David Azaharvich

“He laughs. “What do I smell like?” “Petrichor.” He’s dragging his lips down my stomach. “I don’t even know what that means.” His voice is a mumble against my skin. “It’s a word that describes the smell of fresh rain after warm weather.” He moves until his mouth is close to mine. “I had no idea there was a word for that.” “There’s a word for everything.”
― Colleen Hoover, Verity