“My favorite scent is your skin.” Lifting my arm, he trails his nose across my wrist. I love being pressed against his body. I want him soldered to me from lips to feet. “My favorite place is your arms.” His eyes flare as he rocks forward. I rock back on the diagonal. “My favorite song is your laughter.” He twirls me across the dance floor, his steps as steady as his eye contact. I slide up against his chest and aggressively grip the back of his neck. “My favorite emotion is your scowl.”
