Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.

Sugar On My Tongue

It feels cold and hard, at first.

Foreign and tasteless against my tongue.

"Just give it a minute," he says. "Hold it there."

I nod and concentrate on keeping my mouth as still as possible.

Saliva is slowly pooling beneath my tongue, and my heart skips to life as dark blue eyes rake over me.

"So fucking gorgeous," he whispers, and I shiver.

I can feel his gaze. Actually feel it touching me.

It caresses my arms and leaves goose bumps in its wake; it rolls over my chest and my nipples harden.

Hungry eyes meet mine, and he smiles.

He steps towards me and every cell in my body strains forwards, as though drawn to him.

Calloused fingertips brush over my knuckles, and, as they trail past my elbow, the goose bumps spread to my entire body.

His eyes follow his touch as it traces my collar bone, just grazes my neck and slides down my chest, coming to rest at my waist.

The heat of his palm against my skin is almost too much.

He takes another step and presses his cheek to mine.

"Feel so good," he whispers, and I feel his lips curl against my face.

I hear him draw a long, slow breath in through his nose.

I realise I've done the same when the smell of him suddenly makes my knees weak.

It's cinnamon and Firewhiskey and sweat and arousal, and before I can stop it, a needy moan has escaped my throat.

It reverberates inside my closed mouth, and he chuckles.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he murmurs.

His breath is hot and moist against my ear. "The way you smell? The sounds you make?"

He swallows. "Do you know?"

He pulls back and smiles, and I know what's coming.

Taste.

Taste has always been his favourite.

"Can you taste it yet?" he breathes.

I blink and don't know what he means.

His eyes fall to my lips, and I remember there's something on my tongue.

I try to concentrate. It's not cold or hard anymore, but–

I slowly shake my head.

"Press it to the roof of your mouth," he says. "Slowly."

I ease my tongue upwards, and something solid presses against my palate.

The underside oozes and slides against my tongue and the explosion of taste makes me gasp through my nose.

His smile is nearly predatory now.

The tip of his tongue is moist.

It skims over each of my lips in turn, to the left and to the right, before it retreats into his mouth.

The heat of our mingled breath hangs in the narrow space between our faces.

He opens his mouth and his tongue licks delicately at the line between my lips.

I only realise I've opened my mouth when he is licking at the inside of it, pressing my bottom lip down so he can nibble at it.

I stare at him as it snaps back against my teeth.

He's not smiling anymore.

He tilts his head, and my eyes flutter as his tongue reaches out.

I'm expecting a firm, wet stroke, but there's only a flick.

Just the tip of his tongue against mine for a fraction of a moment.

But his eyes sparkle and I know that he's tasted it.

I want to watch him, want to savour his delight, but I can't.

His hot tongue presses against mine, and I'm done.

I can't see him, I can't hear him, I can't smell him, I can't taste him.

I can't even feel the chocolate anymore.

All I know is his tongue.

He takes it all.

That long, dexterous muscle presses into me and seeks every corner, every crevice.

It strokes and swirls and licks until every last, sweet trace is gone.

He laps at my mouth persistently, without a thought of sharing, until all that's left is me.

But I don't mind.

It's all his, anyway.

Slowly, I come back to myself as sound and sight and smell return to the world.

All I can taste now is him, and he's more than sweet enough.

A smile tugs at my lips as I press my tongue forwards to taste what's mine.