She’s never out of sight, Part XVII
“You always smell like springtime,” Adam murmured against her neck. “Like violets and lily-of-the-valley and those little pink flowers, thrift I think it’s called.” She turned and kissed him.
“You always smell like summer,” Adam murmured into her loosened hair, having scattered all the pins to the floor. “Like night-blooming jasmine and red roses, like lavender in the sunshine.” She turned and kissed him.
“You always smell like autumn,” Adam murmured along her breastbone, his unshaven cheek rough against her bare skin. “Like apples and rosemary and wood smoke.” She turned and kissed him.
“You always smell like winter,” Adam murmured into her ear, his arms beneath her velvet robe, stroking her waist. “Like the snow coming and cloves, like myrrh.” Belle turned and kissed him. And kissed him until he lifted her up and brought her to bed.