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It’s not the taste, it’s the smell.

It’s not the flavor of her saliva or sampling her lip gloss in your mouth. It’s not the vanilla of her white soft skin or the strawberry of his lips. It’s not using the cup she just used so you can taste the scent of her teeth on your tongue. It’s not the hidden chocolatey kisses you want. It’s not about wanting to taste her until she screams.

It’s not the touch, it’s the smell.

It’s not the electricity that flows through you everytime you touch her. It’s not the sensation that you could do anything, that you could excel at everything if she was by your side. It’s not the warmth of her hand on your knee. It’s not the tight embrace she gave you yesterday. It’s not the sweet friction of her skin everytime she kisses you on the cheek, like good friends do.

It’s not the sight, it’s the smell.

It’s not about being paralyzed everytime you admire her beauty, her delicate frame. Her unruly hair, her green eyes, her pink cheeks. It’s not watching her delicate fingers moving along the keyboard typing documents. It’s not worshipping their speed and thinking how they could held you, endlessly. It’s not professing your love to her beautiful body.

It’s not the sound, it’s the smell.

It’s not hearing her musical laugh, her sweet voice, her mouth pronunciating words like ‘Do you have anything to do after work?’ or ‘Roy has to work tonight, I thought we could have dinner together’ or simpler things like ‘I could buy you a coffee if you want’ or even ‘Tell Michael I already signed the forms for him, okay?’. It’s not the noise of her shoes getting louder and louder everytime he comes to your desk.

It’s the smell.

It’s that addicting smell. The one that permeates from every inch of her body and haunts you. The one that makes you want her and have her right on Dwight’s desk. The one you think about on endless nights. The one that makes you anxious and needy. The one that overwhelms you.

It’s that fucking smell. The one you crave for. But will never be yours.

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