“What do I smell like?” “I don’t know.” He gave me a disapproving growl. “You don’t smell like anything. More like… feelings. Lust. Desire. Comfort. Belonging.” “That’s better.” He finally stroked me between my thighs, over my shorts. “What do I smell like to you?” “Mine.” He touched me again. “Pleasure. Need. Home.” Well, that was intense. He worked me with his fingers, and my mind left his words. His hands were the only thing I could focus on. I shattered, and shattered, and shattered. And by the time we collapsed in bed together, I started to think maybe he smelled like home to me too.
