Scent

When I trigger a certain shy smile out of her, what follows is a cascading of subtle events.

She lightly perspires. Perhaps to cool her sudden heat, perhaps to lift her scent from her flesh.

A floral perfume, mixed with her own oil. An intoxication.

She subconsciously gets closer. I take another breath, my mouth waters, my own heat rises.

We touch, a calm before an inevitable storm. She smiles again. The process intensifies.

She turns shyer when she smells her own musk, hating it. Her silent tell of desire.

I crave it, it tips me over desire's, sweet edge.