"Why are…"
Those were the only words that escaped Vicky's lips; she fully wrapped her arms around Rhys's neck while pecking his face continuously in the most passionate way; her heavy breaths, threatening to turn into moans — they would have probably already been if they were not in a public restroom.
"Why are…"
And once again, Vicky repeated her words as she stuck out her tongue and licked Rhys's lips.
There was something about the descendants of Poseidon that made them easy to differentiate from other people — all the liquid that comes out from them, no matter what, almost has a unique and peculiar sweet scent. A sweet perfume that almost rolled like mild honey on his tongue… and it was more prevalent with Nobles. And Rhys…
…Rhys fucking hated the scent.
