even worsen when I inhaled her lavander perfume with her natural olive scent. The perfume seems familiar to me that it made lost my sanity for a while. I can't imagine that this no class woman can even make me like something I don't usually do.

I'd lose it if I had to pretend to care about these ridiculous people for one more minute. And then there were the wives. Oh, the wives. Drenched in designer gowns that seemed to weigh them down. Every gesture they made was an attempt to remind the room how much money they spent on themselves. Layla, the Blood Moon pack's Luna, sashayed to me. The heavy, suffocating cloud of her perfume hit me before she did, a mix of too many layers of fragrance that almost made me gag. Was she masking something? Like, what did she smell like under all that chemical overload? If this were her idea of floral I'd hate to know what earthy smelled like.