Christian's scent hit me the moment I stepped inside—sharp, intoxicating, unmistakable.
It was everywhere.
The air was saturated with it, clinging to the walls, curling around my lungs like an invisible snake. His cologne, warm and musky with that underlying cedar note, mixed with the faintest trace of cigarettes. He must've just stepped out for a smoke.
It was unbearable.
My thighs instinctively pressed together, a helpless reaction to the way my body responded to him—to the memory of his skin, the heat of his mouth, the weight of his body pressed against mine. I swallowed hard, but my throat was already tight, parched with want.
Why? Why today of all days?
As if this week hadn't been torment enough—every step I took felt like friction, every breath a battle against the ache burning inside me. And now this? Being surrounded by the scent of him was like tossing gasoline into an open flame.
It wasn't fair.
