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Summary
Elliott leans forward, the tip of his nose tracing your cheekbone. “One doesn’t pick a flower only to subject it to a deluge. There are so many ways it can delight the senses in its natural state.”
“You put flowers in water…” you try, but it’s too late. Elliott’s nose is at your hairline now, right behind your ear, at the nape of your neck where you’d been sweating all day.
He breathes in deep, and it sounds loud in the quiet little world the two of you have found yourself in. “Mouthwatering,” he whispers, and his lips press gently against your neck.
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You've had a long day in the mines. Elliott doesn't seem to care.