The Scent Of My Arousal

In the valley guarded by snow-coated greens and high, misty mountains lies the Whites’ family house. 

We visit only during Christmas, though celebrating it isn’t a thing.

We enjoy the holidays in our style nonetheless—like binge-watching rom-coms or stacking containers of Christmas cookies in the refrigerator or… I don’t know. But one wouldn’t find a trace of festive decorations, even hear a commentary about it in the mansion.

For as long as I can remember, this is our first time coming together for a celebration. And there are two halls prepared for it too.

I heave a sigh of exhaustion as I stand before the mirror in the servants’ quarters. 

My eyes are dull and nearly closing under tired lids. And I can still feel shock rolling in my belly at the fact that the mysterious heir to White group is my man. 

Gazing at the bonnet guarding my hair, I’m more about discarding this wretched apron of woe for something proper—one that looks even a tiny bit pleasing to the eyes.

A while back when Hunter arrived, he hadn’t noticed me. Of course, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t even know I’m here, talk more of being a servant. 

Maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not prepared to have his attention and too ashamed to stand in his presence in this manner.

But I soon find I’m conflicted.

I want him to set his gaze on me. Those green eyes that invite a provocative aura as if calling to Aphrodite herself fit more on my form. 

Damn... I want to see him run his eyes over me, and how I’d love to hear his thoughts when he’s imagining me bare.

“Fuck it,” I mumble while untying the apron, tossing it over my head before removing the bonnet altogether, letting a cascade of autumn-orange waves fall down my back.

As I hurry to the bathroom, I leave the rest of my garment in my trail.

The water’s hot, effusing steam, but I can barely feel its harshness. What tingles my skin is the thought of Hunter carrying himself with raw elegance and composure. Him walking on that wooden floorboard like the fucking world’s melting under his feet.

And his body proportion’s just fine. Perfect for my small frame. He could be my couch on a normal day. Or not, since I’ll be too busy riding him even faster than I would on a racehorse.

The videos of him I’ve seen don’t do justice to how he looks. Man’s drop-dead handsome, I mean. Hot too, like an inferno dwells in his fingertips awaiting to be unleashed.

He could be Hephaestus’s reincarnation set to torch the world to ash merely by his demeanor. And as the image of his smile and stare linger in my head, my fingers crawl south. 

I can’t control their movement. My brain cells aren’t doing that much. Hell, they aren’t doing shit!

The farthest I can go is teasing my clitoris. Hunter said he’d teach me these things, but didn’t. He claims he’s more of a physical person and would love it when I’m right in front of him as he watches my lips part the way they are now. 

He wants to hear me moan as I currently am, the sound bouncing off the walls, chin thrust up and eyes closed.

My other hand fondles my breasts as I release restrained gasps, my veins pumping blood like crazy. But turns out it’s no longer just blood. There are now tingles; coursing through me, rendering me breathless—high. High with pleasure.

My fingers are moving faster, which causes an itchy sensation in my hand. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Damn, I want the man. I’ve waited for so long too. But he feels so close, yet far to reach.

“Fucking hell,” I moan out, breathing. 

I can’t tell where I’m reaching—if it’s orgasm or just a point I can’t come down from. Plus, I don’t know what an orgasm feels like. A man has never touched me. I haven’t myself either. 

Now it feels like a force jerks my hands from my body; one desperate move bound to let Hunter finish what he started. 

He promised to be the first to ‘break’ me. And I want him to, so bad I can’t think straight. He might as well fucking live by his damn word!

Turning off the shower, I face the sink, placing my hands on the edge to hold my weight. That doesn’t stop me from shivering though—I don’t know if it’s nervousness or my sexual wants because I’m certain it isn't the cold.

This sick feeling dwelling in my gut makes me want to throw up. And for a moment, my head seems to play a joke on me when my view begins to spin.

The unease is soon ignored as I clothe myself in a khaki cargo skirt, which I wear with a dark woolen jacket over a brown long-sleeve top that clings around my form and, better yet, emphasizes my bell-shaped breasts. Perfect so far.

The clothes are among the things I had while I was a boss that the White family didn’t take from me even though they made sure I never put them on.

Today, however, I’ll give no frigging shit about them, show off my curves and overlook the fact that others mistake it for being overweight. It’s their fucking cup of tea after all.

I dash out of the servants’ quarters to make haste up the stairs barefoot, my strands bouncing against my back and arms as I push through crowded hallways until I arrive at Saturn’s room.

The girl is at lunch, which means perfect timing to steal her goodies.

I massage oil onto my scalp and gather the mane into a messy bun updo. Then I work a little on my face by hiding the eyebags, making my siren eyes look less tired.

As I do so, I hear continuous car honks and crowd cheers outside. Normally, I would ignore it. I hate crowds more than anything. But my nerves make me look through the window facing the mansion’s main entrance.

Dark marks of footprints and tire tracks contrast with the snow that’s the environment. And even though the fall isn’t heavy, the parked cars still have speckles of flakes on them.

Watching the chaos outside triggers my nervousness even more. I can’t help but heed the lingering thought that this adrenaline pumping through my veins will wear off once I stand before Hunter. And that isn’t very good. Not at all.

I’ll tell ya why.

~

The hall looks bright and palatial. There are steel banquet chairs arranged around each round table.

So many things would’ve caught my attention. But the star of my gaze stands six feet four tall on the podium.

I’m only now finding that the man could easily press my average self to the floor with his big hands. And his face… Gods! It’s more and more frustrating how my vagina keeps throbbing. Any moment now even my ovaries could explode. 

Do you want that now, Hunter? Maybe not. But who’d know? He’s busy having his damn fucking speech.

A round of applause reverberates through the hall when he steps down. Everyone rises to their feet; some approach him for a handshake before a group of people escort him out of the hall.

He’s heading to the dining hall, and my eyes still stick on him. 

He doesn’t see me. Yet, I’m praying he catches the scent—the smell of my arousal. With that, my mind begins a race for the game plan. 

I can’t decide between joining the maids to serve the meals or just sitting this one out and playing cool until Hunter notices me.

The second option may be the best, but I’m losing patience. I don’t know how long I can wait. And I badly want to speak with Hunter.

There’s much to say to him, nothing to do with the fact that he hid his true identity from me. I’ll not fault him for that. I hid mine too after all. Also, I know the kind of pressure that comes with being a White.

Going with the first option will expose the truth I’ve hidden from Hunter since the start of our relationship. But it makes no difference whichever way he finds out because as long as we’re together, he’s bound to know who I am.

I join a chain of servants heading to serve the main dish, meanwhile devising ways to grab Hunter’s attention without making my presence known to the others.

I’m taking in the surroundings from a distance. Dad Griffin and Hunter are sitting at each head of the table. Thankfully, my man’s on the nearest side, so I don’t have to move around the table to serve.

Saturn, however, is at Hunter’s right side, with Morton across her. 

The latter’s not paying much attention to what’s around him. One could likely record that he’s dead, and it’s just his corpse hunched over that side of the table where the food is scarce.

As the line moves further and I’m nearing the table, a thought springs to mind—I’ve fucking fallen for someone who’d have been my brother; the person we were all eager to meet ever since we heard of him long ago.

No one will blame me though, unless they haven’t met Hunter.

He’s the sweetest and softest at heart. Yet, on the outside, he looks brutal. And the shaded, intricate art on his neck and the back of his hands aren’t doing much to contradict that either.  

Hunter doesn’t seem to notice any of the servants approaching the table. I have to draw his attention somehow—maybe create commotion; like sliding a table knife to the floor next to him or dropping the tray of sushi rolls I’m carrying—without causing any damn commotion.

The two mentioned moves are cliché and will attract Saturn's unwanted attention, which I don’t want to happen. Even the Miss herself wouldn’t want her attention. She’d probably loathe herself more than I do.

When it’s my turn to serve, as I set the tray down, I catch sight of the petite vase near Hunter’s plate. 

Surely, anyone who has their food moved from their front would want to see who did the deed, which is why I nudge his plate with the vase in the guise of a slip. 

But my hand doesn’t go far before another grabs my wrist. It’s cold and drives a shudder through me, my lips parting when it squeezes my wrist softly.

My eyes flicker to where I connect with the man who now gazes at my leather bracelet—a gift; the first of several random ones Hunter sent me.

My heart pulses, threatening to pop from my chest, while my mind becomes a chaotic mess of joy and nervousness—kicking, screaming, bawling, throwing things excitedly.

I can only think of one thing: Hunter noticed me finally. 

He bloody fucking did!