The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across our apartment, painting dust motes dancing in the golden light. He’s sprawled on the sofa, a half-finished book abandoned beside him. You're at the vanity, applying your favorite perfume – a heady blend of vanilla and sandalwood. The scent fills the air, a warm, comforting cloud.

He stirs, his eyes following your every move. A slow smile spreads across his face, the kind that melts your resolve in an instant. He calls out your name, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. Before you can even turn, he’s up and behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. His breath tickles your ear as he whispers, "You smell amazing."

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. You can feel his warm breath against your skin, and the light pressure of his lips on your neck. He nuzzles your neck, his touch light but insistent.  He murmurs something unintelligible, his words lost in the intoxicating swirl of sandalwood and vanilla.  His fingers trace the curve of your neck, lingering just a moment too long.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "That's my favorite scent on you," he says, his voice husky with desire. He leans in again, his lips brushing against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. His touch is playful, teasing, but there's an underlying intensity that makes your heart race.