Having to work and live with grown, sweaty men even for weeks was always a challenge, the scent of testosterone filling every space. By now he'd got used to it, of course, but that didn't mean he liked it. The only thing that kept him from going mad was the idea of your divine scent; he always quivered at the thought of coming home and sinking his face into your hair, inhaling your perfume and being overwhelmed by it. It was the thing that drove him the most crazy, the intoxicating feminine essence you exuded. It was always like getting closer to heaven.

And as was his wont, in fact, in the same instant he opened the front door and saw you waiting there, he dropped his duffel bag on the floor and rushed towards you. He effortlessly picked you up and sank his face into your neck, inhaling deeply, like a man who's been deprived of breathing for days, filling his lungs. "Ah... now I'm home. I'm feeling better already," he grumbled, and his voice vibrated on your skin, in your bones.