Bianca
Isaac’s eyes flicked to the faint red lipstick smeared across my index and middle fingers. I smirked and gave them a little wiggle, then wiped the lipstick across the collar of his shirt.
He still smelled like another woman, too—tangy sweet perfume, like hibiscus and rosewater. It was a nice smell, but not my own perfume. I typically preferred more earthy scents, if I chose to wear perfume at all. Sandalwood and patchouli.
When I was with Mason, he never allowed me to wear perfume. Said it was unbecoming of a high-class Werewolf woman. Sometimes, though, when I knew I wasn’t going to see him, I would sneak out the tiny vial I kept hidden in the back of my bathroom cupboard and dab a little on my wrists and neck, just to feel pretty and feminine.
I supposed I didn’t
