Chapter 3: Scented Secrets

The ritual ignited like a spark on dry tinder, consuming them both in its slow-burning heat. Lila’s heart raced every time her phone buzzed with Ethan’s message: On my way. It was a simple phrase, but it carried the weight of promise, the thrill of their forbidden game. She glanced around the empty house—Karen at her yoga class, the clock ticking lazily toward evening—and slipped into her room, the door clicking shut like a lover’s whisper.

She chose an oversized t-shirt today, one of Ethan’s old ones she’d stolen from the laundry, the fabric soft and worn, hanging just low enough to skim her thighs. No bra, no barriers—just the shirt and her skin, alive with anticipation. But first, the panties. Black lace, delicate as spider silk, chosen for how they hugged her curves, how they absorbed her essence. She lay back on her bed, the sheets cool against her bare legs, and let her mind drift to him. Ethan, with his strong hands, his mouth that knew every secret spot on her body. The way he’d claimed her in the shower last night, fingers curling inside her under the steam, his voice rough with command: no panties when he’s home.

Her fingers trailed down, slipping under the lace. She was already wet, her pussy slick with the mere thought of him. Circles on her clit, slow at first, building that familiar ache. She imagined his tongue there instead, lapping hungrily, his stubble grazing her inner thighs. A moan escaped her lips, soft and needy, as she dipped two fingers inside, thrusting in rhythm with the fantasy. Her hips bucked, the lace growing damp, soaked with her arousal. Faster now, breaths coming in gasps, until the edge crashed over her—body tensing, a quiet cry as she came, clenching around her fingers, the panties drenched in her scent.

Panting, she peeled them off, the fabric warm and sticky. She balled them in her fist, a secret offering, and waited by the front door, the t-shirt teasingly short, her bare pussy throbbing with aftershocks.

The key turned in the lock, and there he was—Ethan, his eyes darkening the moment they landed on her. He stepped inside, door shutting behind him, and without a word, she extended her hand. “For you,” she whispered, blushing under his gaze, the vulnerability making her pulse quicken.

He took the panties, unfolding them slightly, inhaling deep. “Fuck, Lila ... you smell like heaven.” His voice was gravel, laced with hunger. He wrapped the damp lace around his wrist, tying it loosely like a bracelet, the crotch panel against his skin where he could feel her warmth. A crotchie, their private joke—a talisman of her desire, his to carry. He pulled her close, one hand on her waist, the other sliding under the t-shirt to cup her bare ass. “Good girl. No panties, just like I said.”