"Pomegranate."
Tart, like wine. Rich and dry, slightly intoxicating in a way that makes me lick my lower lip after speaking. Even more deeply… *drawing* to me than her original wonderful scents.
And it disappears as I pull away. Something only a person right on top of her can notice, even with our enhanced senses.
> Something only I am allowed to notice. <
"Is that good or bad to you?"
"...I haven't decided yet."
But I have - and the growly tone of my voice is probably telling. I just don't want to admit it in words while I'm still this raw. Still feeling the echo of that pull to finish the bond every time I look at her too straight, for too long.
"Your turn to shower. Luca will be here soon. You also still smell like… me."
"I'm not sure that's a problem anymore. Everyone knows."
"It is if you want anyone to focus on the words coming out of your mouth instead of imagining what we were doing before they got here."
