I kissed the inside of her thigh again, slower this time.
She made that sound again. The almost-moan. Like she was trying to hold it back but her body had already voted and wasn't waiting for her brain to catch up.
I pressed my mouth to her and tasted her for the first time.
Sweet.
Actually sweet, like something warm and light with a faint trace of something deeper underneath. My past life had not prepared me for this. Women tasted like women, which is to say they tasted like salt and heat and the particular penny like tang. That was the rule. That was the data I'd accumulated across years of fieldwork.
The women of this world apparently hadn't read that memo.
She tasted like honey dissolved in warm water with something floral underneath that I couldn't name. I pulled back for half a second just to process that information, which was apparently the wrong half second to pause because her thighs immediately tried to close around my head.
